Fifteen: Between The Lines
tries to ignore the way his fingers shake slightly over
the keypad on his cell. He can feel the soft leather
of the Impala’s interior molding itself to his
body as he sits behind the wheel, head spinning from
what he’s learnt about the Keepers of the Books.
He can’t quite bring himself to believe what they’ve
told him and, when their tale was done, he couldn’t
get out of there quick enough.
Oh sure, they were kind to him, offered him some modicum
of hope for Sam, offered him a place to stay, offered
to help, but at the end of the day Winchesters do things
for themselves. Their inner sanctum is a fiercely protected
refuge breached only by the select few.
One of whom is currently at the end of the cell phone
Dean is hesitating over. With a finality he doesn’t
really feel, Dean hits the send button and waits.
It takes only a few seconds for Bobby to pick up but
to Dean it feels like hours. The relief that floods
him when he hears the older hunter’s voice takes
him by surprise.
“Dean? You there?” Bobby gruff tones float
down the line and Dean realizes he’s drifting,
eyes watching the townsfolk going about their daily
“What do you know about Elisa and Simon Turner?”
he asks, all business again.
Bobby sounds puzzled by the question. “Book people,”
he answers bluntly. “Good people,” he clarifies.
Dean scrubs a hand over his face and draws a deep breath.
“Sam’s missing,” he tells his friend.
“I don’t know where he is but these people,”
he pauses, throwing a completely undeserved glare at
the nearest man walking his dog. “This town, they
all know something but no one will tell me what I need
to know. Not even the Turners,” and before he
knows it, he’s telling Bobby everything.
There’s a long silence at the other end and then
Dean hears Bobby shuffling around his house. “Where
are you, boy?” he demands.
Dean’s taken aback by the question and honestly?
He’s been so worried about Sam, he’s forgotten
where they are. He glances around till he spots a street
“Hastings, Minnesota,” he tells Bobby.
Bobby snorts and Dean’s a little put out by his
reaction. “Not where are you,” and Dean
can feel him shaking his head. “Where
are you? Are you back at the motel?”
“Uh, no. I’m just outside of town,”
Dean confesses. He couldn’t put enough space between
him and the Turners once he’d gotten out of their
store and he can’t explain his need for distance.
“Okay,” Bobby drawls. “Where?”
and it’s clear to Dean that the older man is now
humoring him because he’s not in a fit state to
take anything harsher.
“Spiral Park?” he offers, hesitantly, watching
as a couple of joggers pass the Impala on their way
to the open space ahead of him.
There’s another silence from Bobby as he paces
around his house, footsteps falling on wooden floors
and Dean’s surprised he can tell exactly where
the older hunter is. There’s a little more rustling
of paper and then he hears a bemused “huh”
“Okay,” Bobby starts. “You need to
find Sam. And fast.”
Dean feels his heart plummet to the pit of his stomach.
“Bobby?” he asks, tentatively. “What’s
“You say they think Sam’s the Master, right?”
“Yeah, but how can he be, Bobby? We’re not
descended from warlocks. We’d know. I
mean, yeah, okay Sammy’s got some kind of freaky
issues going on, but warlocks?” Dean’s
not sure who he’s trying to convince the most
here and he’s pretty sure it sounds like he’s
a little freaked out himself now.
Bobby’s always been the voice of reason for the
Winchester boys though and now’s no different.
“Dean,” he snaps, gruffly. “Calm down.
Your brother’s no warlock. He may be … other
… things but not a warlock. But they think he
is which means you have to get him away from them and
fast. Before they discover he’s not who they think
“What’ll they do when they find out, Bobby?”
There’s no kind way of putting this and Bobby
draws a deep breath before speaking. “They’ll
Dean’s world blurs slightly and he closes his
eyes against the encroaching grayness at the edge of
his vision. “Kill him?” he mutters stupidly.
But really, what else did he expect. Of course they
aren’t going to let Sammy just walk away. Not
once they find out who he really is? Not a snowball’s
hope in hell of walking away from that.
“Dean?” Bobby’s voice is gentle now,
but insistent and Dean realizes he’s been calling
his name for a few seconds now.
