Day Three

Dean, as soon as he woke up, locked himself in the motel bathroom and dialed his brother's number. He listened impatiently to Sam's voice asking him to leave a message before he did just that:

"Sam," Dean said, trying to keep his voice neutral, "I don't know what's keeping you from messaging me but you better have one hell of a good excuse when we get to California."

Dean paused for a moment as though expecting his brother to swear out loud once he heard this, "That's right. Dad and I are coming to Stanford to see what's up. As soon as we're finished here, we're coming up there and if you are just being a little shit and not messaging me, I'm going to kick your ass."

Dean paused when he heard a knock on the door.

"Dean, what are you doing in there?" John's voice came from the other side of the flimsy wood door.

Dean ended his message and shoved his phone into his pocket. He reached down and flushed the toilet, "Gimme a minute, would you!"

Next, he turned the water on and stood, peering into the mirror, until he gauged enough time had passed and the turned off the tap and opened the door. His Dad was standing right outside.

"Now I can't drop a deuce on my own?" Dean grumbled.

"I heard you talking in there," John told him, "And I doubt you were chatting to yourself."

Dean sighed and ran a hand through his hair, "I was calling Sammy."

"Dean, I said-" John began but his son interrupted.

"I know you said we'd go see him once we were done here," Dean said, "But I just wanted to see…"

Dean shook his head. John's expression softened.

"You really are worried about him, aren't you?"

Dean nodded, "I know you don't think I should be but… this is Sammy we're talking about. You know how trouble always seems to find him."

John sighed, "You're right, Dean. It's just…"

He paused, not wanting to show weakness in front of his son.

"As soon as we're finished up here we'll go to California," he reminded his son; then, changing the subject, asked if Dean wanted to pick them up some breakfast.

"Sure," Dean muttered, "I can do that."

SPN

Maybe they're not coming; the thought slithered, unwelcome, into Sam Winchester's brain. Maybe his brother and father thought he was ignoring them on purpose. Maybe they that he had changed now that he was in college. Maybe they didn't want anything to do with him now that he was no longer interested in hunting.

"Dean," Sam whimpered, his forehead resting on his forearm, "Dean, please… I need you… please…"

"Sam," Terry's voice spoke from beside him but he ignored it.

He didn't want Terry. He wanted his brother.

Sam tried to shift into a different position, whimpering when the cuffs bit into his wrists and he felt hot blood began to trickle down his arms. His legs had gone numb from resting his weight on them but when he tried to move, sharp pins and needles forced him to stop.

Dean wasn't coming. Dean wasn't coming. Dean wasn't coming.

Sam's eyes stung and then overflowed, tears dripping down his face. What was the point in trying to be strong when nothing good would come of it? No one cared if he rebelled and in the end he only ended up getting hurt because of it.

Sam closed his eyes and wiped his face against his arm, sucking in shaky breath of air. Leaning his head forward, he pressed his eyes against his fists until bright lights flashed behind his closed lids.

SPN

Dean scanned the cemetery grounds as John dug his shovel into the dirt of the grave. It was early morning, the sun still rising in the east, a dewy mist clinging to everything, birds chirruping in the trees. The cemetery was old unused, headstone crumbling or missing altogether, the lawn overgrown and full of weeds, dandelions wavy in the breeze. A large billboard in the center of the cemetery announced that it would soon become a shopping mall, disrupting the final resting place of over a hundred bodies.

They couldn't of course, stop the construction of the shopping mall, but they could put an end to the ghosts maiming and killing the workers who were just trying to do their jobs.

Yes, Dean thought, of course it would be more than one ghost, just to make things difficult.

The restless spirits had not been pleased to find their plots were going to be dug up and moved a few hundred yards down the road to a new cemetery. Dean supposed he couldn't blame them for being pissed off but his job was not to be a mediator between the living and the dead. His job was to salt and burn dangerous ghosts.

"Sorry about this," Dean paused and glanced at the worn grave he was standing beside, "Ethel, but you can't go around ganking guys just trying to make a living."

John glanced at his son, his expression confused.

"What?" Dean asked.

"Just keep an eye out for any ghosts," John reminded him.

Dean sighed and laid his finger on the trigger of the shotgun he was holding, loaded with rock salt instead of buckshot.

SPN

"I believe we are ahead of schedule," Magnus told Elle. He knew she had planned on calling back later in the week but he took it upon himself to contact her.

"Excellent," she commented, sounding pleased.

"They should be ready by tomorrow morning," Magnus informed her.

"Even better," Elle said positively, "Tell me, why did I even doubt you?"

Magnus couldn't help but smile.

"Now," she continued, her tone taking on a serious note, "What about the last one? I spoke with your Master and he was very anxious to obtain him."

"I understand," Magnus told her, "But he is very spirited and-"

"You're not becoming attached, now are you?" Elle interrupted with a chuckle, "Those big hazel eyes aren't giving you second thoughts?"

Magnus shook his head, biting down a sudden flare of anger, he answered, "Of course not. He means nothing to me."

"Good," she said, "You had me worried for a moment."

"I assure you the only person I am concerned with is myself."

"As you should be," Elle told him, "You do not want to displease me or your Master."

Magnus paused for a moment, "No, I do not."

