Chapter 4

Ryn took in a shuddering breath, her lungs burning with each painful inhalation. Her muscles trembled and her joints ached, but she wasn't able to move even an inch in an attempt to find relief in another position. A metal collar around her neck was bolted to the floor, not allowing her to even lift her head. Manacles on her wrists stretched her arms straight out together so she was laying on her side, also bolted to the floor. Same with her ankles, pulled taut and straight down so that both her chest and back were completely vulnerable. There was iron in the chains as well, which burned her skin. Her captors had stripped her down to just jeans and a camisole, leaving her flesh exposed to the shackles.

And if that hadn't been bad enough, her captors kept injecting liquid iron and mercury into her veins. The metal wouldn't kill her, but it burned and ignited her blood into molten lava that festered as it tried to purify itself, leaving her too weak and in pain to try fighting her way to freedom.

She had no idea where Sam and Dean were. She hadn't seen them since they'd been dragged out of the bunker, though she'd heard their grunts of protest when they'd been hauled out of the transport vehicles. After that, she had been brought to this cell, a small room with a sliding glass door that looked out into an empty corridor. There were no guards stationed outside, but she was practically on display for anyone who happened to walk by.

Ryn had tried to take count of how many people were involved in this organization, but every time someone came to give her a fresh dose, the agony whited out her brain, and all the personnel in guard uniforms or lab coats started to blur together.

The door slid open with a puff of air, and a man in a casual suit walked in. Ryn hadn't seen him before, but he didn't look like an underling. For a tense minute, she simply stared up at him, and he gazed back, equally silent.

Ryn took a second to gather her breath so her voice would come out strong, though her forced position belied any actual strength. "Where are Sam and Dean?"

He regarded her almost curiously for another moment, and she had never felt more like a chained animal than she did lying at his feet.

He finally slipped his hands into his pockets. "Sam and Dean Winchester have been pronounced guilty for their crimes and sentenced to imprisonment."

Ryn gaped at him in astonishment. "What crimes?"

"Starting the Apocalypse, for one thing. Which is sadly only the first in a long line of reckless decisions that have endangered the world. They're obviously a menace and can't be allowed to continue."

Ryn sputtered at his audacity. "They saved the world several times over."

"Cleaning up messes they created isn't admirable," he countered. "And how many people have lost their lives because of them?"

"Ask how many they saved."

The man shook his head in apparent exasperation. "It doesn't matter. The decision's been made." He paused, brow furrowing slightly. "I must admit I'm surprised you're pleading their case instead of your own."

Ryn narrowed her eyes. "Would it make a difference?"

"No."

"Didn't think so."

He shifted as if to leave, but hesitated. "The Winchesters claim you're a 'good' monster. I'm curious, why the charade? Was it to gain access to the Men of Letters archive?"

Ryn's expression hardened. "What do you want?" she snapped. She wasn't going to defend herself to this mortal, not when she knew it wouldn't change anything. She knew his kind.

He didn't respond, just kept gazing down at her as though she were a mildly interesting insect. She loathed being in this position, being demeaned as something less than a sentient being. She was older than any of these mere humans combined, and yet they deemed her as nothing more than a thing to be enslaved to their whims.

She figured now that these were probably the ones who had imprisoned Elijah for years, tortured and experimented on him. She imagined the same treatment was in store for her.

Just when the man looked like he was finally going to say something, the door behind him opened, and the one who had banished Castiel and Amy from the bunker strode inside.

"Admiring the new pet, Davies?" the man said nonchalantly.

The first backed up a step. "I thought she might tell us her intent behind her infiltration of the Lebanon bunker."

The other man made a thoughtful hum in his throat as he pulled out a syringe with a metallic gray substance inside the vial. Ryn squeezed her eyes shut as she braced herself for more pain.

There was a displacement of air as he knelt down right in front of her, but there was no prick in her arm. He just…hovered. Ryn opened her eyes to find the dark-haired man leering down at her with possessive eagerness.

"I'm looking forward to what we can learn about the Alpha phoenix," he said, cocking his head as his eyes roved lasciviously up and down her body. "But first, I've got a mission retrieving the hybrid."

Ryn frowned. Hybrid?

Her eyes blew wide with panic, and she jerked against the shackles. "You stay the hell away from my daughter!"

The man spared her a smirk, and then jabbed the syringe into her forearm. Cold, followed by scorching fire coursed into her veins, and Ryn buried her face into the concrete floor in an effort to stifle a scream.