“I’m here,” he reassures his friend,
opening his eyes, squinting in the bright sunlight.
“What do I do, Bobby?”
“You find him. Fast.”
“How? I don’t know where he is, Bobby. They
drugged me or something. He was long gone by the time
I woke up.”
Bobby’s tone changes faster than a bolt of lightning
hitting the ground. “Drugged? Dammit boy, why
didn’t you tell me that earlier?”
“I’m okay. They just roofied me, or something.”
“It’s the ‘or something’ I’m
worried about,” Bobby worries.
“Honestly, Bobby,” Dean insists. “I’m
fine. A little headache, but it’s gone now.”
He pauses and does a mental run through of how he’s
feeling. He’s mildly surprised to find he’s
not actually lying about his health. Apart from the
gnawing anxiety in his gut that he can easily attribute
to Sam’s missing status, he really does feel okay.
“You need me to come out there?” Bobby queries,
already knowing the answer’s going to be “no”
but having to ask anyway.
“I’m good, Bobby.” Dean doesn’t
disappoint. “I just need to know who I can trust
round here. Those Turners, they’re just…”
he pauses, looking for the right word and failing.
“Yeah,” Bobby agrees. “But they’re
solid people. They’ll be there as and when you
need though. Take a little gettin’ used to though.”
There’s a silence as neither man knows what to
say next. Dean needs to be doing something, anything,
to find his brother and Bobby doesn’t know how
to help. He thinks the Turners are Dean’s best
bet but it sounds like Dean has some sort of personality
clash with one or other of them. Or both, he muses,
knowing the younger man as he does.
“How do I find him, Bobby?” and the loss
in Dean’s voice has Bobby’s heart breaking.
This is wrong, Sam thinks as he looks up at
the chandelier on the ceiling. The softness of the mattress
beneath him, the goose down pillow he’s resting
his head on, the gilt mirrors and portraits peppering
the walls of the room – they’re all wrong.
As prisons go, this one’s not bad.
But it’s still a prison. First thing Sam did was
check the door and windows. All locked, no surprises
there. The en suite bathroom’s the same. Locked
and probably alarmed.
So he does the most sensible thing he can think of –
he rests. Not because he’s been instructed to,
but because he’s going to need to have his wits
about him when Dean comes for him. He’ll need
to be alert. Whatever Joshua and his crew have planned
for him, he’s not looking forward to it and he’s
not fool enough to think it’s going to be a walk
in the park either.
He realizes he’s drifting off to sleep when the
sound of a key in the lock jerks him back to full attention.
He’s up off the bed before the lock shoots back
into its lodging and the door swings softly open.
Alicia is standing on the threshold, a silver tray in
her hand, balanced as expertly as a Michelin-trained
waitress. She glides to the table by the window and
sets her burden down. Then she turns to Sam with an
innocent smile that has no business being as sultry
as it is.
“Grandpa said you should eat something.”
Her voice oozes like warm honey and Sam has to shake
himself down before he’s drawn into her web. He
studies the contents of the tray with distrust and a
Joshua Bryant knows how to treat guests, he surmises.
It’s just a pity he’s not one of them. There’s
a crystal decanter, three quarters full with sparkling
water, and a matching crystal tumbler. There’s
a plate of pancakes, a silver jug of syrup, a rack of
toast and a dish of butter and various jellies and spreads.
The cutlery is sparkling but, Sam notes with grudging
admiration, blunt enough to allow a four-year-old free
reign in complete safety.
Sam takes in the fact there’s only one of everything
and takes some solace in the implication Alicia won’t
be joining him.
But it seems he’s wrong on that score too. The
girl simply stands to one side and watches him. He wonders
if she’s there to ensure he eats and, just out
of spite and in defiance of his complaining stomach,
he ignores the food and drink.
They stare at one another in silence for an eternity
until Alicia can’t take it anymore.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Sam,”
she tells him. “I would never do anything to you.”
Sam’s not reassured by her response. “So
why are you still here?” he demands, wishing she’d
just go away.
