A/N: Okay, finally, a chapter with a little more ass behind it, and we have concluded the Scarecrow episode.
So, I know some of you might not like the ending of this chapter, but classic Winchester canon says actions speak louder than words, so I don't know that Dean would pick another fight with a wounded, tired Sam, no matter how wound up Dean is. I genuinely think Dean has settled in to battle whatever it is that's haunting Sam, even though he doesn't know what it is, and he doesn't want to spook Sam in the meantime. He wants Sam comfortable, wants him talking, not running, so that is his reasoning behind his actions in the next few chapters, as he will seem...compliant, I guess, but really, he's doing...you guessed it. Research. On Sammy. Not being sneaky, per se, just determined. Dean's decided that something has hurt his brother, and he is going to find it and end it, and if he has to humor Sam in the meantime, he will, to keep him safe. (But, shhh! Don't tell Sam...)
Another reviewer mentioned how glad they were that Dean didn't physically hurt Sam, the way he has a habit of doing when he's mad on the show, and my main reasoning is Sam's age, and the fact that this Sam's never left for Stanford. This Dean has always taken care of this Sam, and I don't think it would occur to him to casually get physical with him the way the boys do in the show. I personally think that was probably a change in their relationship in canon directly related to Sam's leaving, and Dean emotionally distancing himself from Sam because of it.
So, last night All The Pretty Monsters updated, and yesterday morning, Tuesday's Child updated, so lots of fun stuff to read.
Reviews are Love! (Tuesday's Child isn't scheduled to update again until Saturday night, but if it hits 60+ reviews in the meantime, I'll try to work it in earlier!)
As Always,
EverReader
Disclaimer: Not my sandbox
Prisoner Of War – Chapter Twenty-Nine
"Paper Airplanes"
Dean stormed into the library, heading instinctively for the table he and Sam had sat at yesterday, before the whole Merit fiasco, but the table was empty, top cleared, chairs neatly pushed in.
Scowling, he began systematically searching the library, top to bottom, table by table, room by room. He checked the stacks, he checked the reference room, the media room, he even broke into two separate storage rooms. He checked the coffee cart out on the quad (twice).
He questioned every person in there with a name tag, and a few who didn't.
He was starting to oscillate between extremely pissed annoyance and deep-seated fear.
Sam wasn't there.
Had, according to everyone he spoke to, never been there.
Then where the hell was he?
Dean had made sure to drive with an eye open for his brother, in case he hadn't caught a ride. He'd driven the exact route Sam would have taken, and he'd checked the campus surrounding the library.
Had Sam lied? Had he gotten fed up and just...disappeared? Ran away? Was this like that time he had run away to Flagstaff?
Was he back at their motel room, right now?
No.
Sam had said he'd be at the library, and a thousand things might have changed about Sam, but not this. Sam wouldn't purposefully lie about his whereabouts, not during a case. Sam knew that Dean would call out the marines (or, at least one ex-marine) if he went AWOL during a hunt.
But dammit, why wasn't the kid answering his phone? Dean had already left three messages, each one significantly more irritated than the last.
But his gut was telling him something was wrong, and he was through ignoring his instincts, at least when it came to Sam. His instincts had been telling him for weeks now that something was wrong with his brother, seriously wrong, at last night's fight had been the end result.
So Dean was done with the bullshit. He'd let all the other stupid shit get in the way of the one basic truth about Dean Winchester.
He took care of Sam.
And right now, every last screaming instinct was telling him that not only had Sam been here, at library, but that he would have sat at the same damn table.
But what about the books? If Sam had discovered an answer, wouldn't he have called Dean?
Maybe the librarian from last night had seen Sam, or helped him access the books, since the ones written in Latin were no doubt locked up at night.
He returned (once again) to the circulation desk.
"Excuse me, I'm looking for one of the librarians, an older gentleman who helped me last night?" Dean asked as politely as he could.
The girl behind the counter popped her gum at him. "Oh? Maury? He's only a part-timer. Retired last spring. He was here earlier, I think, to grab a coat or something he left behind, but he left hours ago."
