Stubborn Survival: Gleason's Revenge

By: Coffeemaniac

A/N: This is a sequel to "Stubborn Survival". "Stubborn Survival: Gleason's Revenge" may be able to stand alone but there is a lot of back story in the first one that will add to the experience of this one so I suggest strongly that you read it first.

Set between 2006-2007. John Winchester has been dead a few months. It's been eight weeks since Sam was kidnapped by Mark Foster and Richard Gleason

Rated M for violence, torture, mentions of child abuse, and mentions of child sexual abuse. The violence and torture are fairly graphic, the other things are not.

This story is complete. There is no slash. I will be posting a new chapter about every two days. Reviews are welcome and encouraged.

Part 1

Tuesday-Day One

The Impala tires sang against wet pavement as Sam Winchester drove over the bumps and stones of an old road. Set back from the freeway, the crumbling asphalt wound through patches of trees and fields that framed old wooden farmhouses. Rain pummeled the roof while lightning flashed jagged lines across the dark sky. Great cracks of thunder split the silence every so often causing the windows to rattle.

Sam had turned the radio off several minutes earlier to cut out the distraction as he concentrated on negotiating the twists of the narrow two-lane. He watched the road while glancing back and forth for deer knowing the area was prime for wildlife. If he squashed a squirrel or raccoon he'd probably only notice a thump but if a buck leaped out into his path he'd destroy the car and probably kill himself and his brother in the process.

Dean snored softly in the passenger seat with his arms crossed over his chest and his head against the cool glass. He snuffled and wiped at his nose but didn't stir.

Sam didn't mind. If Dean was awake he'd either insist on driving or he'd spend the trip explaining all the ways he could be driving more effectively.

As the rain came down harder and visibility faded to almost nothing, Sam searched for the neon lights of a motel. He didn't actually mind driving in the rain or dark. He could navigate narrow roads without sliding or crashing. But, as midnight approached and his mind wandered, he knew he needed to end the day.

He figured Dean wouldn't object to a bed either. Whatever waited for them in Cayuga could wait another eight hours.

A couple of months had passed since Sam initially came to investigate the Big Foot claims made by hikers in the area. In those few weeks, two people had died and Sam still wanted to know what was hiding in the woods. All hunters knew that Big Foot was a myth but something was obviously out there.

Dean and Bobby vehemently opposed returning to the small town. They insisted they could find other hunters to find the real reason for the deaths. But, Sam wanted to come back. He needed to follow up because they abandoned the hunt before and now there weren't just sightings, there were victims.

As he slowed into a narrow turn, neon lights flashed from a sign sitting several feet away from the blinked at the sudden assault to his eyes and when his vision cleared he frowned at the sight of a small figure standing on the shoulder. Sam slowed further and did a u-turn because no one should be walking in a storm like this and certainly not on a lonely back road. Civilization remained five miles away according to the offensive sign that promised lodging and food.

Sam drove by the figure again which he could now see was a young male. He did a second U-turn so he could pull up next to him and stop. Dean slept through the twists and turns but the loss of rumbling movement drove him to a sputtering wake-up.

"What's going on?"

"I'm checking. Hang on," Sam answered as he opened the driver's side door and climbed out. He hoped no other cars came around that turn because it was fairly blind and if someone wasn't paying attention they could all be wiped out.

Sam held his hands out, non-threatening as he came around to the shoulder. The boy, a young teenager, pulled a coat closer around his body and took a step backward.

"Its okay, it's okay," Sam said. He had to yell because of the rain but he was trying to sound friendly. "I'm just checking. Do you need a ride? There's nothing out here for miles."

The boy's eyes darted from side to side then he looked back at Sam. The rain poured over his face. His hair and clothes were matted to this body.

"Look, my brother and I are driving into town," Sam said. "We can take you someplace safe. Your home, the police, a diner, whatever you want."

"I don't know you," the boy said.

"Sure, yeah, my name's Sam. My brother's name is Dean. We're on our way to Cayuga but we're going to call it a night."

"How do I know you won't do something? You could be psychos. You could have a thing for kids."

"But, we're not and we don't. I'm just offering help."

"Hey," Dean yelled as he opened the passenger door. "Get in or don't. We're wasting time out here and it's not getting any dryer. We can help you if you want. If you don't then there's a town down the road."

The boy looked at Sam who threw a glare towards Dean before looking back and shrugging.

"I'll take the ride," the boy said.

"Good. Dean, let him in," Sam said to his brother.