The woman ended the call without another word and Magnus slumped a little where he sat at the kitchen island.

SPN

Dean reached up a hand and John grabbed his wrist, helping him climb up out of the open grave.

Dean watched as John sloshed gasoline from a red container into the hole before striking a match and throwing it in, the skeletal remains inside igniting with a muffled wumph sound.

"How many more of these assholes do we have to dig up?" Dean asked, wiping his sleeve across his forehead.

John pulled a paper from his jacket pocket- his notes- and glanced at it momentarily.

"Three," he said.

Dean sighed loudly, "Why couldn't they all be in the same grave?"

"C'mon," John ignored him, "We're almost finished."

Dean picked up the shovel and followed his father towards the next grave.

SPN

Sam lifted his head and looked over his shoulder when the lights came on.

"Are you okay?" Terry whispered beside him but he ignored the other boy.

From the corner of his eye, Sam watched as Magnus came downstairs, followed by the Brothers, once again carrying bowls that surely contained days-old oatmeal.

Magnus stopped in front of the boys and clapped his hands together, "We are so close to achieving our goal."

No one said anything.

Magnus tilted his head, "You should all be happy. We are very nearly finished."

Again, no one replied. Then, very quietly, Dylan, whispered, "What's going to happen to us?"

Magnus acted as though he hadn't heard the question.

"Let's break the fast, shall we?"

Sam looked up as Brother Titus stopped in front of him, scowling. Sam turned his head to face the wall again. He didn't want to eat the oatmeal; not only was it rotten but it was also drugged. But he was starving. He was weak with hunger and knew that, whatever was going to happen to him in the future, he needed to keep his strength up. Telling himself he'd only eat a little, Sam turned to look over his shoulder. If Brother Titus was surprised by Sam's compliance, he didn't show it. He just shoved a spoonful of moldy oatmeal into Sam's mouth.

Sam closed his eyes and forced himself to swallow, not even bothering to chew. Managing to get the first mouthful down, Sam looked at Titus again. A second spoonful of crusty, moldy oats was shoved into Sam's mouth.

Magnus wandered over, hands clasped behind his back.

"Sam, I'm glad to see you eating something," he said, smiling.

Sam narrowed his eyes and turned his face when Titus tried to give him a third spoonful of oatmeal.

"Sam," Magnus said in a warning tone.

"You're not drugging me," he told Magnus.

The blue-eyed man unclasped his hands from behind his back and sighed. He stepped close to Sam and bent down, hands on his knees.

"You know, it would be a lot easier for you," he told Sam, sounding almost as though he cared about him.

"Your friends aren't going to remember much of this," he swept a hand towards Terry and the others, "It will all just be a bad dream."

Sam looked away from Magnus.

"Are you sure you will eat no more?" Magnus asked, "You must be famished."

Sam turned his face away and Magnus straightened, brushing his pants off as though he had touched something dirty.

Magnus watched as the other boys were fed, not even looking at Sam. Once they were finished, Matt's friend, Evan spoke up, "Are we going to do more challenges?"

The blue-eyed man smiled at him, shaking his head, "No, I believe you are nearly ready."

The others looked at one another, seemingly happy about their progress.

"So we're in the fraternity?" Terry asked.

"Patience," Magnus chided gently, "Patience. Tomorrow you will leave here to start your new lives."

Sam's heart skipped a beat and his hands started to tremble.

"Most of you," Magnus continued, "Have done as I asked without question, without hesitation. However, one among you continues to besmirch the reputation of this fraternity, besmirch my reputation."

Sam stared at Magnus, fearful.

"Therefore, he must be punished," Magnus told them, "Something that saddens me greatly."

He looked at the others, a frown tugging at his lips, before turning to Sam.

"What are you going to do to me?" Sam asked, cringing away from the blue-eyed man.

Magnus stepped close to Sam and put a hand on his head, speaking into his ear, "I am not going to touch you. Your friends, however, will."

Sam stared at Magnus, eyes wide, disbelieving. He tugged at the handcuffs; desperately trying to free himself even though he knew it was useless.

"It wouldn't have to be like this, Sam," Magnus chided, "But you insist on fighting."

"Brothers," Magnus looked up, "If you'll release the others."

Sam watched helplessly as the Brothers uncuffed Terry and the three other boys and shepherded them forward. Magnus stepped back to stand in between Brothers Clovis and Linus.

Terry looked at Sam and then turned to Magnus.

"What do you want us to do?" he asked the blue-eyed man.

Magnus leaned forward and whispered in Terry's ear. The redheaded boy nodded, looked at Sam and stepped forward.

"Terry, please, don't-" Sam's head snapped back when the boy's fist connected with his mouth.

Spitting blood, Sam tried to cover his face as the redhead punched him in the head. Curling in on himself, Sam cried out in pain as the other boys followed Terry's lead, striking him in the face, the head, the back, anywhere they could reach. Magnus and the Brothers looking on.

Author's Note:

Special thanks to mandancie for editing this chapter.

Thanks to bumblebeecas, AlxM, bingos-gal, BatmanLeBu, only-some-loser, TXKimsonFan, AmaraRae, elliereynolds777, TweetyRulz, blackgem17, and islefallenangel for reviewing.

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