Chapter Three: Motherless Children
"The School", State Unknown-1999
The school that was not in fact a school appeared to be an old, rambling farmhouse. The house's wood frame was weathered silver from the snow and wind and rain, its windows dark and dirty. A white-washed fence for a paddock stood to one side of the farmhouse, a barn with flaking red paint on the other side. To anyone passing by on the road it would look like a quiet, sleepy homestead. But it was not a farm and it was not a school.
It was a prison.
W
The boy's heart pounded frantically in his chest as he ran. Resisting the urge to look back, he stared straight ahead at the small copse of trees that was his destination.
Grimacing in pain as his bare feet crushed the dry, prickly grass or stepped on an unseen rock, the boy refused to stop. He had to keep going. He had to get as far away as he possibly could.
The boy hit the copse of trees and slipped past gnarly branches and rough trunks, ignoring the leafy fingers snagging on his hair and clothes. Pinecones and leaf litter crunched underfoot loudly and the boy held his breath, ears straining for the sounds of pursuit.
Panting and exhausted the boy finally rested. His feet were cut and bleeding and his lungs ached with exertion. Sweat ran down the boy's face and back in rivulets. Leaning his brow against the papery bark of a birch tree, the boy took a few moments to catch his breath.
He couldn't stop. Not here. Not now. He was still too close.
Straightening up, the boy brushed his sweat-soaked bangs off his forehead with his arm and lurched forward. He was scared, there was no denying that. He was scared of what lay before him, unknown. But he was more frightened of what lay behind him, of what he'd escaped.
In a matter of moments his world had been turned upside down and everything he'd once known was now filled with uncertainty.
The only thing the boy knew for sure was that he was never going back.
Gathering up his strength, the boy pushed onward, brushing branches out of his way as he trudged determinedly onward, the taste of freedom pulling him forward.
W
Samuel crouched at the windowsill, peering outside at the full moon illuminating the yard below in silvery light. He could hear the muted chirping of crickets hiding in the dewy grass and the soft snores of the other boys in the room, fast asleep as he should be.
He smiled softly, he loved it when everything was silent and he was the only one awake. He could think when it was quiet like this.
Samuel glanced furtively over his shoulder when one of the other boys coughed and he ducked down below the window. Holding his breath, Samuel waited as he listened to his roommate shift in bed for a moment before settling down again.
Letting out a quiet breath, Samuel peered over the edge of the windowsill, smiling once his gaze lit upon the full moon again.
W
Samuel grunted in pain when the heavy medicine ball hit him in the stomach. Doubling over, he tried to catch his breath and wipe surreptitiously at the tears in his eyes.
"Again!" LeGraine's voice rapped out and Samuel straightened. He watched enviously as the dark brown ball rolled across the lawn toward Max without any physical encouragement.
The blond boy appeared to almost glare at the ball for a moment before it floated up into the air as though it was as weightless as a helium-filled balloon.
Concentrate, Samuel told himself, focus on the ball.
Max telekinetically flung the medicine ball at Samuel once more and grinned when it smacked into the other boy's face.
Samuel stumbled from the impact, hands going immediately to his gushing nose, lowering his head in shame as the other kids burst out laughing.
Before the boy could slink away and hide, a strong hand gripped his shoulder. Samuel looked up through watery eyes and saw LeGraine scowling sourly at him.
"That was pathetic," the man practically snarled, "Get your head out of the clouds, boy!"
Samuel ducked his head even lower, "I'm sorry; I'll do better next time."
LeGraine all but sneered at the young man, "Clean yourself up."
Samuel nodded and walked past the man without another word. He wiped the back of his hand across his nose and stared at the blood on his knuckles.
Bangor, Maine-1999
Dean blinked his eyes open slowly. Something had woken him but he couldn't immediately figure out what it was… the alarm clock wasn't going off and the light coming in from the motel's cheap curtains was still grey- the sun hadn't even begun to rise yet- so he rolled onto his side to catch a few more hours of rest when he caught sight of the boy.
The events of last night all came crashing back to him and Dean sat up in bed. Samuel was likewise sitting up but he looked anything but relaxed. He had his knees pulled up to his chin and his arms wrapped around his thin legs.
"Hey," Dean said quietly so he wouldn't scare the boy, "It's alright."
Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Dean slid from his bed and carefully sat down on the edge of the boy's.
"Do you remember me? I'm Dean," he continued to whisper, "From last night? Remember?"
After a moment the boy nodded his head, his chin banging against his kneecaps as he did so.
"Did you have a bad dream?" Dean asked, checking the time from the corner of his eye and groaning inwardly when he saw it was six a.m.
The boy turned to look at Dean and he saw that the teen's eyes were red-rimmed.
"Was it about this school of yours?" Dean asked gently.
The boy's eyes went wide, "You won't take me back there, will you? You can't!"