But she doesn’t acknowledge the hostility in the
hunter’s statement. She just gazes up at him in
a way Sam’s really not comfortable with, and settles
herself on the edge of the bed. She pats her hand on
the mattress beside her, silently beckoning Sam to come
Like that’s gonna happen, Sam muses as
he steps in the opposite direction. He doesn’t
miss the scowl that flits across her face and is then
gone like a snowflake in Hawaii.
“Oh, Sammy,” she pouts. “Don’t
be like that. I thought we’d gone through all
this in the barn.”
Sam smirks. Yes, he remembers the exchange in the barn
but apparently they have different interpretations of
the outcome. So he just tilts his head, raises an eyebrow
and waits for her to continue.
She doesn’t disappoint. “Grandpa said I
should look after you. Make sure you have everything
you need before…” She trails off with a
feminine shrug and Sam doesn’t like the implication.
“Before what?” he demands.
But she just smiles enigmatically and shakes her head.
“Oh, let’s not worry about that now, Sammy.
Let’s just enjoy our time together. Get to know
each other. After all, if we’re going to be together,
it makes sense,” and she pats the bed again.
“I don’t need to get to know you,”
he informs her, bluntly. “I’m not going
to be with you. Ever.” He wonders briefly if he’s
been too harsh when her façade cracks slightly.
“But Sammy,” she starts, tears forming in
“It’s Sam,” the hunter hisses, all
misgivings about his previous tone forgotten.
She looks up at him from beneath her hair and he watches
in frustration as a single tear rolls down her perfectly
“I’m sorry,” she chokes out. “I’m
sorry, Sam. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
And she bursts into tears, full on sobbing and crying
and Sam doesn’t know where to put himself.
He hesitates, stepping towards her. “Look,”
he ventures, thinking he could easily snap her in half
so what’s holding him back? “It’s
just, no one calls me that, okay? No one.” Except
He spots a box of tissues on the dresser and passes
her one. She accepts it gratefully, brushing his hand
with her fingers as she takes it.
It’s like electricity shooting up his arm and
Sam snatches his hand away with shock. Alicia doesn’t
seem to have noticed anything out of the ordinary and
as Sam shakes his hand, she dabs at her eyes and then
wrings her hands round the tissue.
“Who are you?” Sam asks, eyes narrowing
as the residual tingle plays up and down his arm.
“What d’you mean?” she asks. “You
know who I am, Sam.” She stands up and takes an
elegant step to him. She puts her unnaturally warm hand
on his chest. “In here, Sam,” she clarifies.
“You know it, in here.”
He steps away from her and this time she just watches
him curiously. “See,” he tells her. “That’s
the thing. I don’t know it. I don’t
know anything. You and your grandpa? You’ve got
the wrong person.”
He knows she doesn’t believe him when she just
smiles up at him and nods thoughtfully. “I know
you think that, Sammy…”
“Sam,” he corrects her, automatically.
“…but that’s why we’re going
to help you. You’re lost. That’s all. You’re
lost and alone and frightened,” she plows on,
ignoring his interjection. “You’ve been
lost and alone and frightened for a long time now. Longer
than even we thought. But it’s all going to be
okay now. We found you, Sammy. We’re going to
bring you home. Where you’re meant to be.”
She takes her hand away from his chest and there’s
that sense of loss again that Sam doesn’t understand.
She looks at her wristwatch, an expensive affair of
diamonds and silver, and frowns slightly, her forehead
creasing, and for a second Sam wonders if she’s
older than he first thought.
“I don’t understand,” she mutters
to herself. “They should be ready by now.”
“What for?” Sam doesn’t really want
to know the answer but he can’t help the question
falling past his lips.
“Why, for you, Sammy,” she tells him, reaching
out to take his hand in hers.
He pulls away from her outstretched hand and backs away
from her as far as he can, as far as the bathroom door.
He thinks again about snapping her in half but so far
he doesn’t think she’s supernatural and
he’s not reached the stage where he can just kill
because it’s the easiest way out of a situation.
Her face falls and he wonders if she’s about to
cry again when there’s a knock on the door and
she lets her hand drop to her side.
The door opens and there’s a woman standing on
the other side, older than Alicia but not as old as
Joshua. She looks at Alicia and then turns her gaze
on Sam, sizing him up, making him feel like a bug under
a microscope. Then she opens her arms to Alicia.
