Wayward Sons Come Home - Part 1
FIC Masterpost
Art Masterpost
--
Long Day
Sam was running late. His Greek Civilization professor had gone fifteen minutes over and it had thrown off his entire afternoon schedule. He missed his usual cup of coffee, got caught in the late afternoon rush, and the video he'd requested at the school library wasn't returned until an hour after he wanted to start watching it. By the time he headed back to the apartment he shared with Jess, he was exhausted, hungry, and late.
He was so tired, he didn't notice the differences. Sam didn't notice the black vans parked on the street, he didn't notice the men with ear pieces loitering in the lobby of the building. And he sure didn't notice that the windows were closed and the air conditioning was on when he stomped into the apartment and collapsed on the couch.
"Hey Jess!" Sam called into the apartment. He didn't smell anything cooking, and it was her night to make dinner. "Jess?" He called again. Maybe she went out?
Jess came into the living, her face was red and her eyes were puffy. "Sam. . . look, you should hear this, okay? Just hear them out." She came into the living room and a black man in an expensive suit followed her in.
"Samuel Winchester?" He asked.
Sam got to his feet and crossed his arms over his chest. "Can I help you?"
"I'm Agent Victor Hendrickson with the FBI." He produced a badge. Sam took it from him and studied it. He'd seen his fair share of badges, and this one was authentic looking. It could have been a really good fake, it was official enough that Sam gave it back to the agent and sat down on the couch.
"What do you want?"
The Agent grinned at him and sat next to him on the couch. "Sam, you grew up in the Hunter's Retreat compound, right? You left four years ago?"
Sam nodded. "Yep, came to Stanford. It's actually been three years and eight months since I left."
"Fine, fine." Agent Hendrickson grinned again, showing off his white teeth. "Are you still in contact with any of your family? Or anyone else at the compound, for that matter?"
"Not really." Sam shrugged, "I haven't heard from anyone in the last two years."
"Ah." The Agent took a manila folder off of Sam's coffee table, it wasn't Jess' Chemistry notes after all. The Agent produced several photographs, a couple of satellite images, and two Polaroids of smiling men. "Two years ago, a new group movement into the Sioux Falls compound. They were a southern group originally based out of Grimsby run by these two brothers." Hendrickson pointed out two men at the certain of one of photos. They had their arms slung over each other's shoulders and stared out, smiling, yet still managing to look creepy and off putting.
"This was a splinter group, they called themselves the Warriors of Heaven." Hendrickson put two of the satellite images next to each other. "They built a wall around the compound and we believe they are stockpiling illegal weaponry and preventing people from leaving. All of the women have left and built a separate camp. It's our opinion that this new group, Wayward Sons, are preparing for a war."
Sam looked at the images. He could see the tiny cottage where he'd lived with his brother and father. It was still there but the little garden in the back was gone, replaced with some kind of animal pen. There were new buildings, different trees and paths. A lot had changed in four years.
"What do you want from me?" Sam asked. "I haven't been there in years. I don't know anything about this new group."
"We want you to go home." Agent Hendrickson stated as he leaned back on the couch.
"No!" Jess shouted. "You didn't say that before! Sam can't go back! It's crazy he got out the first time. Besides, they aren't going to just let him back in."
Sam shrugged. "I can call and ask around. But why? Why'd you wait two years if things have been going wrong since the Warriors?"
"Glad you asked." Hendrickson handed him a photocopy of something. . .a letter. It repeated the same short message in several different languages, Prisoner, Trapped, Send Help, Can't Get Out. "We have someone on the inside, if we can get them out, we can get enough evidence for a raid or even seize the compound's land."
"Do you know who sent this?" Sam looked at the handwriting and tried to remember what his brother's scrawl looked like.
"We were hoping you might know." Hendrickson took the letter back. "Will you give it a shot?"
"Can't hurt to try." Sam told him, but he didn't return the Agent's smile. He wasn't looking forward to this. It really could hurt to try. He might return and never be able to leave again.
