Author's Note: This chapter's a little shorter, but things with Sam are progressing a little more quickly and Dean and Martha need time to catch up. Lots of Sam angst ahead, be warned, but also the return of an old friend!

Thump thump.

Thump thump.

Thump thump.

Sam woke to the sound of his own heart beating.

Thump thump.

Thump thump.

Thump thump.

It was loud in his ears. He tried to open his eyes but found that he couldn't, that he was for some reason exhausted. He ached everywhere.

His eyes flew open, though, when he heard the scream.

He couldn't make out much, just a fog with indistinct human shapes, but it didn't stop his heart from racing (thump thump thump thump) and his eyes from darting around, panicked. He was about to call out when the scream turned into laughter, and he heard a male voice, made husky by pain, challenge, "That the best you got? I've walked off worse than that and they didn't even have to tie me up for it. Not that I'm complaining about the tied up bit, just usually I'm the one doing the tying, but I'm open to experimentation."

A sickening crunch accompanied a grunt of pain, and a different male voice muttered something incomprehensible but threatening. The laughter returned, sounding a bit more strained this time, and the first voice exclaimed, "Don't make promises you can't live up to, handsome."

There was a wet sound that Sam knew from experience was someone getting stabbed, and apart from a rattling noise there was no more sound.

Just the thump thump thump of his heart, getting louder and louder until he succumbed again to unconsciousness.

When he woke up, it was, impossibly, to the sound of the first voice he'd heard upon waking before. It sounded weary, and though it was obviously aiming for boisterous it missed by a mile. "Tish! My top girl. What do we have today? Ooh, mush! My favorite."

This time Sam forced his eyes open, and blinked hard past the fog. Shapes formed in his vision again, setting a scene ahead of him: the back of a man, shackled to two tall posts, and a woman, setting down a tray and feeding him. He blinked again, and his vision began to clear.

The man was tall, perhaps a little smaller than Dean, and had the look of a man accustomed to hard work but who was wasting away. He was putting up a brave front, but Sam knew all too well the way pain warped a body. The set of the man's shoulders and the way his fingers worked rhythmically told him everything he needed to know. The young woman, pretty and solemn, spoon-fed him silently.

Sam blinked again. He knew the man. He knew he did. From...somewhere. Everything was still so foggy but he knew him from somewhere.

The woman put the spoon into the now-empty bowl and straightened, lingering for a moment in front of the man. Sam could barely make it out as she mouthed, Are you all right, Jack?

The man nodded. "Another exquisite meal," he said out loud. "Give my compliments to the chef, sweet heart."

She smiled tightly and walked out of the room without a single glance at Sam, but that was okay, because Sam was trying really hard to think past the fog.

Jack.

He knew a Jack. Somebody important, somebody from a long time ago. Jack.

Oh my god.

"Jack?" he croaked, his throat raw and dry. "Jack, is that you?"

Jack turned his head, but couldn't quite turn it far enough to see Sam behind him. "Depends on who's asking," he said lightly. Sam crept forward, realizing suddenly that he, too, was chained, although not as tightly. He had a manacle on his left wrist, connected by a chain to the wall, but otherwise he was free. Maybe their captor (Saxon, his mind provided, don't fool yourself) didn't think that Sam posed quite the flight risk that Jack posed. When he made his way into Jack's field of vision, the captain's eyebrows lifted and he studied Sam appraisingly for a moment, then broke into a dazzling grin.

The same dazzling grin he'd taught Dean in the hospital room, all those years ago.

"Well, if it's you asking, then absolutely I'm Jack," he said. "And who might you be?"

Sam frowned.

Then his eyes widened, and he made a few unsuccessful attempts at words before finally stammering, "Jack, it's me, it's Sam."

Jack's brow furrowed. "Sam. You're gonna have to help me out more than that, friend, I apologize, just there's been a couple of Sams..."

"Sam Winchester," Sam said quickly, not interested in knowing about the other Sams. "It's...Sammy. You and—and Dean both called me Sammy."

It was the first time he'd said his brother's name in over a month, and it hurt worse than any of the myriad injuries he seemed to have sustained.

