A/N – this was originally a 500 word section to end Chap 6, but I thought it deserved a little expansion, so I converted it into its own segment. That makes it a little shorter than some of the others, but hopefully that won't annoy anyone. There are two sections to this chapter, basically from Derrick's view and then the same scene from Sam's perspective. I don't generally repeat the same time frame, but for just this once I decided to indulge in it.

Chapter 7

Abigail fortunately left a pair of boats in the water year around, a nice cruiser and smaller bass boat, both fueled and ready to go. Derrick supposed they weren't necessarily for the staff to take whenever they pleased, but then again neither was the kid bundled at his feet. He'd be back before they could miss him, with a nice wad of cash for his trouble. Amazing what a few snapshots could bring you.

He cut the motor and drifted into the dock slip thirty minutes later, carefully scouring the area on the shore. Just one car there, as he expected. There was no cover anywhere near here, which was precisely why he'd chosen it for this morning's little gathering. He checked the floorboard of the boat again. The unmoving child might have been sleeping behind the blindfold that hid golden hazel eyes, but an uneven breathing pattern betrayed the act... Didn't matter. There was enough duct tape around those thin wrists and ankles that this one wouldn't be biting anyone else. He had slapped a strip across that little mouth, too. Turns out the kid could yell loud enough to wake the dead.

Derrick stepped onto the dock, gun drawn as he approached the waiting grey sedan. The driver got out, leaving the door open as he'd been instructed and walked to the rear, opening the trunk before pacing off the requested forty feet from the car. Derrick nodded at him, and then circled the car to satisfy himself that no one else was there, before regarding the other man more closely. He walked across to him, rapidly patting the older man down for weapons before backing off a number of feet. Medium height and slim with a clean shaven angular face, he looked misleadingly respectable. The stranger returned to the bag he'd left behind him.

"Set the money down and back up." Derrick repeated the instructions they'd discussed over the phone.

His buyer did as requested, watching as Derrick opened the clear plastic bag and perused the contents. A smile crossed his bearded features as he thumbed through the crisp bills, the rustling sound and smell of the ink igniting an excitement he squashed. Money always had that effect on him, but the time for celebrating was later. Besides, how much celebrating could he really do without keeping the kid? Oh well, least the jerk that brought the money would be happy. He returned to the boat empty handed, lifting Sam into his arms and re-approaching the cash. He settled the child on the ground about fifteen feet away from the sack.

"We agreed?" Derrick once again addressed the other man.

The sedan's driver walked to the boy, glancing only briefly at Derrick's once again well aimed gun. "Possibly. You examined your prize; I'd like the same opportunity."

He knelt, putting his fingers against Sam's neck, feeling the steady pulse there. The blindfold and tape gag marred an inspection of the young face, but he had no doubt it matched the photos he'd been shown earlier. He ran a quick hand over denim clad legs and bare torso without finding any breaks, then rolled the boy onto his stomach. The bound hands appeared a little ragged, the fingernails torn and possibly containing a few bits of Weaver's hide. He traced a finger down the knobs of the exposed spine, hurriedly assuring himself that no serious injury lurked there before pulling his hand back at the child's shudder. He lifted the small form from the dirt, balancing the body over his shoulder as he nodded. "Seems healthy enough. We're agreed."

Derrick grabbed his cash, stepping backward to the boat to keep a bead on the other pair as long as possible. Seeing the thin man roll the boy into his trunk and slam the lid, he hopped in and cast off back across the lake.

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Sam had twisted and fought as long as he could, remembering Dean's words. Scratch, claw, bite; anything was fair game here. Sadly, Derrick was just so much bigger than he was that in the end it hadn't taken long for him to end up with his hands taped behind him, ankles tightly wrapped together. The blindfold didn't matter that much to him; he was pretty sure he didn't want to see whatever was going to happen next. Abigail had said soon to be dead. Wonder how soon? Dean… Dean couldn't get up, couldn't help me. He's hurt bad if he didn't help me… needs Dad. I was supposed to get to Dad. Dean has to be ok… he has to….I don't wanna die…

He felt the boat ride, the gentle rolling kicking up to a pace that left him seasick, fear egging the nausea on. He kept expecting Derrick to pitch him out into the water, kept pulling in deep fearful breaths that even his seven year old mind knew would buy a few seconds at best once he sank. When the engine finally stilled and he felt the hated hands pick him up, he knew that it was about to happen. He could already imagine the water closing over him and stealing his life away. Oh no. No! Please no. Help! I need help! Dean?!

He knew Derrick felt his breathing quicken, felt the sweat he couldn't help trickle down his back. Dean said not to be embarrassed if I was scared. Wonder how he feels about flat out petrified? Come on Sam, it'll be over soon. I'm sorry Dean. Sorry Dad. I tried. I'm sorry...

"Panicking boy?" Derrick's rasped query didn't surprise Sam as much as the feel of being carried over solid ground. "I'm not going to kill you if that's what your brother told you. Heck of thing to say, don't you think? Although trust me, this'll be worse." Derrick's stifled laugh stole the last of the courage Sam was clinging to.

He heard Derrick's footsteps retreat as he lay on the ground, then another, lighter step approached and unfamiliar hands roamed over him, rolling him over to prod his spine. No! Don't touch me. I want Dean….

The strange hands didn't hurt him, but Sam was too afraid to notice that as he was picked up again. The surface he landed on this time was artificial, rough carpet rubbing against his skin. He heard the unmistakable closing of a car trunk, the start of an engine as his current prison moved. Only a few minutes later the car stopped, pulled off the road to the sound of crunching gravel. Then the newer set of hands was grabbing at him once more. His back barely grazed the lip of the trunk as he was lifted, then once more settled on the ground outside the car, leaning against the body of a third man. No! Let me go! Let me go! No! Help me… Let me go… letmego..letmego..letmego…letmegoletmegoletmegoletmegoooo…..

Sam's harsh panting was far too incoherent to feel the chest he leaned on tremble. Two pairs of hands plucked at him now and he knew it was hopeless. He wasn't going to get loose and do what Dean had asked, wasn't going to find their Dad. His chance was over. The desperation for freedom collapsed into a litany of I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm s-ssorry so loud in his head that he couldn't hear the hitched sob as a rough, callused paw fumbled to undo the blindfold. Finally the man's choked whispers seeped into his terrified mind as the cloth and tape finally fell away.

"I gotcha Sammy, I gotcha. Shhh, you're ok. I gotcha. Shhhh. I gotcha. Shhhh....." The words kept time with the rocking motion of the strong arms surrounding him, familiarity slowly sinking in. "I gotcha. Shhh, Sammy, you're ok, I gotcha……."

Sam blinked into the sunlight, stunned at the tearful face above him. "Dad???"

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Well, there it is for better or worse, lol. Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed, the input for the last chapter was really quite helpful. Please let me know what you think and thanks again.

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