--
Phone Call
"Okay, Sam. You'll talk into this mic, here." The technician tapped the mic on Sam's headset. "You'll hear the other end of the call through your headphones. Everything will be recorded and we'll be able to hear the conversation, but you and whoever else is on the line won't be able to hear us."
Sam nodded. "Yeah. I got it."
"Great stuff." He got a clap on the shoulder and the tech left him alone in the little booth in the back of the truck.
Sam punched in the number for the office phone. Apparently it was the only one still connected. All of the cell phones registered to the compound had been disconnected when the new group had arrived. The phone rang in his headphones and Sam tried to remember what he wanted to say to his brother.
"Yes?"
It wasn't a voice Sam recognized. All crisp and professional. "Um, hello. I- I'd like to talk to my brother."
"Who?"
"Dean Winchester." Sam crossed his fingers under the table. He could hear his breath coming faster, even though the headphones.
"And who is calling?"
"Sam Winchester. I'm his brother." Sam winced at the desperation in his tone, he didn't need to hear that Dean was okay. He wasn't worried. He kept thinking those lies over in his head as the other end of the line was silent.
"Hmm. One moment." Sam heard the click on the other side. There wasn't any hold music, but Agent Hendrickson gave him a thumbs up through the window.
"Sammy?"
"Dean." Sam grabbed the table and held it hard. His fingers were quivering. "Hey Dean."
"Is something wrong?" Dean sounded out of breath, as if he'd come running to get the phone. "Do you need something?"
"I want to come home." It was easier to lie than Sam had been expecting. When he heard Dean's voice again, it all came rushing back. Nearly two decades of running through the fields, playing on old rusted up cars, and being with his brother. He hadn't realised how much he missed his brother.
"Sammy." Dean's voice came through thick and Sam remembered the way Dean's eyes got shiny and heavy with tears that never spilled over. "Gimme a minute."
There was a another click and Sam was left listening to dead air again. It didn't last as long this time and the phone clicked again.
"You're coming home." Dean said and Sam could hear his smile this time. "Just come to the gate. Sammy, I'm so glad you're coming home. I think about you every day. Sam, you're not going to hell, you belong here. With me and Dad and the rest of the family. Things have changed here. I think you'll like it-"
Sam could hear another voice in the background, the crisp professional one that had answered the phone.
"I gotta go. Can't wait to see you!" The phone clicked again, this time for good.
The tech came in and unhooked the headset. Agent Hendrickson followed him in and sat across the table from Sam. "Are you sure you can handle this?"
Sam nodded. "Yeah, I'm ready to go home. I need to talk to my professors. Explain I'll be gone. And I need some of the stuff from my apartment."
Agent Hendrickson nodded in agreement. "The FBI has made arrangements for your grades to be taken from your current marks. We've got a bus ticket for you. Can you be ready to leave by 6?"
"Bus?"
"We don't know what kind of surveillance or outside operatives the leaders have. We're not taking any risks."
"Yeah, I can be ready." Sam got up and his legs shook a little. "Can someone give me a ride back to my apartment?"
Welcome Home
Sam hiked his backpack higher up and tried not to think about its contents. Sure it had some of his clothes and a cell phone, but in little tiny secret pockets there were bugs and secret transmitters. He didn't have to do anything, the seams of his clothes were wired and he just had to act as he normally would and walk around.
The bus ride had been long and uncomfortable. His legs had been jammed up and he hadn't had much to do for the trip. There was no point. Even when he'd left, the rules to bring things in and out of the compound had been strict. They didn't need outside books and foreign ideas corrupting their willing slaves. Sam couldn't believe he'd agreed to return.
He saw the fence long before he got to the gate. It had changed from a rundown grey picket to eight feet of concrete with barbed wire lining the top and video cameras placed every few hundred metres. Sam felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up, he was being watched. He walked along the dirt path, dust kicking up under his feet.
As he got closer to the main area of the compound, where there were buildings, not fields, on the other side of the fence, something seemed off. When Sam had left, the compound had bustled with life. Ellen Harvelle used to sing as she worked, cooking in the dining hall and the children screamed and laughed as they played outside. It was quiet now, not even the usual sounds of conversation or work made it over the fence.