Jack looked taken aback, then flustered. "Sammy?" he exclaimed, then looked around quickly, nervously, and lowered his voice. "Sam Winchester? How the hell long has it—okay, we're both going to pretend that I didn't say that, earlier."

Sam nodded his agreement. "It's been fourteen years," he said. "Since Hanging Rock."

Jack shook his head slowly. "Wow," he said. "You...got tall. And older."

"Yeah. You didn't," Sam remarked. He sat up a little straighter, and a wave of nausea overtook him. He clutched his stomach and steadied himself with his shackled hand. Jack watched him, saying nothing, with a sympathetic expression on his face.

"Just let it pass," Jack said as Sam pressed the back of his hand against his mouth in an effort to control the heaving that his body was begging for. "Relax, if you can. You're gonna be fine. It's vortex sickness; you jumped unshielded, and your body doesn't know what's going on. You'll be okay. Breathe."

Sam swallowed hard, then took in deep, gasping breaths to calm his stomach. When the waves of illness subsided, he looked up at Jack. "Vortex?" he managed.

"The time vortex," Jack replied. "They used a vortex manipulator to bring you here. Bastardized TARDIS tech, because they couldn't get mine, so it's not properly shielded. If it's any consolation, the guys who brought you here have been in the infirmary since you got here."

Sam shrugged. "Yeah, I guess." Jack's words hit him, and he looked up a little too sharply, sending a wave of pain through his skull. He did his best to ignore it and said, "TARDIS tech? What do you mean, TARDIS tech?"

Jack frowned. "I mean tech from the TARDIS," he said. "I know you know about the TARDIS, Sam."

"Yeah," Sam said, "but you do, too?"

Jack's expression shifted into one of disbelief, and then amusement. "All this time, you never put it together?" he asked. "Our 'friend in common' that I told you and Dean about? The one who sent me to West Virginia? It was the Doctor, Sam. The Doctor sent me to protect you."

In retrospect, sure, it was obvious. But fourteen years separated the events, so he felt pretty justified in not having figured it out, and he just asked, "Is the Doctor here? Where is he? Is he okay?"

There was silence while Jack hesitated, and Sam began to be able to hear the thump thump thump of his racing heart once more. Finally, Jack said, "He's here, Sam. He's alive."

Somehow, it wasn't as comforting as Sam was expecting it to be, hearing those words. He inhaled raggedly, and said, "Then why hasn't he stopped this yet?"

Jack lowered his eyes, and Sam's heart dropped. "He's a prisoner," Jack said dully, "like us."

Sam set his jaw against the flood of despair that threatened to overtake him, closing his eyes. He barely heard as Jack whispered, "I'm sorry, Sam," and really, he didn't care if Jack was sorry. That was it. If Saxon had managed to take the Doctor, there really was no hope.

"Does he have a plan?" Sam asked, his voice acid, already knowing the answer. He looked up with bitter eyes at Jack.

Who, impossibly, nodded. "Absolutely," he laughed. "Doesn't he always? It's Martha."

Sam stared at Jack, incredulous. "Martha Jones?" he exclaimed, and Jack nodded again. "Martha Jones, who escaped from London and is walking the world to build a gun that can kill Saxon? All of that is true?"

"Every word," Jack said. "She's gonna take this world back. She's gonna shoot the Master right through the hearts, and he won't be able to do a thing about it."

Cold.

Sam felt suddenly very cold, and he knew it wasn't shock, because if he was going to go into shock it would have already happened. But despite the sheen of sweat on his skin, despite the way Jack's hair hung limp and damp on his face, Sam felt so cold.

"Hearts," he echoed in a rough whisper.

Jack met his eyes, surprised. "You didn't know," he said, and when Sam didn't reply, he sighed, looking up at the ceiling. "I'm sorry. I would have broken it to you easier, if I'd known."

"The Doctor said he was the last of his kind," Sam said. "That everyone else had died in the Time War."

"He thought they had," Jack said. "He was as surprised as anyone. The Master was hidden, locked away where the Doctor couldn't find him. But he got a hold of the TARDIS."

"You can't kill a Time Lord," Sam said dully. "He'll just regenerate."

Jack said nothing.

