Thank you to all those who have read, followed and reviewed! I loved seeing your reactions to the last chapter! Also, thank you to anyone who enjoyed Happier With You.

oOo

"Hello, remember me?

I'm everything you can't control."

- What You Want, Evanescence

oOo

Lakewood Balmoral, Chicago

His world was made of flames: consuming, incessant fire that burned and flashed through him, eating away at all he had left. Everything hurt. From the scratching of the material rubbing his back raw to the strands of hair that raked across his forehead whenever he moved, it all sent spears of agony through his nerves. He tried his best not to move; it made his head bang and throb, words rolling like marbles around his mind.

He's not your brother, not Dean.

He knew that; he did. Dean was dead, killed by Amara in the real world months ago. Light lanced through his right eye; he jerked his head to the side trying to escape it. Someone spoke to him, their tone soothing, but he couldn't work out the words as the light disappeared.

He's Lucifer.

He moaned, his lungs radiating heat that scorched out with every breath but it didn't hurt as much as the words ricocheting around his head. Thrashing, he wanted to dislodge them, drive them out but he didn't have the energy or the power. They merged with the fire, licking through his nerves and grating down his spine. He wanted to die. He couldn't.

He has to die for you to be free.

Beyond the depravity of the fire, Sam knew the real torture lay waiting for him.

oOo

"It's alright, Sam," Thomas soothed as he used his thumb to pry open his ward's eye, his light scope clenched in the other fist. Sam jerked away, a guttural moan crackling up his throat. The Englishman sighed and lowered the scope, turning the light off and placing it on the bedside table. He rinsed out a cloth in a bowl of cold water, noting the small, involuntary flinches coming from Sam as the water drops tinkled back into the bowl. Smoothing out the material, he placed it across his forehead, brushing the locks of hair from his face, some of which were already damp from previous applications of the cloth. Chewing on his bottom lip thoughtfully, Thomas leaned back in his chair, watching Sam shiver and convulse in small spurts.

"I brought you some tea," Anna said quietly, startling him as she entered the room silently.

"Thank you." He took the mug gratefully. She rested a hand on his shoulder, her eyes falling on Sam as well.

"How is he?"

"Same as yesterday; I'd hoped that he would've broken the fever by the morning but it's certainly doing a number on him." Thomas explained as he blew on the top of his tea, the steam billowing out. It had been two days since he'd told Sam about Dean and the shock had been too much for the younger man's already ravaged immune system. The exhaustion, stress and shock had destroyed him. It wasn't part of the plan, but it was to be expected. And, for Thomas, any opportunity he had to show his dedication to Sam was a welcome one.

They had time.

"I'm sure he'll be better soon; do let me know if you need anything," Anna offered, her hand disappearing from Thomas' shoulder, her frown dropping when he looked up at her.

"Could you get me some fresh water? I don't really want to leave him," Thomas asked, giving her a bashful smile. She nodded and took the bowl from the bedside table, carrying it out and downstairs, knowing Thomas wouldn't question her about why she didn't just fill it up in the bathroom; he never questioned her decisions. She shuffled down the stairs, her feet brushing against the carpet soundlessly as she moved into the kitchen.

The countertops were spotless, the black marble gleaming in the soft light that poured in through the window. Tipping the used water down the sink, Anna filled it once again with icy water, humming softly to herself. When it was nearly full, she shut the tap off and carried it over to a host of jars and pots that were set out neatly on the opposite worktop. A small wooden bowl sat amidst them, already full of black powder from the ingredients she'd ground down. Double-checking the open book next to it all, Anna hooked out a spoonful and dropped it into the water, giving it a gentle stir. The water fizzed and bubbled, turning black. She carried on stirring until the fizzing stopped and the water swirled clear again.