The man got to his feet. "Make sure a cell is ready," he said, voice sounding far away. "And one for the angel. I think he'd make a useful asset as well."

Hot tears streamed down Ryn's cheeks as she succumbed to the fiery abyss.

Dean moaned as awareness returned with the force of a drill splitting his skull. He wanted to beg them to stop, to please stop, yet before those traitorous words could pass his lips, he vaguely realized he wasn't sitting upright in a chair anymore. In fact, he was laying on a cold, hard surface.

Prying his eyelids open resulted in more stabbing pain through his head, and he quickly squeezed them shut and rolled onto his side.

"Dean?"

He let out an undignified noise as he tried to open his eyes again. "Sam?" he said hoarsely, throat raw.

"Over here."

He didn't sound very close, and Dean's instincts spurred him enough to push himself upright and look around. He had to duck his gaze away from the harsh lighting in the ceiling, but managed to get a glimpse of his surroundings. He was in a small, completely bare, white room. So, a cell, basically.

Shifting, he found that the door was a solid glass panel, and across the aisle was Sam in a similar room. Dean assumed they were locked.

Sam was slumped against the corner near the door, exhaustion prominent in his slouched posture. "You okay?" he asked weakly.

Dean groaned as he pulled one knee up to rest his arm on, bracing it as he pressed a palm to his aching head. "God, I feel like I got run over by a semi. Ten friggin' times."

He glanced down at himself, surprised to find his clothes intact and not a trace of blood. He remembered being skewered and ripped apart, just as though he was back on Alastair's rack… But he hadn't been carved to ribbons; it'd only felt like it because of the drugs, heightening his pain receptors or whatever. Son-of-a-bitch.

Dean lifted his head and looked at Sam, chest compressing at his listless bearing. Had those bastards touched his little brother? "You okay?"

The lines around Sam's mouth tightened, and he looked away. "I'm not hurt."

Yeah, that didn't answer his question.

"What'd they do to you?" Dean growled.

Sam's jaw ticked. "I- I don't know. It wasn't the same thing they gave you. I- there were hallucinations. I think." He rubbed his face and ducked his gaze toward the floor.

Dean's fury lit anew. He was going to kill these people for laying a hand on his brother. But first he needed to figure out how to get out of here.

He scanned the glass door for some kind of opening mechanism, but couldn't spot any. Then again, he was still having trouble focusing.

"Dean," Sam spoke up in a subdued voice. "They know about Amy."

He froze, chest hitching. No. No, no, no, he didn't… Dean jammed his fists against his eyes again. Dammit. How could he?

"Dean, no!" Sam's harried voice broke through the maelstrom of self-recrimination. "It wasn't you. It… I think it was me."

Dean lowered his hands and blinked to clear his vision as he looked toward his brother's devastated expression. Shit.

He took a deep breath and collected himself. "Okay," he breathed. "It's okay. It wasn't your fault."

"It's not okay," Sam snapped. "They're going to hunt her down, and…" His voice choked off and he looked away. "They're going to hunt her down," he repeated brokenly.

Dean shifted with a wince, scooting to the edge of the glass door. "Sammy, listen to me. That shit they gave us…it was worse than anything we've ever faced before. Worse because it stripped us of our minds. It's not your fault."

Sam squeezed his eyes closed. "I'm still the one who has to live with it."

Dean clenched his jaw. Only because he had passed out before they'd gotten to that point, but he'd spilled his guts about plenty of other stuff that left his insides twisted all around and wanting to throw up.

"I, uh, don't remember much," he said roughly. "Is this halftime, or did they…" Dean swallowed hard. "Get everything they wanted?"

He had no idea how much time had passed, and while he didn't want to believe that they'd already told the British Men of Letters everything they wanted to know, another part of him didn't want to go back to that chair with those drugs. He was still hurting, and every movement stung, but at least it didn't feel like he was being stabbed over and over.

Sam let out a derisive snort. "They're done. We've been sentenced to lifetime imprisonment and will be taken back to London."

Dean blinked at him dubiously. "Seriously? What the hell for?"

"Endangering the world too many times."

Dean scowled. Who gave them the right to be judge, jury, and executioner?

He shifted again. "Alright. That might be our best chance to escape."

Sam was quiet for a moment. "I don't think we can wait that long. We need to get out of here before they go after Amy and Cas." His throat bobbed. "Before they do to Ryn what they did to Elijah."

Dean's stomach cramped at that. He'd been too pissed at that phoenix for almost getting Cas killed, and then threatening Amy, that Dean hadn't had a single ounce of pity for how insane the guy had gone after presumably being tortured for years until his own phoenix powers turned against him.