"Okay, it's okay," Dean tried to sooth, "I'm not going to take you anywhere you don't want to go, I promise."
The boy looked like he didn't believe Dean but then he breathed out a sigh. Dean wondered how much sleep the kid had managed to get the night before.
Deciding that he might as well get ready for the day, Dean stood and stretched. The boy watched him curiously.
"I'm gonna take a shower and then I'll take you out for breakfast, okay?" Dean told the younger man, "Don't go anyway."
Only half-joking about that last part, Dean grabbed his duffle bag and went into the bathroom.
Five minutes into his shower, Dean wore and nearly lost his footing on the bottom of the slippery bathtub when fierce knocking cut through the rain-like sound of water from the showerhead. Turning off the water, Dean reached out and grabbed a towel, wrapping it around his waist. There was no question in Dean's mind as to who was pounding on the door; he was just surprised his father was up at this hour.
Stepping out of the bathroom, Dean didn't see the boy and thought he'd disappeared, took off.
"Shit," Dean muttered under his breath and then cursed a second time when he spied the top of the boy's head from between the beds. The kid was curled up with his hands over his ears.
Stomping to the door, Dean yanked it open with more force than necessary and glowered at his father.
"What?" Dean snapped, irritably.
"The police found another body," John answered brusquely.
Dean deflated. He wiped a hand over his face, pushing his dripping bangs from his brow.
"When?" He asked his father with a lot less anger in his voice.
"Early this morning," John told him, "The coroner is doing an autopsy right now but I'm pretty sure it'll be like the others."
Dean bit his lip, "Do you need me to come with you?"
John began nodding but then he stopped, peering past his son into the interior of the motel room, "That boy still here?"
"Yeah," Dean said sharply, "I didn't get a chance to kick him out before you came over."
"I can go to the morgue by myself," John amended his initial response.
Dean didn't argue. He was a little too young to masquerade as a FBI agent anyway so his father had been going solo on this case. Dean tried to help out with the research but it was John who interviewed witnesses, visited the morgue and talked to the local police.
Dean was really just along for the ride on this one, more or less.
"Remember what I said, Dean," John said coldly, "After this case…"
"Yeah," Dean nodded, "He'll be someone else's responsibility."
John narrowed his eyes at his son, "It's for his own good."
Dean scowled and closed the door before his father could say more.
"What a way to start the morning, eh?" Dean asked as he turned around.
The boy was still huddled between the beds and apparently hadn't heard Dean or was too frightened to respond.
"Samuel?" Dean asked and stepped forward cautiously, "It's alright. It's okay; it was just my Dad."
The kid was practically rocking back and forth, eyes squeezed shut.
"Samuel," Dean tried to get the boy's attention again, "Sammy?"
Dean's throat tightened painfully as the nickname slipped out but he didn't care. The boy was clearly terrified and needed all the comfort Dean could provide. That was, if he allowed Dean to comfort him.
Slowly, Dean reached out and placed a hand on the boy's leg, "Nothing's going to hurt you."
Incrementally, the boy's head lifted up and he peered nervously at Dean.
"It was just my father," Dean repeated, "You remember him? His name's John."
Samuel scooted away from Dean's touch- the older man's hand falling limply to his side- and gulped.
"I thought… I th-thought it was-" Samuel began but held his tongue at the last minute.
Dean's sympathetic expression became laced with curiosity, "Yes?"
Samuel sniffed and looked away.
Sighing, Dean stood up and turned back toward the bathroom, "I'll just get dressed and then we can go out."
W
Dean couldn't help but smile as he watched Samuel stare open-mouthed out the Impala's passenger window. It had taken some coaxing but he had eventually convinced the young man to enter the car- Samuel had refused to put the seatbelt on but Dean let that one slide- and felt unusually happy at this show of trust.
Before leaving the motel room, Dean had found a new change of clothes for the boy to wear- one of his old t-shirts and a pair of jeans with the knees ripped out of them- so that he (hopefully) wouldn't attract unwanted attention. The most challenging part of helping Samuel get dressed was finding him shoes. Having no footwear of his own, the younger man obviously could not walk around in public with bare feet as he had been when Dean had found him. Now that would raise questions. In a stroke of uncommon good luck, Dean had a pair of sneakers that he had been neglecting to throw out. He had bought himself new boots that would certainly better protect his feet on hunts and had thrown the shoes into the bottom of his duffle bag. Dean grimaced when he recalled the hunt that had solidified his decision to change his choice of footwear. A few months ago, Dean and his father had been on the case of the ghost of a young woman who had been killed in a quarry. Back in the '50s the girl had been playing with some friends there- illegally- and had died when the side of the quarry caved and sent hundreds of tons of rock on top of her. Although the Winchesters realized that the spirit was only trying to scare would-be victims away from the dangerous quarry, some of the people ended up dying and that was unacceptable. While trying to find the girl's body amongst the fallen rock, John would have broken his foot when the angry spirit heaved a large-sized rock at him. Scrambling out of the way, John nearly made it but had been pinned by the stone landing on his foot. After some quick searching, Dean had uncovered the spirit's remains and burnt them, sending the girl to her eternal rest. With nothing but a bruised foot- and bruised pride- John walked away from the hunt with Dean, thanks in part to the construction boots he'd insisted on wearing.