The Englishwoman smiled to herself; it wouldn't affect Thomas – he was awake – but Samuel…he was in for a treat. She was really beginning to feel that spell work was a newfound talent of hers. Holding the bowl in both hands, she made her way back upstairs.

oOo

Outskirts of Geneva, Kansas

Dean's hands shook. The tremors had started the day before, rippling through his fingers and up his arms. They weren't bad enough to be a pain, but for someone who hated showing weakness, Dean wasn't impressed that they'd appeared. It was hardly surprising though. He'd tried to ration the pitiful amount of whiskey he'd had left in his flask, but, after reading Thomas' journal, he hadn't been able to stop himself from downing the rest of it. That had been two and a half days ago; outside of Purgatory, he couldn't remember the last time he'd gone longer than a day without drinking. He'd searched every room, high and low, but there was no trace of anything even vaguely alcoholic in the whole damned house. Forcing him to sober up properly, knowing that he could do nothing to help his brother in the meantime was Dean's true idea of hell. If he did end up in the Pit eventually, he could see Crowley recreating this for him over and over.

Jody and Ketch had both steered clear of him since his mood had started to rollercoaster, instead letting him be alone, sitting and staring into nothing one moment and trashing one of the upstairs rooms the next. He couldn't stop himself. One of the windows upstairs was smashed, the glass somehow littering the grass below, but still the occupants couldn't leave. They'd been forced to start turning their phones off – not that they were any use anyway – in an attempt to conserve power. Dean would turn his on every few hours, hoping to have something – anything – come through but it never did.

He just wished Cas would hurry up and get back.

Jody had taken up the watch of the front of the house, sitting in the window with a coffee in her hand as she stared out. Her back was against the wall, her legs stretched out along the wide windowsill in front of her. The occasion car or truck would drift past in the strange slow motion that only distance created. Ketch sat at the desk, favouring it over the sofas, writing in a neat script that she was envious of when she'd caught a glimpse of it earlier. Maybe all the Men of Letters had to have special handwriting practice; she guessed it 'wouldn't do' (as Ketch would put it) for their handwriting to be the quick scrawl that most other people settled for.

"Where are the closest big cities outside of this state?" he asked, breaking her from her reverie. Jody's gaze slid over to him, as he looked up at her with piercing eyes. She pursed her lips, thinking, mentally pulling up a map of the Kansas and its surroundings.

"Depends how 'close' you mean and 'big'. In the west there's Albuquerque, Denver and Salt Lake City; the east there's Memphis, St Louis and Chicago; and in the south you got Dallas."

"What about the north?"

"Not so many 'big' cities up there; that's my neck of the woods and Sam's familiar with Sioux Falls and the area around it."

"So they're not likely to go there," Ketch murmured, making another note.

"What if he was double-bluffing it?"

Ketch pondered it for a moment and then shook his head. "No. Thomas would know I'd suspect that but I think he would be too uncomfortable being somewhere more familiar for Sam – our lad would have the advantage and Thomas won't want that."

"Why big cities though? Surely taking Sam to a busy area is a bad idea too."

"On one hand, yes, absolutely. Thomas won't like to be around a lot of people, but it's very easy to be inconspicuous in amongst a large populace. Especially when…" he stopped; it was one of the first times Jody had seen him hesitate.

"Especially when what?" she pushed. There was something in the tone of his voice that rolled an uneasy feeling through her gut. It was backed up more when his gaze flickered to the stairs and he lowered his voice; he didn't want Dean to hear.

"Sam is not going to be as defiant as his brother wants to believe. In fact, I doubt Sam is anything but compliant by now," Ketch murmured. Jody shook her head adamantly.

"Sam's strong, there's no way –"

"There is Jody, believe me," he interrupted with a sureness to his tone that made her pale. "I've read that journal. Some of it is embellished – done to goad Dean – but Thomas' methods are not; he will have done all those things to Sam and more. Sam spent months subjected to physical torture at the hands of Lady Bevell and now he's been psychologically tormented for a further month. He wasn't in a good mental place to begin with.

"I have seen the effects of the types of techniques Thomas has used on him; I've used many of them myself during interrogations. They're unpleasant and designed to wear down your target. I've never had anyone last more than three weeks under those kind of conditions so the fact that Sam has been experiencing them longer doesn't bode well."

Jody swallowed, turning her face back to the window and the peaceful scene outside as she tried her hardest to rein in her emotions. When she spoke, she kept her face turned from Ketch, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice.

"Then we need to get him back quicker; he'll be okay once he's back with us – his family. Just…don't let Dean hear you say that. He needs any hope he can hold onto right now."

