A/N: And here we go with the next chapter of "Prisoner of War". Just a reminder, if you're following "All the Pretty Monsters", it updated Tuesday, and my two newest projects, "How to Fix a Winchester" and "Confessions of a Boy King" both updated on Sunday. Please check them out if you get a chance.
Super excited, because Sunday I set a new personal best for number of views in one day, and I am totally on track for my visitor/view goals for this month.
So thank you-thank you-thank you to all my readers, because I really appreciate your time and support!
Reviews are love!
Next update scheduled for this weekend. Just about ready for a more action filled chapter. Just had to get everything set up just right.
Enjoy, and please, please review.
Prisoner of War- Chapter 11
"Madness By Moonlight"
From The Personal Journal Of John Henry Winchester
"Sam continues to rebel against the hunter's life. I wish it could be different, for him, for Dean. But for Sam, at least, I can see no chance for a normal life. Any civilian he get's close to would become a target. And day by day, I grow more doubtful that he can over come the influence of the Demon blood. I find myself entertaining dark thoughts.
Frightening, horrible thoughts.
Thoughts of the actions I might have to take if I cannot save Sam.
I cannot allow him to give in to the darkness that dwells inside of him. True, evil swims in his veins, but so does my blood, so does Mary's. If I just keep pushing him, keep him focused on the hunt, perhaps I can channel his darkness."
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Sam walked through the dusty aisles of the library. Dust motes danced in the dim light and he fought back the urge to cough. It was after seven and the library closed in half an hour.
They'd been at it over an hour already, and exhaustion dragged at Sam's body, making his limbs liquid and heavy.
They started going back, week by week in the local newspapers, but looking through hard copies of obituaries was long, slow work, and Sam was beginning to worry they wouldn't find what they needed before the librarian kicked them out.
The reference section was already supposed to be closed for the night, but Dean had sweet talked the head librarian's assistant to make a special allowance for them.
Sam supposed he should be glad Dean was so easy going with the ladies, but in all honesty, sometimes he found Dean's heart breaker ways a little distasteful. Dean was never troubled by it, considering it merely one of the perks/pitfalls of the hunter's life, but Sam had never really acquired the knack for one night stands, nor had he ever really felt to draw of them either.
Wondering if perhaps Dean could work just a little more magic on the librarian, he decided to see if he could take one more look in her computer. The library in Jericho was small, with only two computers, one of which was broken, and the other behind the counter.
He headed back towards the front.
A chill washed over his skin as he passed the corner of the last rack, and he stopped instinctively, reaching for his knife.
He hovered, poised on the balls of his feet, waiting, listening.
Nothing was to be seen, however, and the chill didn't return. Moreover, Sam didn't particularly feel like he was no longer alone.
It was hard to explain, that hunter's sense of company, of no longer being the only creature in a room.
Sam's had always been well honed, and lately, as evidenced back at the lake, his instincts for that kind of thing had gone off the charts.
Sam just wished it was for a different reason.
He backed up slowly, shrugging his shoulder blades against the prickling discomfort as the chills again crawled up and down his spine.
Okay.
He could take a hint. Moving in closer to the racks, he began scanning the shelf's contents, reaching out when one binder in particular caught his eye.
It looked exactly the same as every other binder on the shelf, and yet, it didn't.
Maybe Sam was just imagining it, but he could swear it felt cold.
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Dean looked at his watch, frowning. Sam had been wandering for racks for more than fifteen minutes, and the cute librarian was quickly morphing into the cute-and-extremely-annoyed librarian.
He stood, wiping his dusty hands on his jeans. His stomach rumbled, and he berated himself for not getting them out of there earlier in order to eat something.
They had gotten caught up in following Sam's new lead, and Dean had to admit, as disquieting as Sam's new attitude was, it was nice to not always be on the defensive with him, to not always be in the middle of an argument about school-life-hunting-Dad.
He wandered in the direction Sam had gone, listening intently. The whole library was hushed, even more silent than usual, the Winchester's the last remaining patrons. Most of the lights were already dimmed or out completely, the Winchester's table an island of light in a sea of gloom.
Moving into the shadows, he wandered up the next aisle a little more quickly, intent on locating Sam and then dinner, in that exact order, and if they had to start over tomorrow, than that's what they would have to do.
He nearly stumbled over Sam, who appeared to have sat down exactly where he had stopped, a large binder of laminated new sheets in his lap.
"Watch it!" Sam said, mildly enough, half ducking in instinct in case his big brother landed on him.
"The hell, Sammy. I just about landed in your lap." Dean grumbled, crouching beside him.
"That'd make the librarian jealous." Sam said distractedly, as he turned the book around so that the words faced the right way for Dean to read.