The gate was an impressive feature. There were guard booths on either side and the chicken wire was covered with blackout cloth. Sam stopped in front of the first guard booth with a tinted glass window. He knocked on it, then stepped back to wait for someone to answer.
The little window slid open and Sam recognized the face on the other side. "Bobby!"
"Heya Sam. I heard you were coming home." Bobby's face crinkled into a smile and Sam couldn't help but smile back.
He'd looked up people when he'd left for Stanford. The compound had been full of ex-cons and fugitives, something he'd never realised. It was hard to imagine Bobby, the man who all but raised him, killing his wife in a drunken anger and serving seven years in prison. He was Bobby!
"Can I come in?" Sam asked when the man made no move to unlock the gate or direct him around.
"Uh-" Bobby looked over his shoulder. "I gotta check Sam. Can't be too careful these days."
Sam nodded. Even before he'd left, the old leaders had been obsessed with protection. The world was going to collapse and they had to be ready. Strangers represented an ever present and looming danger. When the banks failed and the electricity, died they'd have to protect themselves. But Bobby had always had special rules. He owned the land the compound was on; a couple dozen acres his father had left to him. When Sam had left, the older man had been allowed to do whatever he wanted.
The window slid shut and Sam leaned against the wall to wait.
Things had changed. The window slid open after a few minutes and a dark haired man studied him without speaking, his blue eyes cold.
"Sam Winchester?" The man asked.
"Yeah, that's me."
"Identification please."
Sam had to take off his bag and fiddle with the zipper to find his wallet. He pulled out his California Driver's License and his student card, and passed both of them through the window. The man studied them, holding them up to the light and running his fingers over them, feeling the features and the watermarks.
The window slid shut again and Sam was left to wait in silence. He couldn't leave without his identification, and he still hoped they'd still let him in. The metal of the gate clanged loudly and the entrance slowly inched open, just wide enough for him to squeeze through.
"I'll take that." The dark haired man took Sam's bag. He was shorter than Sam was, without the guard booth to boost him up. He was wearing some sort of body armour, a bulletproof vest looking thing. The whole getup is vaguely military, not the jeans and flannel shirts that were de rigueur four years ago.
Sam followed the man down a paved path with wire fences on either side. They had to show identification at each gate before they were allowed through.
"Inside." Sam was ushered into one of the small whitewashed cottages. It'd been years, but this one might have belonged to Pastor Jim once upon a time. The small room is almost empty now, just a plain table and two chairs.
Sam sat in one of the chairs and the man emptied his backpack onto the table. He stuck his hand into every pocket and ran his fingers along every seam. Sam's heart pounded. If any of the surveillance equipment was found, there was no way he was getting out, not with all of the new gates and the guards. He saw flashes of a gun sometimes, tucked inside a chest holster under his escort's vest.
By some miracle, not that he believed, his things passed inspection. The guard divided them into two piles and Sam's heart fell as he realised he was going to lose most of what he brought in with him. Even his clothes are important, they had the wires in them and they wouldn't do the FBI or him much good if they got locked up somewhere or burned.
When the guard stepped away from the table and looked down at him, Sam swallowed his nerves and found his voice.
"You're new here, right? I just. . .I don't recognize you."
The guard didn't speak and Sam regretted his words as the silence filled the room.
"I have come here recently. My name is Castiel." The guard motioned for Sam to stand. "I need you to remove your clothes."
Sam's discomfort must have been obvious on his face because Castiel coloured.
"We have to be certain to protect ourselves. Any manner of weapons and recording devices can be hidden in clothes and on the body. Very few people find the strength to see through the lies and return to the fold."
Sam stared at the floor for the next twenty minutes. Castiel took his clothes and performed the same rigorous search on them before turning to Sam. Castiel's fingers were cool and they roamed over every inch of Sam's body, feeling for microphones or wires or weapons hidden on him.
"You can dress." Castiel finally said and he didn't turn his back as Sam pulled his clothes on.
"Can I see Dean?" Sam asked once he was clothed again.