"We'll do what we can," Ketch replied quietly, his tone even and calm, hiding the doubt that flickered across his face. If holding onto their deluded hope was what kept them going, he wasn't going to jeopardise it. After all, the fallout from all of this wasn't his concern.

oOo

Lakewood Balmoral, Chicago

Everything was muffled, like his head was in a bubble. Disconnected. Strange. The first time he tried to move, Sam's limbs felt heavy like he was fighting against a current. It was unsettling when he tried sitting up and felt the cotton shift around in his head.

"Thomas?" his voice was thick and distorted. Silence answered him. Waiting for a few moments, he concentrated, pushing past the sluggishness in his muscles until the world cleared. He couldn't remember what had happened before he'd fallen asleep but his instincts told him it hadn't been good. He needed to find Thomas; he would know.

Climbing off the bed, he headed for the door, twisting the handle quietly and opening the door. Beyond, it was silent and still. "Thomas?" he called again, his voice clearer this time. An uneasiness settled itself in his gut, pulling on his nerves. Something was wrong. His feet made no sound against the plush carpet as he walked, breaking into a jog, heading down the stairs.

Still he could hear nothing.

The kitchen was empty, as was the dining room and the living room. Panic began to rise, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead as he raced through the house, shouting for Thomas. He skidded to a stop in the hallway, his eyes alighting on the front door, widening as he watched it swing gently to and fro. Thomas would never leave it open.

Ice clutched his insides.

Racing forwards, Sam slammed the door shut with both hands, fumbling with the lock, even though, deep inside, he knew the horror that was already in the house. He stood for a moment, forehead pressed against the door, the glass cold against his heated skin, eyes screwed shut as he fought the fear that spread its tendrils through him like vines. He knew what was in the house.

He couldn't face it.

And yet his feet turned him and walked him back in, taking him to the door to the basement: where the gym was located. Sam didn't want to go down there but it was magnetic, pulling him, controlling him. Choice wasn't a luxury he had and soon he found himself grasping the handle and twisting it downwards.

The stairs down seemed longer. Ominous.

One leaden foot fell in front of the other, dragging him down. He expected it to be full of darkness, but light streamed through the windows, illuminating every corner. Lucifer had always liked to defy convention.

Stepping down into the basement, Sam choked, his eyes widening and his cry lodging in his throat as he stared at the carnage before him.

"Sammy, I'm not ready; you coulda waited a bit for your gift," Dean's gravelly tone sent warring pangs of comfort and despair rushing through Sam, the despair smashing through the comfort in an instant. His brother's body stood facing away from him, but the solid back, squared shoulders and short brown hair was so familiar, so missed, that it robbed Sam of his breath. He wanted it to be his brother so badly. Knew it wasn't.

His eyes travelled past the broad shoulders encased in the worn green jacket and rose up, staring in horror at the blood-stained wall, a mangled corpse hanging from it. Two handheld weights had been dismantled, the metal handled shoved through the body's wrists, pinning it out like a crucifixion.

"I thought it was fitting since he was here to 'save' you." Dean's hand was covered in blood as he shaded in the wall behind the body using his fingers, creating a grotesque parody of angel's wings. Sam's mouth opened and closed soundlessly as he finally registered Thomas' face beneath the ruins of blood. Anna's prone form lay at Dean's feet, unrecognisable.

Sam felt his feet back up.

He blinked and bumped into something warm behind him, his brother disappearing and reappearing behind him in that single blink. Something rammed into the backs of his legs and he yelped as he pitched forward landing on his knees. A hand snaked around his neck, strong fingers grasping his throat.

"What do you think, Sammy? Do you like it?" Lucifer crooned in his ear, his words infecting the voice Sam had waited to hear for so long. His fingers scrabbled against the hand around his throat, trying desperately to prise the fingers from around his neck, a shudder passing through him as Dean's face nuzzled up against the side of his head. "How does it compare to my other works of art? I know you've been admiring them, getting sneak peaks," Lucifer goaded him, his breath cool against Sam's ear.

"Let…me…go," Sam rasped, squirming beneath the hand that squeezed. He gasped as he was picked up and flung round, landing on his back on the floor, his brother's body landing on top of him, sitting on his torso and pinning his arms to his sides. Sam stared up, frozen, too afraid to try bucking the devil off him.