Seeing the people responsible, though, seeing just how cruel and brutal they really were…Dean was beginning to realize that Elijah, no matter how deranged, wasn't the real monster. These British Men of Letters, though human, were the monsters. They'd turned Elijah into a ticking time bomb.

Sam was right; they needed to get out of here now.

Dean tried to pull himself to his feet, but sank back down when his legs seized up. His vision swam and he had to close his eyes to keep from puking. Okay, maybe he needed another minute.

Crap, how the hell were he and Sam supposed to make an escape, let alone find Ryn? At least these British bastards hadn't known too much about Cas and Amy when they'd first attacked, and had simply written them off as angels to be banished.

That had changed, though. And with Cas and Amy undoubtedly searching for them, how long would it be before they were caught too?

Amy folded the last of Sam's shirts and placed them in the dresser drawer. She'd done the laundry to keep busy, to be doing something. It was a feeble attempt at normalcy, as if her mom and uncles would walk through the door cheery, maybe a little battered, and declare they'd bested those British Men of Letters. And they'd likely want a clean change of clothes when they did.

Amy slammed the drawer shut a little hard, berating herself for the childish fantasy. But she had to cling to something, and if that was stupid household chores, then she would do so.

Her phone chimed, and she pulled it out of her back pocket, expecting Claire to be checking up on them. Her heart stuttered when she saw a text message from Dean instead. She hastily tapped the notification.

"Managed to escape, but it's not safe to talk. Phone could be tracked. Meet us at 15315 Horace Lane, Shaw County."

Amy spun sharply and bolted from Sam's room. "Dad!"

He came running down the hallway to meet her. "What is it? What's wrong?"

She held her phone up. "Uncle Dean sent me a text."

Castiel's brow furrowed as he read the message.

"How far is that?" Amy asked. "Should we take Uncle Dean the Impala or fly?" She gave a sharp head shake. "Never mind, of course we should fly." Then they could get them home faster. Amy tested her wing, wincing slightly as the muscle pulled. It was mostly healed, and she could probably fly with just a little soreness…but she wouldn't be able to carry anyone.

Her dad's mouth turned down, and he looked torn about something for a moment before finally drawing in a deep breath and reaching for her arm. "We'll go—but we need to be cautious."

Amy frowned at him. "Why?"

"Like Dean said, it's not safe. The British Men of Letters may be close on their trail."

Oh. Then they definitely needed to hurry.

She felt a puff of air as her dad's wings gave a mighty flap, and he flew them through the ether to land outside what appeared to be an old farmhouse. Fields surrounded the property on three sides, and woodland on the other. There was a barn further back against one of the pastures, and a windmill out among overgrown reeds. There was no sign of farm animals or equipment, as though the place was abandoned.

Castiel squinted as he studied the old house. "Stay close to me," he said quietly, and started to head around to the back.

Amy kept pace with him, twisting her head back and forth in search of her mom or uncles. Were they hiding? Then why couldn't she call out to them to let them know it was safe? But her dad was being quiet, so she did the same.

They circled around to the rear of the house where the back door was open, yet before Amy could move forward to check inside, a man dressed in black combat gear stepped out from behind the porch. Amy saw the flicker of fire as a lighter was tossed on the ground, and too late she felt the roar of flames whoosh up into a wide circle around her and Castiel. Her grace instinctively quailed away from the zing of holy fire, and she shot a horrified look back at the smug looking man.

Castiel's expression darkened. "You were at the bunker."

"Yes," he replied, his chipper British accent sounding incongruent with the coldness in his eyes. "And it seems banishing you two was premature." His gaze flicked to Amy, something glinting there that wasn't a reflection of the flames.

Castiel put himself in front of her like a shield.

The man smirked. "Oh, I do enjoy an angel."

He drew a handgun, aimed it at them, and pulled the trigger. The shot cracked the air, making Amy jump. Castiel staggered back against her, and then after a delayed second, started sinking to his knees.

"Dad?" she cried, grabbing his arm and going down with him. He grunted as he hit the dirt. She pushed around him to get a look, and the breath caught in her throat when she saw blue grace oozing through the bullet hole in his stomach. But…that shouldn't be possible.

She whipped her head up as the man raised his hand to make a gesture, and then four other humans were coming out of the house, all armed with rifles. They surrounded the circle of holy fire, weapons trained on her.

The man in charge gave her a leering grin. "Bag and tag it, gentlemen."