Once they were all settled again, Sam pulled out. He looked in the rearview at the boy sitting in the back seat. Skinny with dark hair that hung thick and long around his chin, he had large, round eyes that kept searching the interior of the car as if there was a threat inside.

"You're safe with us," Sam said. "You can relax."

The boy nodded but stayed sitting stiffly near the passenger door.

"What are you doing out here?" Dean rubbed his hands over his head as he asked.

"Trying to get ."

Dean turned in his seat to look at the soaked kid. "Cayuga? Kind of far from home, aren't you? Is it a runaway thing? Maybe a girl involved?"

The boy shook his head but didn't explain.

"What's your name?" Sam said.

"Griffin."

"First or last?" Dean said.

"Griffin Donahue. People call me Griff."

"All right, well, we're almost to the motel. Is that where you want to go? We can take you to Cayuga in the morning."

Griff shook his head. "I don't think I should go to a motel with…"

As his voice trailed off, Dean sighed loudly. Sam smirked.

"Yeah, I get that," Sam said. "But, we'll get you your own room. We'd take you straight through if the weather wasn't so bad. Or, you know what, you can go into the lobby and call your folks. Whatever you want."

"My mom is worried. I think everyone is," Griff said.

"It's okay, everybody runs away sometimes."

"Sammy did," Dean said.

Sam just sent another glare his brother's way as he remembered the abandoned shack in Flagstaff and the dog he had to leave behind.

"I didn't run away," Griff said."Some guy grabbed me when I was walking home."

"Wait a minute, you were kidnapped?" Sam looked into the rearview while Dean scrambled up and twisted around.

Griff nodded as he pushed back into the seat and squeezed his hands into the fabric of his wet coat.

"We got to call the police," Dean said.

"I just want to go home. The police won't help and I…I want to see my mom."

"Griff." Sam stopped, afraid to ask any questions but knowing he needed to. "How long have you been away from home?"

"A month, I guess. A few weeks. I'm not sure."

"Did they let you go?" Dean asked.

The boy nodded. "Dropped me off."

"Dropped you off? On the side of the road?" Sam's heart thudded in his chest. He couldn't believe this was happening again.

"There's the motel, pull in, Sam." Dean's order cut through Sam's panic and he turned into the gravel parking lot.

With a lifetime of being in jeopardy, Sam excelled in putting his feelings in a box. He shoved the fear down as he parked near the motel lobby.

The boy in the back of the Impala blinked furiously and pushed himself into the corner of seat. Whether it was on purpose or accident, he had angled himself in a smart way. He gained a clear view of both Sam and Dean.

Sam opened the driver's side door and climbed out without speaking. He moved into the backseat. The boy started patting around searching by touch for the door handle.

"It's all right," Sam said, wiping rain off his face.

"Relax, kid," Dean said.

"We just need to know what happened," Sam said.

"I want to go home," Griff said.

"I just need to know who took you. And why."

"I don't…I don't want to…look, just, let me go. I don't want to do this again."

"Griff, just take a breath," Dean said. "We're trying to help."

"Do you know who took you?" Sam said.

A sudden tear streaked down the boy's cheek. He wiped it away in a quick, embarrassed move but kept his eyes on Sam.

Sam sat back abruptly, the anger brought on by his fear dissipating. Shoulders slumping, he looked towards Dean who threw up his hands weakly and turned back around.

"Go on inside, Griff. Tell the person at the counter that you need the police. Then stay there. Wait for them to show up. The cops will call your family."

Griff didn't wait for another chance. He searched for the door handle and tumbled his way out on to the gravel. With barely a glance back at the Impala, he ran into the lobby.

Sam watched a woman walk up. Her expression turned serious and then worried and then she picked up the phone and started dialing. Sam turned his attention to the rain.

"We don't know if it's the same thing," Dean said. "A lot of perverts out be unrelated. It's probably unrelated."

"A boy? Dropped off on the side of the road? It's the same thing the Gleason's did."

"Charles Gleason is dead and his bones are burned. The talisman is burned. Sam, it can't be them."

"More family, maybe."

"Or a coincidence."

"You don't believe in coincidence."

Dean nodded but with that non-committed way that he liked. Sam listened to the rain and tried not to remember the Gleason's. He wanted to forget them. Forget what Charles did to him when he was a boy and forget what Richard did just two months before. He had been through a lot, knocked around more than most men his age but what they did, what they put him through was more horrifying than the worst monster he had fought. Sam just wanted to put it behind him but he was struggling and he knew it. He guessed that Dean knew too.