“They’re ready, my darling,” she tells
the younger woman. “It won’t be long now.
Soon, my love, soon you’ll fulfill your destiny.”
Bobby’s advice that Dean go back to the motel
and rest doesn’t sit well with the younger hunter,
but he sees the value in what his friend is saying.
Bobby said he’d ring, he’d do some research
but he also said Dean would be no good to his brother
if he was too exhausted to function properly. He didn’t
say anything but Dean reckons he’s worried about
the whole drug fiasco too.
So Dean’s waiting on a phone call in another crappy
motel on the road to nowhere, trying to rest when all
he really wants to be doing is finding Sam.
He stalks around the room until he feels dizzy. He lies
on the bed, trying to sleep, but he knows it’s
a pointless exercise. There aren’t even any Magic
Fingers to distract him. He flicks through a thousand
different cable channels, finds the pay per view, but
not even that can divert his attention from Sam.
Eventually he flips open Sam’s laptop, trying
not to dwell on the last time it was used. Sam hasn’t
closed it down properly though and the last set of web
pages are still open. Dean can’t help feeling
a fresh wave of despair as he absently looks at what
his little brother was browsing, obviously intending
to come back to.
With nothing else to do and no phone call coming through,
Dean decides to do his own bit of research. He enters
“Berengar” into the search engine and sits
back to peruse the results. There’s not much more
than the Turners have already told him and he’s
beginning to feel his head spinning.
He wonders vaguely about the drugs he was given last
night. His mouth, he realizes, is as dry as sandpaper
and he’s a little more thirsty than he’s
used to. Sighing, he pushes himself away from the table
and Sam’s laptop and makes his way to the sink.
He pours himself a glass of water which he downs in
one gulp and is just refilling the glass when his cell
comes to life, the sound shattering his solitude and
making him jump.
Bobby’s true to his word and Dean smiles when
he sees his friend’s name sitting merrily on the
screen. He flips his phone open and bypasses the normal
“What’ve you got?” he demands, knowing
in the back of his head Bobby will forgive his temporary
lack of conversational skills.
The older man grunts a reply that could be interpreted
in many ways. “I’ve got an address,”
he advises and Dean is on his feet scouting round for
his jacket almost before Bobby draws a second breath.
Bobby reels off an address that means nothing to Dean
but he doesn’t care. This is the middle of nowhere.
Bobby could be giving him the address to the local FBI
office and he wouldn’t know any different. He
spins around the room searching for the keys to his
“…you listenin’ to me?”
“What?” He’s distracted and honestly?
No, he wasn’t listening. But he is now because
Bobby’s huffing down the line.
“It’s like a fortress, Dean,” he’s
saying. “You can’t just go blasting in there.
You need a plan. And backup. I can be there by nightfall.”
“Sorry, Bobby,” Dean apologizes. “I
can’t wait that long. Sam can’t wait that
long.” He’s already out of the motel room,
keys in hand and weapons at his side.
“Dean,” Bobby’s getting insistent.
“At least call Elisa and Simon. Let them know
where you’re going. You need backup. Someone who’ll
watch out for you.”
“Sam’s my backup, Bobby. You know that.”
“Dean.” Bobby’s lost the fatherly
edge to his voice only to replace it with the steely
determination Dean knows not to cross swords with. He
tried it once when Dad was away and Sam had been winding
them both up something chronic. Never again.
He stops in his tracks and takes a deep breath. “I
know, Bobby,” he concedes. “But this is
Sam we’re talking about. He’s my responsibility.
I gotta find him.” His voices trails off into
silence which Bobby meets with a silence of his own.
“Just, be careful Dean,” he finally instructs.
“Don’t go rushing in without usin’
“I won’t,” Dean replies, yanking open
the door of the Impala. “I promise.”
Bobby wasn’t lying when he said Sam was being
held in a fortress, and Dean wonders if maybe he should
have waited for the older hunter to join him. But then
he looks at the six foot high walls and decides whatever’s
going on behind them needs to stop now.
He crouches in the shrub beside the long driveway leading
to wrought iron gates, already wondering how he’s
going to get inside without triggering the admittedly
impressive security system. He’s counted at least
three CCTV cameras and the infrared motion sensors he
just knows are going to litter his pathway between here
He ducks lower as a Cadillac Escalade cruises down to
the gate which swings open silently and gracefully.