"So Saxon got you, too," Sam continued, and Jack shrugged. "You and me and the Doctor. What about Rose?"

Jack flinched, and Sam frowned. "Where's Rose?" he asked again. "Jack?"

"Rose...she's alive, Sam, don't worry," Jack said quickly. "She's just...lost. To the Doctor. She's in another dimension, where he can't reach her. But she's safe. And really, now, it's a better place to be than this, so she got lucky, in a way."

Sam was silent, taking it in. Rose was gone, lost in another world, forever. He remembered the look on her face, those months ago in the woods, when the Doctor showed up to find her. That expression of utter trust and faith, and the way the Doctor had looked back at her, like there was no one more important in the world, like all he needed was her there to be with him and believe in him. How those looks were what kept him from really believing that the Doctor was malevolent.

Gone. It must have broken the Doctor.

"He was traveling with Martha." Jack's quiet voice interrupted Sam's thoughts. "For a little while, now. It's something you get used to, with the Doctor."

"New Companions?" Sam asked.

"Things happening out of order," Jack corrected. "You don't know Martha, right?" Sam shook his head. "Well, she knows you. She told me stories about the adventures you went on together."

Something that felt alarmingly like hope rose in Sam, and he said, "If she knows me...if we traveled together...then in the future, we meet, right? So we win this? The Doctor wins this. Right?"

But the crestfallen look on Jack's face was enough to tell Sam that no, that was not right. He exhaled slowly as Jack said, "That would be right. Usually. I mean, time can always be re-written, except for fixed points, but yeah, usually if a time traveler knows you but you don't know them you meet them later on in your timeline. But when the Master took the TARDIS, he turned it into a paradox machine. Time is unstable. This is a whole new timeline, and anything can happen. What happened before, for the Doctor and Martha...it doesn't mean anything here. Not necessarily."

Sam put his head in his hands, sitting cross-legged on the floor, while Jack watched him.
"So we have a psycho Time Lord trying to destroy the planet," Sam said quietly, and Jack didn't reply. "Sounds a lot like what we were worried about when we met the Doctor. Only way we got out of that one was...it was the Doctor, so we were wrong about what it was he wanted. But I read the lore on him. The things they say about him, about Gallifrey, the things he said he did in the War...we're damn lucky he's on our side. But a bad one..." Sam trailed off, unable to find words for just how screwed they were.

"He's not the Doctor," Jack said, and Sam looked up at him. "The Master's not the Doctor, Sam. Even the Time Lords told stories about the Doctor. Just because the Master's from Gallifrey doesn't mean he's the same thing."

"I hope you're not trying to tell me that we don't need to worry," Sam said dryly.

Jack laughed. "No, I'm not saying that," he said. "I'm just saying that the Doctor is still on our side."

"And a prisoner," Sam reminded him.

"And on our side," Jack echoed. He leaned his head back, hands wrapped around the chains that bound him to the pillars, looking almost jovial as he let his weight fall back and said, "While there's life, there's hope, Sammy!" He looked down and grinned. "Sam. Sorry. Guess it's really not Sammy anymore. Dean still call you that?"

Sam froze, and he guessed that he let more emotion than he had intended into his face, because Jack stood upright and stilled. "Sam—"

"Dean's dead," Sam replied, his voice dull and lifeless. "He's been dead since May."

There was a long moment where nothing was said. Sam covered his eyes with his hand, gritting his teeth to keep back the grief. But compounded with the aching in his body, it was a difficult fight.

Jack was speaking again and Sam heard, "I don't under—" and then a pause. "Your brother was a good—"

"I don't," Sam began, swallowing hard and screwing up his face into a scowl. Jack fell silent. "You don't," Sam tried again.

"Sam," Jack said, but Sam shook his head.

"You don't—you don't need to say that," Sam finally said. "You don't need to say anything. It—happened. It's been four months. At least I've had the end of the world to keep me occupied."

"Yeah," Jack said softly. "We can always count on that."

"You know," Sam said, and even as the words came out of his mouth he didn't know why he was saying it, "you said something, that time. At the church, when you saved me from...whatever it was that took me."