His brother had spent the last few weeks watching Sam, checking on him, asking him if he was okay. Dean had always been hyper-protective but since Sam's kidnapping by Mark Foster and Richard Gleason's ghost, he'd been thrust into overdrive. Sam felt Dean's eyes on him all the time and while it bothered him to be smothered by worry, it made him feel safe and for the moment, Sam needed that.

"We have to find out," Sam said."I need to know if there are more Gleason's or Gleason ghosts or…"

"Yeah, I know our lives are weird. Okay, let's give the kid a chance to get rescued then we'll do a FBI visit to the local cop shop and figure things out from there."

"We still need a place to stay."

"I'll go in. If Griff doesn't freak out then I won't get arrested."

Dean popped open the door. Sam watched as he made his way into the motel lobby. He nodded at Griff then spoke with the clerk. A few minutes later, just as a patrol car pulled up, Dean emerged with a room key.

Sam had returned to the driver's seat. The cold and rain had seeped through his clothes and he shivered as he parked near their room door. The motel was a chain and slightly higher scale than their usual digs so there were minivans and SUV's filling the parking lot.

Sam unlocked the trunk so they could retrieve their bags then Dean opened the motel room door. It was a simple place with two double beds, a desk and a bathroom. There was no kitchen or dining table but there was a coffee pot. Tan walls, blue and tan bed covers, tan carpet and flowered prints on the wall. It was generic and suited their needs.

"You take the first shower," Dean said. He dropped his bag in front of the nearest bed.

Sam didn't argue. He was wet, cold and exhausted. All he wanted was to be warm and to close his eyes. Hopefully he was tired enough to avoid nightmares. He dropped his bag by the other bed, dug out his shaving kit, some pajama bottoms and a gray t-shirt. Dean sprawled across the bed with a sigh.

The bathroom was big, with two sinks and bathtub/shower. Sam turned on the water then stripped down while it warmed. He stepped under the spray exhaling softly as the cold melted away. He let it sluice over him for a few moments before picking up the tiny shampoo bottle. It smelled like vanilla but he didn't care as he scrubbed it through his hair. After rinsing, he ripped open the tiny packet of soap and lathered it over his skin.

He used care on his legs. Some deep bruising still remained from the beating he took at the hands of Mark Foster and his skin was still sensitive in a few places. Just the thought of his time in the barn sent fear racing through his spine so he took a few deep breaths to dispel it.

Fear rarely took hold of Sam. He'd been fighting monsters with his father and brother for his whole life. He was well trained and capable of dealing with almost every threat. He didn't like being afraid and though it was inevitable and even healthy, he fought it. His father never actually claimed that fear was a weakness but Sam always felt like it was. Neither his father nor Dean ever talked about being scared. They soldiered on no matter what so Sam followed suit and hid his anxiety even when he thought it might crush him.

Once he felt clean and warm, Sam shut off the water, climbed out of the shower and grabbed a thin, rough towel from the rack. He dried then pulled on his pajamas before going back into the main room. His skin prickled at the slight chill.

He found Dean sitting on the bed with the laptop open.

"Found it," Dean said. "Griffin Donohue disappeared about a month ago. He was walking home from school. He's a senior at the Cayuga Central High School."

"Any witnesses or leads?"

"A couple of girls were walking the same street when a white van pulled up next to him. The side door slid open and a guy jumped out, shoved Griffin inside. Van drove away. There were some street cameras that caught a lot of it but there was no license plate or distinguishing marks. Sounds like the police did a full out search, brought a lot of people in for questioning, even got some assistance from the FBI but nothing panned out."

"White van," Sam said.

"Lots of white vans, Sammy."

"Around here. Near Cayuga? Near New Hope? And we just happen to find this kid? What are the odds?"

"Okay, okay, you're right. At the very least, we need to look into it. Tomorrow morning, all right? They'll have the kid's report by then. Maybe get some names. Griff was gone for a month so he must have picked up some information about his kidnappers."

Dean stood up and stretched. He winced when an audible pop sounded from someplace in his body.

"You're getting old," Sam said.

"Shut up," Dean said. "I'm taking a shower. Place like this should still have hot water even after you get done."

Sam smiled at his brother's teasing and pulled down the covers on his bed. He grabbed the laptop and dragged it over to his legs then settled the blankets around his waist while he leaned against the headboard. Mark Foster's face sprang up in his brain without warning and Sam cursed. He hated when that happened.

