Ride or Die | Sam Fender AU

009

"Sam," Dean called after him in the hallway but he didn't slow, his face blank as he stormed on. "Sam!"

"What, Dean?" Sam huffed, not bothering to even glance over his shoulder.

"We need to talk," he grumbled.

"We're talking," he pointed out.

"Privately," he groaned. "Ceemon, mate, this is serious."

Sam paused, whirling around to face his best friend, spitting out, "I dunna if you've realised what business you're in, mate, but this is all serious."

"It's about your lass," he sighed, folding his arms across his chest. His words immediately caught Sam's attention, the taller man grasping Dean by the crook of his elbow and practically dragging him to his office.

"What is it?" he growled as he pushed him inside and slammed the door.

"Have you completely lost your mind?" he scoffed, his facade out of the window once they were behind closed doors. "Drew's just called, said him and Johnny've been getting rid of a body."

"And?" he sneered, moving towards the tray of drinks on the sideboard and decanting himself a glass of whiskey. It seemed that Holly had been executing her job as expected, getting rid of any threats to his relationship with you. He didn't need word getting back to your dad that he was pursuing you. No, he would be dragging you back to London with him and indoctrinating you against him.

"It's one of Agnello's men, Sam!" he fumed, marching over to him and ripping the crystalline glasses from his hand before he had the chance to take a sip, slamming it down on the mahogany. "You're playing with fire."

"Maybe I enjoy the pain that comes with getting burned," he drawled as he took a step towards Dean, his chest puffed out.

The older man let out a growl and pushed him harshly. "This isn't a fuckin' game!" he exploded. "One wrong move and—"

"What? One of wor go down for murder?" he scoffed with disinterest.

"Don't wind me up," he hissed. "This ain't some fuckin' lowlife nobody that no one'll miss! Agnello will know that the man he sent to keep an eye on his daughter has gone missing!"

"And wor team is skilled enough that they won't trace it back to us," he groaned. "Have a little faith, Deano."

"Maybe not but if yer think for one minute that he won't be reet up here if he thinks his only child is in danger, then you're more naive than I thought," he sneered.

Sam only smirked, grabbing his whiskey once more and raising it to his lips, "I'm counting on it."

"I canna fuckin' deal with yer," he growled, shaking his head in disapproval. "I hope y'kna what you're doing, Sam."

"Oh, I do, Deano," he grinned. "I do." Sam turned on his heel and settled himself in his leather chair, leaning back into it as he drank from his glass. "I've got things to do, so if yer don't mind..."

"Have at it," he hissed under his breath before storming out, loudly slamming the door behind him.

Sam took another sip of his whiskey, savouring the burn as he fished his phone from his pocket and dialled an all too familiar number. He waited patiently. One ring. Two rings. Three rings. Six rings. Eight rings.

"Hi, this is Y/N, I can't come to the phone right now so leave a message," your voicemail spoke.

With a frown, Sam put down the phone and tried again but was met with the same answerphone so he dialled a different number. Maybe he was being paranoid but his little lamb always answered.