"We've got so much catching up to do, bunk buddy and you've been so…disobedient," Dean's face grinned, its look holding a maliciousness unlike anything Sam had ever seen from his brother. His eyes widened when the once warm emeralds of his eyes turned a vibrant red, pulling a forgotten memory to the front of Sam's mind.

"'Course I did," Dean murmured, his smile sad as he looked down as Sam. "You always come first. You know that. It's my job to look out for you."

Dean's words wrapped him in warmth as he succumbed to the blackness that called to him, barely registering the red that flashed through his forest green eyes.

He'd known. Even when he'd thought he was on the plane back from England, he'd known. The signs had been there. He'd just been too naïve to see them.

"You were meant to stay in your place, play the part I gave you. It was what you wanted," Lucifer sighed, shifting his weight on Sam as he reached down, lifting up Sam's shirt and placing a cool hand against his stomach.

"I never wanted this," Sam choked out, his eyes flicking from Dean's contorted expression to his hand again. Lucifer tutted, the sound strange coming from Dean's tongue.

"Don't lie to me, Sam, you know I don't like that. I made things good for you. Gave you what you wanted: your brother, your life. It was perfect."

"It was a lie."

"But you were happy, Sam. I didn't want this. I was looking forward to playing the sidekick in your little adventures. You would've finally realised how…attuned we are. It wasn't meant to be this way. Those idiotic Brits just had to get involved," Lucifer grumbled, bending Dean's fingers and pressing them into Sam's abdomen.

There was no time for musings as agony ripped red hot through his torso. A screech howled from his throat as he writhed. Lucifer dug in deep with one hand.

"I had assumed that you –" he began, but Sam wasn't listening, unable to hear over his second scream. The sound died as a smothering hand slapped down over his mouth, stifling his cries. The fingers dug deeper. "…As I was saying, I had assumed that you wouldn't trust them. They did unspeakable things to you, Sammy; you've grown far too trusting," Lucifer continued, leaning forward, his face inches from Sam's. He looked up at the imposter, wide-eyed and imploring. He convulsed as the clawing went deeper, reaching inside his stomach. "But, that's okay. Y'know what? I think I can do better than them. It's not like you can die anyway – it'll be just like the cage. What d'you think, Sammy? Shall we see how creative I can be?"

oOo

Outskirts of Geneva, Kansas

Ketch watched Dean curiously. He'd surrounded himself with hunters throughout his working life in the Men of Letters, taking charge of them, using them. They were simple people who did as they were told without asking questions. Dean Winchester was a curious creature to say the least. The Englishmen had been…intrigued by him in England. The hunter had more fire than Ketch had ever seen before; his job was his calling, his whole life. It wasn't a way to make ends meet as was the case with many of their own hunters; most of them were mongrels: sadistic criminals who had been picked up and selected before they could cause real damage to society. Rather than fill up England's prisons with them, the Men of Letters had utilised their ferocity and given them an outlet for their savagery.

Dean Winchester was a killer, but he wasn't like the others.

"Why do you hunt, Dean?" he asked, his slate grey eyes fixed on him. They were sat at the dining table, both nursing coffees. Jody had long gone to bed. Dean had his elbows on the table, taking another mouthful of the burning liquid as he shrugged.

"It's what my family does."

"Your whole family?"

Dean paused, eyeing Ketch contemptuously. "Look, no offence, but I really don't feel like goin' into a history lesson about how my family got into the life. We hunt. End of."

"But why do you hunt with your brother?" Ketch pressed, unfazed by Dean's tone. The steely look from the hunter would've made most other men back off, but Ketch just ignored it. "The more I know about the two of you, the more I can help. I don't pry unintentionally, Dean; I have no desire to do so."

Dean's lips pursed into a hard line and scowled.

"Why wouldn't I hunt with him? We're a good team. We make each other better at what we do."

"Do you though?" Ketch asked softly, holding up a hand when Dean's look turned furious. "I'm not trying to incense you or belittle what you do. But I am curious as none of our hunters have any kind of emotional bond. We find it slows them down. At the end of the day, none of us would be here if you and Sam lead separate lives."

"You don't just ditch family. That's not the way it works," Dean ground out through clenched teeth. "You work with James and he's your kid."

Ketch sipped his coffee, pondering Dean's statement. "While we are both Men of Letters, we have never worked alongside each other."