Just as Sam banished the image of his vicious tormenter, the motel room door burst in with a crash and splintering wood. Dressed in riot gear and brandishing guns, police officers pushed their way through the door. Faces covered in black head dress, flak jackets, and bullet proof vests made all of them seem enormous. And there were several, six or seven, maybe eight armed men filling the small room. Someone was yelling, identifying themselves as police. Two of them grabbed Sam who was standing and braced to fight though he didn't remember standing up.

He hollered a warning to Dean, just "Poughkeepsie" before his arms twisted behind him and he was shoved face first on to the bed. He felt the snick of handcuffs while more than one voice ordered him to stay down.

A moment later he heard Dean. "Easy, easy, fragile package here." Then the "oomph" as his brother was arrested too.

"Okay, okay," Sam said as two sets of arms lifted him up then maneuvered him towards the door.

"Where are we going?" Sam said.

"Shut up," one of them said.

Sam couldn't discern any real differences in them. One had a gut, one was almost as tall as Sam and one had an orange pack strapped to his chest instead of the black ones worn by the rest. The one giving the orders had a slight drawl in his speech. Maybe he was from Louisiana, maybe Mississippi but not Texas. The three surrounding Dean, who was still face-down on the mattress with his wrists handcuffed, looked entirely the same from Sam's limited view. Dean was naked other than a towel wrapped around his waist.

Then he couldn't see Dean anymore as he was shoved out the door. The blast of cold forced a gasp through his lips. The cold, wet of the sidewalk seeped into his socks. The air hung damp with the smell of mud and asphalt. The Impala dripped with water from the rain while flashing lights from a recently arrived patrol car lit up the windows and gleaming paint.

Sam winced when the grip on his arms gained pressure and he was pushed towards a police van.

"Relax, what's this about?" He said.

No one answered but the one with the drawl opened the back of the vehicle. Sam couldn't help but think of it as a paddy wagon as they shoved him to the entrance then ordered him to climb inside. Sam resisted. He pushed back and yanked his arm out of the grip of one of them. He turned on them, half expecting a bullet or taser. Instead two of them took a step back and held up their hands as if to ward him off while the third kept an uncertain grip on his arm.

"I'm not going anywhere until someone tells me what's going on."

"You're under arrest," Georgia said. Sam decided his accent sounded like Georgia.

"For what?"

"Kidnapping of a minor."

"We didn't kidnap that boy. We rescued him off the side of the road. He must have told you that."

"Get in the van," Georgia said.

"Can I put on some shoes?"

"We'll get them for you."

With no other choice and police surrounding him, Sam shook his head and turned towards the back of the vehicle. Two of the officers guided him inside then followed behind. Orange Pack pointed towards the bench and Sam sat down. The same man bound chains around Sam's ankles. The chains were attached to a bar in the bottom of the vehicle.

"You can tell your story at the station," Georgia said from where he stood on the pavement outside the van.

Orange Pack and the second officer jumped out and the back doors slammed shut. Sam shook his head.

"What about my brother?" He said. His yell was either ignored or unheard because no one answered.

A few minutes passed while Sam grew antsy waiting for Dean to join him. He hoped Dean was talking their way out of this problem and not making things worse. When he heard then felt the van engine rumble around him Sam yelled again. It didn't make sense that they would take him and not Dean.

Still not getting a response, he leaned back and tried to puzzle out what was happening. He guessed they might want to keep them separate for questioning. That made sense. But, he worried about Dean. He could easily have attempted to escape, maybe even succeeded. Or he could have annoyed someone and gotten injured. With Dean there was a large degree of uncertainty.

Sam bounced his knee up and down listening to the rattle of the chains. The police hadn't read him his rights. They didn't actually have to until just before questioning but it bugged him anyway. They hadn't searched him either. He wasn't armed. He'd been too tired and too engrossed in research so when they burst through the door he hadn't reacted quickly. He'd only kept enough sense to try and warn Dean. Still, they hadn't searched him. What kind of police don't do a pat down?

Sam shivered. His feet felt icy. He didn't have a jacket. He wore blue pajama pants and a gray t-shirt with heavy white socks. Not nearly enough protection against a cold, rainy night riding in the back of a drafty police van. He hoped Georgia remembered to grab his shoes, maybe dry socks and a jacket too.

The van passed over pot holes and rough road. Sam counted turns and time in between committing them to memory because he might need to know later, and because, he couldn't stop himself. After fifteen minutes, Sam started to grow worried. He didn't think the town was that big so getting to the police station shouldn't take a long time. When it seemed like a half hour had passed, Sam started fidgeting with the handcuffs still binding his wrists behind him.

There was no doubt left in Sam that there was something wrong with his supposed arrest.