Castiel shook his head. "I will take you to a place to spend the night. Everyone is very busy today. You can meet with your family tomorrow, if it is permitted."
Sam sighed quietly, but he took the belongings he was allowed and followed Castiel out of the cottage and further down the path to yet another of the small buildings. When he'd left, every cottage had been full. Each one had a family living in it, and Sam knew the women had left, but with the Warriors of Heaven coming, surely they'd all been filed again?
"Lunch is over. Someone will bring you food when we eat our evening meal." Castiel told him after unlocking the door. "Go inside."
Sam stepped into the cottage and listened as the door was locked behind him. This cottage too had been stripped of all personal touches and most of the furnishings. It could have belonged to anyone. There was a bed with mattress and a single sheet, with a chair next to it. The light in the ceiling was missing the bulb and the window had the curtain and rod removed.
He piled his stuff on the chair and sat on the bed. The bed was too short for him to stretch out on, but after spending hours on the bus and walking to the compound, sort of stretched out and at least laying down, was enough. As soon as his eyes closed, he was dead to the world.
When Sam woke up, it was obvious someone had been in the room. His belongings had been put into a burlap sack and there was a tray of food on the chair next to the bed, along with a pitcher of water. He splashed some of the water on his face and smoothed his hair back before digging into the food.
Ellen Harvelle was clearly not in the kitchen anymore. There wasn't much food on the tray and Sam ate it quickly, swallowing down the bland, overcooked vegetables. He thought back to the bacon salads, thick stews, and fresh bread Ellen used to make. There was bread on the tray, but it was hard and dark, maybe a few days past the expiration date.
By the time he was finished eating, the room was nearly dark. He couldn't find any light source beyond the window and just the last vestiges of the setting sun had illuminated his dinner. Sam took off his boots and changed into sweatpants. He pulled back the sheet and climbed into the bed. He didn't fall asleep as quickly this time, his brain wanted to ponder the new situation and his stomach wasn't as full as it wanted to be.
--
New Boss
Sam woke up to the sound of knocking. He got out of bed and pulled his flannel shirt on over his t-shirt. It had gotten cold in the little cottage. No light was coming in through the window and he couldn't tell how much time had passed.
"Hello?" Sam called out. There was no lock on this side of the door. He couldn't open the door.
The lock slid back and the door opened. Two men came in, both intimidating in posture and dress. They weren't as tall as he was, but the first man was heavily armed and the second was heavy with muscle, obvious even under his clothing. They stood next to each other, shoulder to shoulder and Sam recognized them from the photo Agent Hendrickson had shown him. They were the new leaders of the Wayward Sons, both had long criminal records and a taste for violence.
The first man, the one with all the weapons, had blond hair and dead blue eyes. He smiled and opened his arms. "Sam, we are please you have returned to our family."
Sam nodded, but he didn't step into the embrace. He didn't move from his position.
"Why have you returned?" The second brother asked.
Sam slouched. He had prepared an answer to this question, but it was a lie and he had to make them believe it. . .he had to try and believe it himself.
"I was wrong." He admitted to them. "There is nothing outside these walls I need. I need my family. I couldn't not bear to be without them. I felt the loss of my brothers and sisters every day, and it was too much to bear for all eternity."
The brothers were silent and Sam watched as they shared a look. Then the blond brother embraced him.
"You have returned to us. Everything else is in the past."
Sam returned the hug and his skin crawled where he was touched.
"We must protect our family." The brother whispered in his ear. "You have been gone for so long, Sam. Are you still one of us?"
Sam nodded.
"You still love and obey?" The grip around him tightened and Sam nodded again. "Say it, Sam. Say yes. Say yes for me."
"Yes." Sam whispered. "Yes, I want to be here. I love and obey our Father. I was so wrong to leave."
The man stilled and when he pulled away, he was smiling. "We'll have to get you some clothes and find you a place to live."
"I'm sure my brother Dean has a place for me-" Sam started.
"Things have changed." The blond brother said lightly. "All will be made clear. I will show you."
They opened the door and Sam followed them out of the cottage. The sun was just starting to rise, the window was on the wrong side of the building to get any light in the morning. The blond man stayed with him and the other one left, heading towards the gates where Sam had come in.