Dean shook his head at the memory and pulled into the parking lot of a Biggerson's restaurant.
W
"Trust me, you're gonna love these," Dean told Samuel as he ordered pancakes for the younger man.
They were sitting at the back of the diner, away from the crowds- Dean didn't think Samuel would appreciate being close to so many strangers- against a window with a view of the parking lot and the sidewalk that ran alongside the restaurant.
Dean sipped his coffee and looked around, eyeing the other patrons. No one seemed to be paying attention to them; no one was looking at the teenage boy with overly-long hair and clothes that were too big for him. No one cared.
That was fine with Dean. He didn't want anyone asking him question he couldn't answer. He didn't feel like fabricating information about a boy he barely knew this early in the morning.
Samuel was peering around Dean to try and take in the sights of the diner.
"I guess you've never eaten out before?" he asked and Samuel shook his head and then lowered his gaze shyly. He had never been around this many people before and the noise was a little overwhelming. He wrung his hands together as they sat on his lap and stared at the tabletop.
Good going, genius; Dean chastised himself. Scare the kid why don't you? Fantastic way to start things off.
The waitress appeared with their orders, "Is there anything else I can get you?
"This is perfect, thanks," Dean gave the young woman a charming grin and picked up his knife and fork.
"Enjoy," she smiled at Dean before turning around and bustling towards the counter to check on the customers sitting at the bar.
Samuel stared at the food on his plate. Flat and round and golden-brown, Dean had called them 'pancakes' but he had seen pictures of cakes before and they did not resemble them in the slightest.
"What's wrong?" Dean's voice startled Samuel slightly and he flinched.
The teen shook his head.
"Try them," Dean coaxed, "They're really good. You've gotta put butter and syrup on them first though."
Samuel didn't move as the older man grabbed a handful of individually packaged butters and peeled three of them open, smearing the creamy yellow butter onto the pancakes with his knife. He watched silently as Dean poured a generous helping of maple syrup over the whole mess.
Samuel took hold of his knife and fork and began cutting the pancakes into bite-sized pieces. He speared some on the end of his fork and examined it for a moment. He had never eaten anything like this before. Taking a tentative bite, Samuel chewed slowly, cautiously before deciding that he liked the taste and quickly scooped up more of the soggy treat.
Dean watched the young man eat, a small smile on his face as he did so. Sammy had loved pancakes, would have eaten them for every meal if he'd been allowed to and Dean was sure that this Sam would love them as much as his own little brother had. Dean's eyes began burning at the thought of his younger brother and he was forced to turn away from Samuel, sniffing quietly, but the teen didn't appear to notice.
Dean grabbed his cell phone when it vibrated in his pocket and checked the caller ID. It was his father.
Sighing, Dean opened the phone, "Yeah?"
"Where are you?" John asked, sounding annoyed.
Dean wiped a hand over his face. Samuel had stopped eating and was watching him.
"I'm out with Samuel," Dean answered his father, "Did you find anything at the morgue?"
John didn't respond for a moment or two but Dean could hear him gritting his teeth, "It's just like all the others. Drowned with no signs of struggle at that manmade lake."
"Damn," Dean cursed and motioned at Samuel to continue eating.
"I could really use your help with the research," John suggested.
Dean shook his head, "I don't think this one calls for research… no one has died badly there in the past so it can't be a ghost or any other type of spirit. I still think it's something else."
"Than get over here and help me figure this out!" John snapped irritably at his son.
"Dad, I-" Dean began, only to be interrupted by his father.
"People are dying, Dean! Do your job!" John growled.
"I can't just leave the kid," the young man argued.
"He's not yours to look after, Dean! He's not your responsibility!" John exclaimed vehemently, "And he wouldn't be with you now if you hadn't run him down!"
Dean clenched his teeth, "What was I supposed to do, Dad?"
"Take him to the hospital or the police and let them deal with it! We hunt monsters, damn it! We're in the middle of a case! We don't have time to babysit wayward teenagers!" John ranted and Dean closed his cell in exasperation.
The young man closed his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. He peered over at Samuel to see the boy watching him curiously.
"It's alright," Dean muttered and smiled at the younger man.
"Are you in trouble?" Samuel asked, looking guilty.
"No! Of course not," Dean shook his head, "My Dad's just stressed out about this case."
"Oh," Samuel muttered but he didn't look any better.
