The country.

Sam doesn't have a clue where they're going. His brain is still a little foggy but he's wondering why they've left London a good thirty minutes ago, headed south.
"This isn't the time to take me to Paris to catch up," he mutters, and Jake laughs that laugh that's a snort almost. There's something different than Sam remembered in his brother, it's almost like he grew up overnight, well, okay, it's been a good six months since he last saw him. But there's a determination to him now, like a goal, a seriousness he never saw ever before.
The taxi turns off and Sam glances at the meter, nearly losing his lunch when he notices it's over a hundred quid. He starts to panic, because he thinks all that's left in his jeans is a tenner after the disgusting lunch at Subway before he went into hospital.
Jake has the money, and he doesn't want to know how or where the thick wad of bills his brother is peeling off for the fare for came from, or why he threw in an extra fifty, telling the driver that he never saw them.
He propels Sam to an impossibly small cottage, well, calling it a cottage is a bit of an exaggeration, it's a cramped bookish space that looks like it was deposited from the set of Lord of the Rings with the name "Walker" on its door. He watches in a mix of alarm and amusement while Jake Jr. finds a poorly-hidden key and drags him inside.
"What have you done?" says Jake to Sam, and now there's a flash of real anger in those eyes that always seemed so doe-ish before, and he punches Sam right on the chest, yes, right there, and how the fuck does he know about this? wonders Sam.
Sam can't look at him now, and he knows it's dishonest to blame it on the anesthesia or whatever, lying to Jake has always been something only really stupid people who wanted to get themselves in a world of misery would do.
And the kid's facade comes apart at once, and it's actually pretty terrifying, because Sam has never seen this side of Jake before, he's pounding on Sam and crying and cursing like no one he's ever heard, he's all at once like the little snot-nosed kid that cried in thunderstorms and who giggled when Sam bought him candy he wasn't allowed to have.
And then he's quiet, eerily quiet, because Sam hasn't figured out how to respond yet.
"I know what you did," breathes Jake, looking at him with a look of such betrayal it scares Sam and makes a tear roll down his cheek. "I know."