"I seem to have forgotten my manners." The man offered his hand. "I'm Lucifer, I know the name's not the best." He laughed at his own joke. "I honour my parents anytime someone speaks it."
Sam nodded. At least honouring your parents hadn't changed.
Lucifer led him through another gate, but the guards didn't stop them and demand identification. Just opened it and let them pass through.
"This is the main area." Lucifer gestured around. "I'll give you the grand tour."
There were a lot of new buildings and everything had a new purpose. The little cottages people used to live in had been turned into supply closets or prayer rooms. One of them had the showers and another was just to store cleaning supplies. Two of the cottages Lucifer glossed over and Sam wondered if that was where the weapons were being kept.
"This is bunk house one. You'll be staying here." Lucifer opened the door to a long squat building. It smelled like sweat and dirt and Sam thought wishfully of the little Winchester cottage he used to live in and the clean apartment he'd shared with Jess.
The bunk house was a long room with rows of beds on either side. There were toilets in individual little rooms at the end, next to another entrance. Sam was directed to one of the neatly made beds. There was a wooden crate at the end of it and he put his things in there, before following Lucifer out back to the courtyard.
"Bunkhouse two." Lucifer pointed to the second long building. "You'll never need to go in there."
Sam wanted to ask, but he knew better than that. He nodded and followed Lucifer to the cookhouse with its long tables and stacks of dishes. It was empty now, no Ellen baking bread or preparing food for the next meal.
"And here's the heart of it all."
The church hadn't changed. It was still the same whitewashed building with a cross nailed to the front. There were more symbols inside, a Star of David, a bunch of stuff for religions Sam had never practiced and all of Bobby's knickknacks. The new management hadn't taken anything down, hadn't even painted over the runes and sigils on the walls. There were new markings, all done in the same red. The paint still looked like dried blood.
There was a fire going in the brazier at the front of the church and a pile of wood beside it. Sam looked at Lucifer and when he got a nod, he walked up the rows of backless benches to the front. He took a plain white candle from the bins and lit it, then knelt on the roughly hewn wood floor.
Sam closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. He used to start and end every day sitting in front of a candle, thinking about all the different gods and goddesses in the world and how he played into their plans. In the last few years, right up until he left, Sam had spent most of the prayer time thinking about what would happen to him if he left. If there really was Hell and if all the religions of the world could be true. He'd stopped believing everything his father said and it was a short path from there to doubt the Hunter's Council and the rest of the adults.
--
Brothers and Sisters
When Lucifer roused Sam from his thoughts and took him outside, the morning had passed and people were gathering outside the cookhouse. There was smoke coming from the chimney now Sam's stomach growled as they got closer.
The crowd was different. They were quiet and respectful, moving out of the way so Lucifer could pass through them. There weren't any children, Sam remembered at least a dozen rambunctious kids before he'd left, he spotted a teenager who might have been one, but the rest were gone. The women were gone, he'd known that, but there were no families left. There were new faces too, people wearing uniforms and carrying weapons.
Lucifer opened the door to the cookhouse and brought Sam up to the table closest to the kitchen with him. "You'll sit here." He gestured and Sam stood behind the bench, taking his cues from the rest of the people filing in.
When the door closed, Lucifer and his co-leader stood in front of the benches and held hands. There was no one else at Sam's table, so he clenched his hands into fists and closed his eyes.
"Lords and Ladies in the Heavens, we ask you to bless. . ." It was the same blessing Sam had heard thousands of times. In the beginning at Stanford, he'd sometimes started to say it without thinking.
"We have some special announcements today." Lucifer said when the prayer was finished and Sam had opened his eyes. "I will be going into town tomorrow on a resupply mission. The list of people coming with me has been posted on the church message board. Brother Bobby is going to lead a prayer group tonight, in honour of the full moon. Most importantly, our brother Sam has returned to us."
Sam didn't turn around, but he could feel the eyes turn towards him. He stood still and listened to the quiet whispers.