"I think I found her." Sam said simply.
"Constance Welch." Dean whistled. "She was a looker, wasn't she?'
Sam looked at him blankly. "She was also cremated." He pointed out, frowning.
"Shit." Dean replied, and Sam nodded.
"Pretty much." He agreed, before checking that no one was watching as he removed the the laminated sheet and rolled it just enough to slide up his jacket sleeve.
Dean raised his eyebrow, impressed that Sam was so matter of fact about the theft of research materials.
He chose not to be alarmed that the old Sam would never have done it, instead focusing on the fact that now they could go get some food.
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Sam poked at his salad dispiritedly as he waited for Dean to finish up his burger. He'd managed to finish the soup and most of his milkshake, at least, so Dean should lay off him about eating for a while, anyway.
He was staring at the news article, which he'd spread out once the waitress had removed his empty soup bowl. He was tapping his finger distractedly against the Formica table top, the beat keeping time with the pounding in his head.
The headache hadn't come on full force, luckily, they way they had all too often lately. Instead, it danced subtly along the edge of his consciousness, and Sam was determined to ignore it if it killed him.
"It says she jumped off the bridge shortly after she phoned 9-1-1 to report her two children had accidentally drowned in the tub" Sam read aloud.
Dean frowned, and thankfully swallowed before asking "How old were the kids?"
Sam sighed. "Four and six." He answered heavily.
Dean shook his head. "Well, I know they say you're never too old to drown, but four and six seem a little old to drown in the bath tub. Especially both at the same time."
Sam nodded in agreement. "It certainly supports the Woman in White theory. Scorned woman killing her children in a moment of temporary insanity, then killing herself in remorse. The bridge ties it all in, Women in White tend to haunt waterways and coastlines, and that whole stretch of highway borders the river."
"It might support your theory, but it doesn't give us much of a plan of action. She's already cremated." Dean swallowed the last of his burger morosely. John was not going to be happy.
Sam frowned into his cup. "Maybe she has another weakness..." He said softly, and Dean looked up, curiosity kindled by the odd sound in Sam's voice.
"What are you thinking?" He asked, watching his brother intently.
"There must be something left, somewhere, that she's tied to. Her husband's still alive, though it says he moved away shortly after her death. Guilt, probably. His infidelity triggered her madness, which is probably why she killed her kids." Sam said, lost in thought.
Dean snorted. "That's no damn excuse for killing your kids." He said heatedly, and Sam nodded absentmindedly, eyes tracing over the article again, though he knew it practically by heart by now.
Dean popped a fry in his mouth. "So, you're saying, that the victims, all those guys..." He waved another fry around for emphasis, and Sam nodded.
"Yeah. Cheaters, is my guess. Women in White target unfaithful men. You might want to be careful." Sam added, as an after thought, finishing the last of his milkshake.
Dean looked up from where he was signing the fake credit card bill.
"What? Why?" Dean asked in confusion, and Sam resisted the urge to scoff and roll his eyes, instead settling for merely raising one brow.
"You're kidding, right?" Sam asked, completely dead pan.
"Hey, I don't think I like what you're insinuating, bitch. I'm not a cheater, I just...don't believe in settling down." Dean argued, looking offended.
"Laura Matthews and Jeanie Tillman." Sam replied without missing a beat, and Dean winced.
"That was just a misunderstanding." Dean stated uncomfortably, standing and shrugging into his leather jacket.
"Teresa Giordano and Colleen White." Sam replied easily, sitting back and looking satisfied.
Dean scowled at him again.
"Maureen Carston and Rachel Taylor." Sam rattled the names off easily, and Dean's scowl deepened.
"Are you finished?" Dean asked, pointedly changing the subject, and Sam stood, laughing just a little.
"Don't shoot the messenger." He said, holding up his hands with a tongue in cheek smile, and Dean couldn't help but smile back, it had been so long since he'd heard Sam laugh.
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"Hey." Sam said, as they walked out of the diner. "Let's go the long way, out towards the bridge where Constance jumped."
"Uh..no?" Dean offered, looking at Sam as if he were crazy. "Try again. Try...let's go back to the motel so Sammy can take his medicine and hit his rack." Dean said authoritatively.
"Just for a moment." Sam insisted, and Dean stopped walking, looking at Sam closely.
Sam looked tired, pale and wan, and the shadows had deepened under his eyes. He also looked troubled, though, and Dean put an arm out, reaching without thinking for Sam's shoulder. Sam tensed, but allowed the touch, and Dean repressed another feeling of unease at Sam's un-Sam like behavior.
"What are you thinking, Sam?" Dean asked, curious as to what could have unsettled his brother.
Sam shrugged uncomfortably, as if his own skin were a little to tight.