"Are you still hungry?" Dean asked. He had barely eaten any of his own breakfast but he didn't care, he didn't have any appetite now.
Samuel pushed the plate away and folded his arms over his chest.
"The School", State Unknown-1999
"Samuel?" The boy lifted his head at the sound of his friend's voice. He wiped at his eyes for a moment and squinted across the bales of damp, moldy straw.
"I'm here," he whispered and Andrew climbed up the ladder and stepped into the hayloft.
The smaller boy approached Samuel slowly, almost cautiously. His hair was mousy-brown and tousled, his eyes a light brown. He wore an oversized grey t-shirt and dark blue sweat pants.
"Are they looking for me?" Samuel asked from the nest he'd made of old straw.
Andrew shook his head, "Not yet."
The smaller boy sat down beside his friend and put an arm around Samuel's shoulders.
"Andrew…. I had that dream again," Samuel whispered cautiously.
The other boy frowned, eyebrows furrowing in concern. He tightened his grip on his friend's back, hugging him.
"Did you tell LeGraine?" Andrew ventured but Samuel shook his head.
The smaller boy didn't know what to say. He didn't want his friend to get into trouble but he knew that LeGraine should know about Samuel's dream.
"I don't think it's important," Samuel suggested half-heartedly.
"Why?" Andrew asked.
"I think… I think I saw my Mom," Samuel said, his eyes wide when he looked up at his friend.
Andrew's mouth opened in shock.
"How do you know?" He asked and Samuel shrugged.
"I'm not sure… All I remember is fire and a woman with blonde hair," Samuel explained.
"And you think she's your mother?" Andrew asked, jealously tingeing his voice.
"Who else could she be?"
Andrew paused, thinking.
"Maybe you could ask LeGraine," the boy suggested, "He's sure to know who she is."
Samuel nodded. If anyone would know about his parents LeGraine and Truefold would.
W
LeGraine sneered down at Samuel, a hand fisted in the teen's long hair.
"Mother? HA!" the man laughed and the boy let out a small whimper.
"You don't have any parents!" LeGraine continued, smiling at the tears welling up in Samuel's eyes.
"Why do you think you're here? No one wanted you," he explained, "Your own parents abandoned you!"
Samuel cried out in pain as LeGraine began pulling him down the hall. All he'd done was take Andrew's advice and ask if the woman in his dream could have been his mother.
"Pl-please stop!" he choked out. He didn't know why LeGraine was so angry at him.
To Samuel's surprise, LeGraine did stop. He released his grip on the boy and shoved him while he was still unbalanced. Samuel hit the wall and fell with the force.
"You ungrateful bastard!" LeGraine snarled, "Truefold and I feed you, we clothe you, teach you and this is the thanks we get in return?!"
Samuel covered his head with his hands, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"
LeGraine kicked the boy in the ribs- not hard enough to break them- and grinned sardonically when Samuel yelped in response.
Reaching down, he grabbed the boy's arms and pulled him up; shaking him once the young man was standing.
"You're disappointing me," he peered into Samuel's watery eyes, "Remember why you're here."
Samuel nodded and bowed his head. LeGraine released him and Samuel didn't look up again until he heard the man's footsteps fade down the hallway.
The young man drew a shaky breath, wincing when his ribs twinged and leaned back against the wall.
His parents had abandoned him? They didn't want him? It only made sense of course, they had never visited the school before- the only adult Samuel knew besides LeGraine and Truefold was Mr. Lane- but it still hurt.
Maybe they found out about my powers, Samuel thought. He knew he wasn't normal, that much was for sure. That was why he was at the school- why all the children were there- to learn how to hone their powers and use them for 'the greater good' as LeGraine and Truefold called it.
Samuel wiped his face and sighed. He thought about the woman from his dreams, calling to mind her delicate features, her crystalline blue eyes and golden hair. He tried to imagine her looking at him with fear and disgust and clenched his hands into fists. Walking down the hall the way LeGraine had gone, Samuel barely noticed when the light bulbs overhead exploded one by one as he passed beneath them, plunging him into darkness.
Author's Note:
1. Sorry for taking so long to update- I was having a really difficult time figuring out this chapter. Hopefully writing will go smoothly from now on.
2. Special thanks to AlxM for giving me some great ideas for this chapter.
3. Chapter title comes from a song of the same name that has been sung by Eric Clapton (among others).
4. Thanks to BranchSuper, mb64, reannablue, cold kagome, SPN Mum, Souless666, LightLessStar, L.A.H.H, Original1, Samstruck, HP4eva121995, Jeanny, quoththeraven5, Demon2Angel, LeighAnnWallace, Breezy-Night, sarah, Danielle, MysteryMadchen and Guests for reviewing.
5. Thanks to everyone who alerted/favouried/followed.
6. Please review! They are a joy to read!