"Brother Dean and brother John, please join us for this meal." Lucifer and the other man returned to the table and when they sat, the rest of the cookhouse scrapped their benches back and followed suit. The cooks came out of the kitchen with platters of food and Sam waited.
"Sam, this is Father Michael." Lucifer introduced the man sitting next to him. "He is in charge of day to day life within the compound."
Sam nodded. "Pleased to meet you sir." He'd met the man earlier, but apparently that was not going to be acknowledged.
"Fathers." That was a voice Sam knew. He turned around and before he knew it, he was pulled into his brother, his actual biological brother's, embrace. "Sammy." Dean whispered into his ear and Sam could feel Dean's chest heave as he breathed against him.
"Hi Dean." Sam said, pulling away when Dean's grip lessened. "Dad." He said to the man standing behind his brother. His father looked older, there was more grey in his hair and the lines in his face were deeper.
"Ah Sam-" Sam turned back to look at Lucifer and Father Michael, "Father Michael and I are your fathers. We guide you and care for you. This is your brother John."
Sam nodded and sank back onto the bench. He didn't want to hug his father and he was certain the man didn't want to hug him either. All of the father crap kind of creeped him out.
They didn't talk much for the rest of the meal. Sam worried Lucifer or Michael might pick up on his true purpose for being there and he didn't want to pick a fight with his father. That was going to come soon enough. He could feel the anger brewing under John Winchester's skin.
Michael left and John followed after him once the meal was over. Sam stood and stuffed his hands deep into his pockets. He really didn't know what to say or do. Duties had changed in the compound and he doubted he was trusted enough to go off and return to the work he'd done before he'd left.
"Sam." Lucifer motioned and both Winchester brothers followed him out to the courtyard. A guard trailed along behind them. Sam didn't recognize him, but the gun strapped to his thigh didn't leave his position to the imagination.
"Yes sir?" Sam asked, focusing on the leader. He could look around later, when watchful eyes weren't watching him.
"I think we'll try and find you a placement tomorrow. We can always use more people in the fields. Spend today with your brother. I'll see you again at the evening meal." Lucifer left them standing there and by the time he left the courtyard, there was another guard trailing after him.
Sam stared at Dean and Dean stared back at him. The sun was still high in the sky and lunch hadn't satisfied Sam after missing meals the day before.
"So." Sam crossed his arms.
"I'm glad you're home." Dean said.
"Yeah."
"Things are better now." Dean smiled.
Sam nodded, even though things didn't seem better. They'd never needed armed guards before and kicking out all the women and children didn't seem like the kind of inclusive behaviour they'd practiced before.
"You'll like it now." And Sam wondered if Dean was trying convince himself everything was okay.
Most of the compound was locked up. Dean showed him the garage and the mechanical shed. Almost all of the cars and trucks Sam remembered had been sold, at least the Impala he'd lived the first few years of his life in was still tucked under its tarp.
"What have you been up to?" Sam asked, as he leaned against the wall of the garage. "Get your mechanic's certificate?" That's what Dean's plan had been when he'd left.
Dean shrugged. "Nah, I'm working in the soybean fields. Makes a decent amount of cash. Church?"
Sam nodded, he really wasn't getting much out of his brother. "Yeah."
There were two other people in the church now and the guard followed them in, staying at the entrance. Dean lit a candle and knelt at the front. Sam's knees were already protesting, but he lit his own candle and lowered himself to the ground again. Sam closed his eyes and listened to Dean's quiet chanting. He couldn't make out the words, but it was probably the Lord's Prayer or one of the many songs they'd learned over the years.
Sam was disappointed. He'd hoped, foolishly, to return to a happy, energetic family. Dean was quieter now, sullen and his plans had gone down the drain. Sam understood, to a point, that Dean couldn't always make his own decisions, sometimes things had to be done for the good of the community.
Dean didn't say anything for the rest of the afternoon. Sam kept nearly drifting off and had to pinch himself to stay awake. His knees ached and his calves went numb, but Dean didn't slump or slouch and he kept up the same quiet almost singing until the speakers announced the evening meal.
--
PART 2