Dean can’t see through the blacked out windows,
doesn’t know if he’s been spotted. But he’s
a damned good hunter and he can hide just as easily
as he can track his prey so he’s not overly worried.
Prey he muses, wondering when he started thinking
of Sam as his prey. He smiles wryly to himself and decides
it’s just another indication of their warped way
He’s startled out of his reverie by another car
purring down the driveway and he narrows his eyes. It’s
a sleek sports car, an import if the driver’s
position is anything to go by, and the top is down so
he gets a good look at the occupants.
The driver is about his age, he reckons, and looks relaxed
and confident. He’s driving with only one hand
on the wheel and, if Dean is any judge of character,
his other hand is resting on the thigh of his passenger.
Even through the direness of the situation, Dean can’t
help the grudging admiration he feels for the driver.
The body attached to the leg is, quite frankly, gorgeous
and exudes sex appeal on the breeze. She could be a
modern day Marilyn Monroe with her blonde hair and silk
As the car stops for the gates to open, Dean concentrates
hard on the conversation going between the pair.
“…can’t believe we’re finally
here,” the woman is saying, excitement peppering
her statement and a smile on her pretty, but vacant
“It was always a matter of time,” her companion
replies. “Joshua was always going to find Winchester,”
and he gives her a patronizing pat on that beautiful
Dean finds himself clenching his fists so tightly his
nails are digging into his palms and he has to take
several deeps breaths to clear the mist of fury that’s
descended over him. How dare anyone talk about his little
brother like that? And who the hell does this Joshua
Bryant think he is? Sammy’s not some prize to
be claimed by the first weirdo freak that fancies a
Once Dean’s got himself centered again, the sleek
black motor is slipping through the gates and Dean’s
just about got enough wits about him to watch the surveillance
camera to check out its tracking route. He notices it
doesn’t quite reach the corner of the gate and
if he’s really, really careful, he reckons he
can scale the gate at that point without being spotted.
Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
But just as he readies himself to make his first, and
only, attempt at gaining access to the property, he
hears yet another vehicle approaching. Ducking back
down under cover of the shrubbery, his curses turn to
hope as he studies the huge SUV. Part of him wonders
why all these cars are arriving now, but mostly he just
wants to get in.
The rear panel of the vehicle, he realizes, offers him
perfect cover past the CCTV and as the SUV slows for
the gate to open, he slips out, crouching low next to
the back of the car, and he can’t quite supress
the triumphant, if silent, whoop of joy as he slips
over the threshold and finds himself hiding in a completely
Ignoring what has become a steady stream of traffic,
Dean takes a moment to get his bearings. The house in
front of him looks impressive but, to his trained eye,
not impenetrable. He spots the guards, hears dogs barking
round the back somewhere and he knows he probably only
has minutes to get into the house before he’s
Squatting down, taking his time, just like Dad taught
him, Dean turns his attention back to the house itself.
He’s seen places like this before, on the TV,
in films, even in the odd history book he forced his
way through as a school kid. Now he wishes he’d
paid more attention to those classes but Miss Wilson
was just way too distracting. He could do with her here
now to point him in the right direction.
He decides there’s no way in through the front
so his best course of action is to get round the back.
He hopes the dogs are tethered somewhere but he doubts
it. Thing is, he’s faced creatures far scarier
than rottweilers before for much less and he’s
damned if he’s going to let a little canine obstruction
keep him from Sam.
All things considered, Dean gets further than he’d
anticipated before he hears a weary sigh and the sound
of a gun hammer being cocked.
“Oh, Dean,” a woman murmurs. “If I’d
known you missed me this much, I never would have left
you in the alley.”
Sam’s come to the conclusion that the older woman
is somehow related to Alicia but he’s not quite
sure how. She’s definitely not her mother because
the girl called her Charlotte. She could be an aunt,
Sam muses, there’s certainly some facial similarities
and shared mannerisms. She seems to have some sort of
maternal, protective instincts towards her charge as
she pulls her into her arms and hugs her.