"So you never worried about him when he went off on a job without you?"

"No."

Dean's frown became confused. "But he's your kid. That's got to mean somethin' to you."

"You clearly have a more…sentimental view of family than I do. The Men of Letters requires its members to have legacies. James was mine," Ketch shrugged.

"That's why you could do whatever it was you did to him in England," Dean murmured, appalled. He pushed his coffee mug away, not wanting to be a part of the conversation anymore but found himself curious about the bizarre Englishman.

"I did what was required of me. Emotions don't come into play when dealing with members gone rogue. I have a duty to do and I do it without question. No more, no less."

"That's not the way me and my brother work. Yeah, we've tried workin' separately before but it's never ended well. I'd never just leave him. He's my brother: lookin' out for him is my job."

"And you put that duty above all others?"

"Every time." Dean's answer was out before Ketch had even finished his question. There was never any doubt for the older Winchester when it came to Sam.

"Then we need to prepare for that," Ketch remarked. Dean cocked his head to the side, confused. "Thomas will know that and use it to his advantage. When we are released from here, we must proceed with caution. We must let Thomas continue to think that he has the advantage and use it against him. If we can."

Dean stood, nodding his approval.

"We do whatever it takes to get Sam back. No holds barred."

oOo

Lakewood Balmoral, Chicago

A deep groan rattled up from his chest, ending in a dry cough that sent hard convulsions running through his body.

"Sam? Can you hear me?" A concerned voice drifted through to him, its owner sounding far off. Sam continued coughing, trying to claw his way back to consciousness properly.

"Thomas?" he croaked between coughs.

"I'm right here, Sam. Here, drink this." He felt a pointed object being pressed to his lips. Opening his mouth, Sam sucked on the straw, gulping down cold water, letting it wash away the scratch in his throat, helping the coughing to subside. Finishing it, he eased his eyes open, blinking against the soft glow of the bedside lamp. "Welcome back," Thomas' face came into focus, his smile gentle but his brow furrowed with concern.

"How long was I out?" Sam asked, easing himself up higher on the bed, Thomas moving instantly to help him. The Englishman fluffed the pillows and repositioned them carefully behind his head.

"Three days. Your fever broke sometime around two am; it's eight in the morning now. I was worried," Thomas smiled softly, brushing Sam's hair from his forehead. The touch helped settled him; the crucified image flared beneath his eyelids when he blinked, making him flinch. The move didn't go unnoticed. "How are you feeling?"

"Better – tired," Sam replied, out of breath despite having done nothing but sit up a bit more. He couldn't let that happen – not after everything Thomas had done for him.

"I'm not surprised. You've been thrashing around for nearly a whole day. Were you dreaming?"

"Shall we see how creative I can be?"

Had it only been twenty-four hours? It had felt like years. Every agony he could imagine, all performed with his brother's face looking down at him. The way he would smile…Sam swallowed, his mouth instantly dry. Lucifer had managed to take away everything from him. Again.

"Sam?" Thomas' gentle prod pulled him from his reverie. His eyes had welled without him realising and he took a shaky breath, trying his hardest to regain his composure.

"I'm alright," he tried a small smile that fell quickly from his lips.

"No, you're not," Thomas replied, placing a warm, comforting hand on his arm. "You can talk to me. You know that."

Looking down, Sam nodded. Dean's contorted, maniacal laughter rang in his ears.

"I was stuck in a nightmare about Dean – about Lucifer," he corrected himself. The helplessness, the despair rose up again, washing through him, threatening to drown him. He couldn't feel like that again.

Never again.

"He'll never just let me go back to how things were, will he?" he asked, raising his eyes back up to Thomas. The Englishman shook his head softly.

"No, Sam. I think it's too late for that."

They fell into a heavy silence, Thomas' words hanging in the air. With each blink, another image flashed up.

Dean's face laughing as he ripped into Sam. Thomas' corpse pulled down and dismembered. The walls awash with red.

He ached throughout his whole body; he knew it was the aftereffects of the fever but it was more than that. He remembered - felt – every slice, every hit. There was only one escape from all of it. There was only one person who could help him do that and he was sat right beside him. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Sam looked at Thomas, feeling a resolve he hadn't experienced in a long time.

"I'll do it."

oOo

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