"I don't know...I just..." Sam trailed off, frowning, and Dean could tell that not only was the kid over-tired, but he was getting frustrated with himself for not being able to voice his thoughts. He should have been in bed hours ago, and now he was to wound up to relax. Dean had seen it a hundred times before when Sam was growing up, just not recently. Sam's recent illness had thrown his body off kilter, though, and now Dean had a handle-with-care little brother on his hands.
"I haven't been out there yet. I've just been stuck at the motel. I feel sort of like I'm trouble shooting this case over the phone or something. I just...want to get a feel for it, I guess." Sam finished with a heavy sigh and Dean studied him thoughtfully.
Sam had "troubleshooted" dozens, maybe hundreds of cases by now for Dean and John as he juggled both school and the life. He'd never complained before, had actually seemed relieved whenever he was relegated to research.
Sam 2.0 seemed much more action oriented, however.
Dean wondered if this was just Sam trying to find his feet after his illness, or if he thought he had something to prove.
Whatever the case, he recognized the stubborn set to Sam's chin. The kid wouldn't get any rest, would stew and fret over this until Dean gave him something to work with so he sighed loudly.
"Well." He said, tossing the keys to Sam. "At least it's a good night for a drive."
Sam's face lit up in a tired grin. "Really?" He said disbelievingly.
"Put so much as a scratch on her and I'll end you." Dean replied in utter seriousness, and Sam's grin grew.
"Jerk." He replied, and Dean's heart warmed as he realized he hadn't heard Sam use that phrase in weeks, since before he'd gone to South Caroline, in fact.
"Bitch." He replied good-naturedly, and they walked out into the parking lot shoulder to shoulder.
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Sam drove down the deserted highway, glad for once Dean had the radio set to merely 'loud' instead of 'ear shattering'.
His headache was growing worse, and Sam was beginning to be afraid it was going to segue into a full blown migraine.
He drove easily, the thrum of the engine a gentle roar in the background of his thoughts. Despite Dean's threats, Dean had made such long ago that Sam was a more than competent driver.
Slowly, Sam relaxed a little, the quiet blur of the dark trees soothing to his rattled nerves, raw from being trapped in a hotel room with an overanxious brother for the last several weeks.
Sam cast his mind back over everything he had read, that niggling feeling of having forgotten something haunting him once again.
It had started back at the restaurant, eventually intensifying unto the point where Sam knew he'd never be able to relax until he'd addressed it.
Going out to the bridge was a hail Mary pass, certainly, but Sam had been out of other ideas.
He could see the bridge coming up in the distance, and he slowed down.
The river could be seen now, moonlight glittering off of the rippling water, and for just a moment, Sam's mind jumped back to Lake Manitoc, and the way the sunlight had trickled down through the water to where he'd been trapped, fighting not to breathe in the dark water.
"You okay, Sam?" Dean's voice broke through Sam's reverie, and he shook himself, looking over at Dean.
"Yeah, yeah. Just...more tired than I thought. Might let you drive back." Sam stammered.
"Sure kiddo." Dean said, doubt threading his voice and Sam grimaced.
Dean had finally relaxed a little, and he wasn't looking forward to a return of the mother hen.
Turning back to the road, he suddenly slammed up the brakes, so hard he was nearly standing on them by the time the car stopped, back end swerving as it fishtailed to a halt.
Sam was staring, startled and breathing heavy.
Constance stood right in front of the car, white dress floating gently in the breeze, beautiful face marred by the dark wrongness of her eyes.
In the blink of an eye she vanished, and Sam's breath left in a rush that morphed into a cough halfway out.
"Jesus, Sammy, what's wrong? Why'd you stop?" Dean cried, reaching over and pounding Sam on the back.
"You didn't...see her?" Sam finally managed, looking wide eyed at his brother. The chills were back, or his fever or both, and gooseflesh chased up and down his arms.
"See who?" Dean demanded, "Constance?" He said, looking around, instinctively reaching for his weapon, though the handgun would be of little use against a ghost.
Sam nodded. "Right there, middle of the damn road, clear as daylight."
Dean's lips thinned. "Well, I guess that's why they keep finding abandoned cars here." He said grimly.
Sam unbuckled his belt, getting out of the car quickly.
"Sam!" Dean called, getting out also, taking a defensive stance as he moved closer to Sam to cover him.
Sam didn't bother to reach for his knife, instead searching with his eyes, with his senses.
Slowly, he pivoted around.
"Oh shit." He heard Dean mutter, and was only a little relieved that apparently Dean saw her too this time.
Constance stood on the railing, skirt swirling faster around her legs now in the breeze of the water. Sam realized with a start that she wasn't looking at him.
She was staring straight at Dean.