Alicia goes to her without question, without another
look at Sam, and her face lights up.
“They’re ready?” she asks eagerly,
and when Charlotte nods, she skips a little across the
room. Sam half expects her to start clapping her hands
in glee. But it doesn’t happen.
The older woman turns to Sam and her eyes harden. Sam
does his best not to shudder but it’s hard. Her
features, soft and welcoming when talking to Alicia,
are cold and flinty over the girl’s shoulder and
Sam finds it interesting, in a detached sort of way,
that she doesn’t want to incur Alicia’s
wrath. He files that little fact away for future reference.
“It’s time,” she tells him bluntly
and turns away from him, pulling Alicia from the room.
Sam’s left standing stupidly in his plush prison,
considering his options. They’ve left the door
wide open, clearly expecting him to follow them without
question. He could make a run for it now and he half-seriously
looks around for anything he can use as a weapon.
His eyes light on the tray Alicia left on the table
and the crystal glass in particular. It seems a shame
to break such a beautiful piece of glassware but a jagged
edge could give him the advantage he might need.
He steps towards it and is just reaching for it when
there’s a polite cough from the doorway.
“I do hope you’re not thinking of doing
anything silly, Sam,” Joshua comments, nonchalantly.
“That crystal cost me more than money.”
He steps over to the table and runs a finger down the
glass and for a moment Sam thinks he’s lost in
thought. He can’t help be fascinated by the old
man. “This was given to me for services rendered,”
he explains and turns to Sam with a smile. “Many
years ago, Sam. Once upon a time I was an agile man,
many strings to my bow. I’m sure you know what
that’s like.” He picks up the crystal and
turns it round, letting the light catch the many facets,
sending rainbows dancing on the furniture.
Then he puts it down forceably, making Sam jump.
“But enough reminiscing,” he states. “We
have work to do, Sam. Alicia is preparing herself and
we need to get you ready.”
Sam can’t help himself. “Preparing herself
for what?” he asks.
“For the ceremony, my boy. The ceremony.”
He holds his arm out, ushering an unwilling Sam through
the door and out into the hallway.
“The Recitation of course,” Joshua replies
with the patience commonly bestowed upon a small child.
“For when she and you become one.”
“For what?” Sam demands, stopping in his
tracks. This is the second time the subject of his future
with Alicia has been mentioned and he needs to get things
straight in his head.
“Don’t worry, Sam,” his host pacifies
him, gently nudging him back into motion. “It
will all become clear after your preparations.”
Joshua’s voice has changed slightly, more insistent
and the hand he has at the small of Sam’s back
increases the pressure, pushing Sam forward with a strength
that belies his appearance. He falls into silence refusing
to answer any more of the hunter’s questions and
Sam notes they’ve been joined discreetly by two
of what he’s come to regard as Joshua’s
bodyguards. So he falls into line and lets the older
man lead him down the hallway to the staircase.
Where Joshua stops abruptly and turns to Sam with an
apologetic look on his face. Sam’s surprised and
takes a step backwards, straight into one of their companions.
“I’m sorry about this, Sam,” Joshua
says. “I really am.”
Sam’s confusion lasts only a second before the
man behind him grabs him by both biceps and holds tight.
Sam struggles against the grip but it’s useless.
The guy might be smaller than him but he’s made
of pure muscle and brawn. His fingers dig in painfully
and Sam knows it’s going to bruise. He tries to
pull away, throwing his head back in an effort to headbutt
his captor. But the man knows his stuff and easily avoids
Sam’s about to kick back with his leg when he
hears the sound of a gun being primed. Shocked by this
turn of events, he looks to Joshua who is standing at
the top of the stairs with a silver handgun in his hand.
Sam freezes, uncertain of what the man intends.
“Please understand, Sam,” Joshua starts,
tilting his head to one side. “We’re doing
this to help you. I don’t want to hurt you,”
and he nods at the man holding Sam.
Sam feels his arms being pulled behind his back, followed
by the far too familiar sensation of cold metal restraints
being fastened round his wrists. He tugs instinctively
at them and Joshua gives him a sad look that’s
almost more frightening than the bonds holding him.