He paused a moment, to see if Jack would fill in that bit of information he'd never been able to figure out, but the Undying Man was silent. So Sam continued. "Before you...fixed me. You told me something. You said I couldn't hurt you."

"And you didn't," Jack interjected, his voice too gentle.

"You're the only person," Sam said, then cleared his throat and tried again: "You're the only person who can say that. All these years, people have fallen around me like flies. Everybody I care about. You're the only person I can't hurt and I just...I want you to know that those words...they stayed with me. For fourteen years."

He felt that he had to say that, but he expected an unwelcome reaction from Jack. Pity. Sympathy. Uncomfortable fidgeting. But laughter was one he didn't expect.

It wasn't fully jovial—there was an undertone of dry bitterness to it—but he laughed, and said, "God, you really are related to the Doctor, aren't you?"

Sam was stunned. "What?"

"He told me," Jack said. "About the blood. About what happened earlier this year. And you sounded just like him right there. You know, all of that I hurt everybody I care about is just him to a T. It doesn't help him, and it won't help you, so you might as well ditch it now."

"You died for me back at Hanging Rock," Sam said, his teeth gritted. "My mom died because of my blood. My dad died because of this stupid hunt for the thing that did it to me. My brother died and is being tortured in Hell to bring me back to life. My girlfriend died because I tried to escape from all this. The Doctor was tortured in Hell for trying to help me."

"And is being really sorry about it going to make those things any less true?" Jack asked, and Sam quieted. "Bad things happen when you have an important life, Sam. And nobody wants an important life. It just happens. So buckle down, get Zen, and get used to it, because it's gonna get worse before it gets better. You just get accustomed to it. You surround yourself with people who've made the same choice as you: to do something with your life, no matter how hard or how miserable it is."

"Jessica didn't choose this," Sam snapped.

Jack's expression softened, and his voice was milder as he said, "No, I know. And I'm sorry. But think of the people you've saved. Think of how many people are walking around today because of you and your brother. You don't hurt everyone you touch, Sam. You just remember those people, because you're a good man." Jack lowered his eyes, and Sam had to strain to hear him as he said, "Don't destroy yourself over it, Sam. That's what he does."

Sam had nothing to say to that, and instead focused on breathing in and out, in and out, calming a second wave of nausea that was lapping at him. Nausea from the vortex sickness, he knew, but also from fact that he'd spoken about his brother. The only way for him to keep a lid on things was to be silent about it.

A month since he'd said Dean's name.

"What about you?" he asked, to distract himself. "Are you all right?"

"Oh, sure," Jack said airily. "Never better. The Master's been having fun figuring out exactly what I can survive, which, so far, is everything."

"Why do you call him that?" Sam asked. "Why don't you just call him Saxon? Calling him that...it sounds like giving up."

"Saxon's not his name," Jack replied. "Harold Saxon doesn't exist. Saxon's the name that he fooled the whole world with. He's the Master, just like the Doctor is the Doctor. It's the name he chose but it's the name he's always had. Doesn't mean I serve him. I'm just calling a spade a spade."

Sam opened his mouth to reply, but froze when he heard the sound of heavy doors opening. He looked up at Jack, who was also still, staring ahead of himself.

"Don't let him lie to you," Jack whispered. "The Doctor's going to figure this out. He always does. He'll tell you whatever he thinks it'll take for you to join him but don't listen to him. Believe in the Doctor, and believe in Martha."

Sam nodded frantically as thump thump thump his heart raced with fear. The sound of footfalls echoed through the room, and finally, a man came into view.

He was small, blond, but with an air of authority and malice that surrounded him like a miasma. He stopped a few yards in front of Jack, but his eyes fell on Sam.

"Samuel Winchester," he said, and walked up to him, crouching by him. He tucked a lock of Sam's sweat-slick hair behind his ear, and smiled a too-wide smile. "The boy with the Time Lord blood."

"Get away from me," Sam spat, trying to control the trembling that had started in his limbs. Saxon ignored him, taking Sam's left hand gently into his own and holding up a small key with his right hand. Sam stared at it as Saxon lowered it into the lock and unshackled him.

"Welcome home, my dear boy," Harold Saxon said. "Welcome to the beginning of your new empire."