“I’m sorry,” Joshua offers, “but
there’s no other way. This isn’t going to
be easy, Sam, and we don’t want you to hurt yourself.
We’re protecting you, even if you can’t
see it that way yet.”
“Let me go!” Sam hisses, hiding the fear
behind his anger. “Whatever it is you want, I
don’t have it. Get it?”
“But you do,” Joshua insists, laying a comforting
hand on Sam’s arm. “And I’ll show
you. I’ll help you. You’ll wonder what all
this fuss was about. You just have to trust me, Sam.”
“I’ll kill you,” Sam threatens, the
leaden ball in his gut fuelling his anger. He doesn’t
understand, doesn’t want to understand. He just
wants to get out of here. He wants Dean to come and
rescue him. He wants Dad to come and rescue him. Hell,
he wants anyone to come and rescue him.
But it’s not happening.
Joshua shakes his head and turns away from Sam. He leads
the way down the staircase and Sam has no option but
to follow, the goon at his back making sure of his compliance.
The staircase takes them back to the main entrance hall
where there’s a maid looking nervously to Joshua.
She holds a tray with a note folded on it. She offers
it to her employer and backs away a couple of feet,
not looking at Joshua. Sam watches the interaction with
interest. She’s the first person he’s seen
who’s not best friends with the man and he wonders
what the back story is.
She glances up as Joshua hands the note back to her,
and catches Sam’s eye. He sees sympathy there
and that both worries and reassures him. He thinks it
means somewhere, somehow, he may have an ally here.
But then Joshua breaks the moment by casting a knowing
look in his direction before turning back to the maid.
“Tell them to do nothing,” he instructs.
“It might prove useful.”
Sam briefly wonders at his words as the maid nods and
gives the hunter one last rueful glance. Then he’s
being jostled along and down another staircase he hadn’t
noticed earlier. It reminds him of an old horror movie
– the staircase behind the door, the candelabras
on the walls, the cobwebs hanging from the old oak beams.
Except there are no beams and no cobwebs. The steps
down to the basement are spotlessly clean and the candles
lighting the way, whilst cliché in the extreme,
are suspiciously scented like cinnamon and nutmeg. If
Sam wasn’t so worried about what’s behind
door number three, he’d find this all a bit amusing.
Dean’s done with the cursing. It didn’t
help when the redhead pulled a gun on him and it didn’t
help when she slapped him round the face for not remembering
her. But really? Not his fault. She’s the one
that roofied him, after all. How the hell does she expect
him to remember anything after that? Although looking
at her, he suspects it was one of his wilder encounters.
She’s still mildly pissed with him but he doesn’t
really care. She got him into the house, although he
wishes it was under other circumstances, and that means
he’s one step closer to Sammy.
He’s not too happy with his current position,
it has to be said. The cuffs around his wrists are a
touch too tight and they really didn’t need to
hang him up like a piece of meat. He told them as much
although, on reflection, he could have been a little
Hanging here in the cellar with one or two more bruises
than before, he wonders how much help he’s going
to be to Sammy when he finds him but he’s still
thinking positively here. He’s still thinking
“when” and not “if.”
He’s lost track of time. He could’ve been
here for one hour, or three hours. It doesn’t
matter though because time becomes insignificant when
he hears footsteps on the stairs. He listens hard and
counts, three, maybe four, separate rhythms. And his
heart lifts when he recognizes one of them.
Sam is out there, almost within reach, and Dean can’t
get to him. And it’s killing him.
The door opens and Dean thinks that really there should
be creaks and groans accompanying the swing of the hinges.
He half-expects bats to start swooping down from the
ceiling and finds himself checking out the corners of
The chink of light from behind the door grows wider
and an old man strides purposefully through. Dean knows
he doesn’t like him before he even gets his second
foot over the threshold. Their eyes meet and the hunter
feels a chill snake down his spine. This, he realizes,
is the man he’s going to kill before he and Sam
get the hell out of Dodge.
But then it’s irrelevant as Sam stumbles into
the room, hands clearly bound behind his back somehow.
Dean’s attention is all on his brother, eyes sweeping
up and down, checking for injuries and injustices that
have been done to him.
He’s relieved to see that other than the immediate
restraints, Sam’s unharmed, although when he studies
his brother’s face, he can see the latent fear
in his eyes, vying for position with an obvious hatred
of the older man.
Sam’s not spotted him yet and he supposes that’s
because he’s been put in the darkest corner they
could find. That and Sam’s not expecting to see
him there. Time to remedy that.
“Hey Sammy. It’s good to see you.”
Sam’s head shoots up at the sound of Dean’s
voice and he peers into the gloom. His heart skips a
beat when he sees his older brother dangling like a
side of beef in a butcher’s shop but it doesn’t
overwhelm the sense of relief flooding through him.
“Great rescue plan, Dean,” he jokes, breaking
away from the hands holding him and trying to get to
“Yeah,” Dean agrees, wryly. “Not quite
what I had in mind. But, hey. I’m here. You’re
here. What d’you say we kick some ass and get
out of here?”
Sam smiles at the blind optimism in his brother’s
statement and shakes his head. “How do you propose
to that?” he asks and he can almost see Joshua
“Can’t let the enemy know all our plans,
Sam,” Dean retorts. “Gotta keep the upper
“And how do you come to the conclusion that’s
what you have?” Joshua queries, stepping forward
into Dean’s personal space. “You have no
advantage here at all. You are nothing here.”
Dean tilts his head to one side. “Then you just
let me down and I’ll walk away. No questions.”
He bestows a Winchester smile on the old man. It doesn’t
go down too well but he wasn’t really expecting
Joshua leans forward until Dean can count the wrinkles
round his eyes. “Do you really think I’m
that stupid?” he hisses.
“No,” Dean hisses back, “but I’m
“Dean,” Sam interjects. He can’t hear
the exchange but he knows Dean better than anyone and
he knows at any minute now his brother is going to push
it just that little bit too far. And then he won’t
be in a position to help him at all. Not that he’s
much use to Sam at the moment.
Dean glares one last time at Joshua and then blatantly
ignores him, looking over his shoulder to Sam. “You
okay?” he asks, trusting Sam to answer honestly.
“I’m fine,” Sam manages to reply before
he feels hands round his arms again and he’s pulled
away from Dean.
“Hey!” Dean yells but it appears Joshua’s
had enough of his interruptions. A nod from the man
and Dean’s got a silk scarf in his mouth and all
further verbal communication is reduced to muffled grunts.
Dean twists and throws his head from side to side but
all that gets him is a firm, bruising grip round his
jaw and a lack of purchase on the ground. Joshua’s
lacky seems to enjoy his struggles and once he’s
got the gag firmly tied, he steps back from Dean and
kicks his feet out from under him.
As the sudden pull on his arms causes both Dean and
Sam to cry out in protest and, in Dean’s case,
pain, Joshua steps away towards the maid he had spoken
with earlier. She holds out a leather gourd and bows
her head as he takes it from her.
“Don’t be afraid, child,” he murmurs
to her, reaching out with his free hand to place it
on her head, as though bestowing a blessing upon her.
“You’ve done everything asked of you. You
will be rewarded.”
Sam thinks she’s shaking slightly as she nods
and backs respectfully away from her employer. But he
doesn’t have time to consider the implications
of that as he’s suddenly shoved from behind and
he stumbles into the limelight. Heavy hands on his shoulders
force him to his knees and Joshua’s right in front
of him. He can hear Dean’s stifled cries of protest
increasing in volume and, he suspects, creativity.
Joshua has a hand on his head now and his thoughts are
becoming muddled, fuzzy round the edges. He can hear
a humming somewhere in the background and his vision
tunnels until all he can see is Joshua, all he can hear
is Joshua and all he knows is Joshua is not a threat.
Dean watches in horror as Sam succumbs to whatever Joshua
is doing to him. He’s struggling to recognize
the compliant man on his knees and when Sam lifts his
head to receive the words Joshua is chanting, Dean renews
his struggles against his restraints, even as he knows
the futility of his actions.
Through the gag, he’s screaming death threats
to Joshua and his cronies. But in his head he’s
screaming in denial as the man before his brother lifts
the gourd to Sam’s lips and lets a bright, sparkling
liquid flow into his mouth.
the episode here