Dean thanked her grudgingly and went back to his table thoughtfully. This place was the most likely place Sam would have went, because no matter what, Sam 2.0 had one obsession.
Finishing the case.
He wouldn't have left without an answer, wouldn't have left period, in fact. Not without letting Dean know. Fight or no fight, responding to calls and pages were drilled into them by John.
SO why would Sam leave?
AN uncomfortable thought crept into Dean's mind.
What if Sam hadn't wanted to leave?
Sure, they were several hours from Merit, but the townspeople there had just had their livelihoods destroyed, which could make for some bitter animosity. Or it could be one of the hundreds of other normal and paranormal monsters out in the real world, but again, Dean's gut was telling him this had to do with the case.
He began searching the small priviate research room they had used last night. He got on his hands and knees, looking along the ground, checking under the table. He checked the book shelves, he turned over the chairs.
He wasn't sure what he was looking for, was, in fact starting to wonder if he shouldn't just high tail it to Merit and find his brother, but Sam had come here for a reason and that reason still stood.
They needed to find a way to kill Cowan.
Sam would have focused on that first and foremost. He would have been an easy target, though, tired from a night without sleep, focused on translating the difficult Latin texts-
Dean paused mid thought, looking around suddenly. Sam always made notes when he was translating. He personally didn't need them, as well as he could read Latin, but it was a firmly established habit, as neither John nor Dean read it half as well.
Dean checked the trash, but the can was completely empty, as if someone had replaced the bad just that day...
Looking around in mounting frustration and worry, he spied something, lodged in a corner a one of the room's bookshelves.
A paper airplane.
Dean could remember teaching Sam how to make one, how they had used to sail notes to one another silently to keep occupied whenever John needed quiet for research.
Striding over, he ripped it from where it had lodged, opening it with shaking hands.
If Sam had felt the need to leave a hidden message for Dean, then he really was in trouble.
The notes were wobbly, as if the writer had been tired, becoming nearly unlegible near the end, which worried Dean because Sam's handwriting was normally extremely neat.
In fact, the poor writing escalated so quickly Dean wondered if Sam had gotten a hand cramp, or fallen asleep...
Or been drugged.
"Son of a bitch. Oh, I am ripping someone's lungs out." He said lowly.
'Cowan's yearly cycle lasts approximately three days, the day before, during, and after the full moon. He cannot be killed by destroying his avatar. Instead, the tree he winters in during his hibernation must be destroyed.'
And underneath, underlined several times with heavy, wavering lines was one word.
'fire'
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Sam scowled fiercely at the the man and woman, the owner's of the cafe, as they finished chaining him to a tree near the heart of the orchard.
What he saw next actually shocked him, however.
A man in a Sheriff's uniform was frog-marching a tied and bound Emily at gun point, while Scottie, her Aunt and Uncle all watched dispassionatley.
"Aunt June, Uncle Harley? Why are you doing this?" She cried, clearly confused and frightened and Sam felt true loathing for her relatives.
They were going to sacrifice their own niece to some pagan monster just to ensure a good harvest.
"Try to understand, honey. It's for the best. Everyone has to sacrifice sometimes." The man was saying regretfully.
Sam wanted to spit in his face.
"You're crazy? What are you doing? Is this what happened to those people he was looking for?" She said, jerking her head towards Sam as her aunt snapped the chains around her wrists.
"I wish it didn't have to be you, Emily." Her uncle was saying remorsefully.
She shook her head disbelievingly. "I...I thought you loved me?" She said, as tears streaked down her cheeks.
Her aunt sighed. "That's what love means, Emily. It means sacrifice."
Her words chilled Sam to the born, as thoughts of his mother shot across his mind, intermixed with the echo of Constance's words.
'We always betray what we love'.
After a moment, the townspeople left, and Emily turned wide, frightened eyes to Sam.
"Oh, please, tell me I am dreaming..." She said.
Sam swallowed. "Short version? You remember how you said the town was blessed? Well, more like it was protected. By an ancient pagan god, named Cowan. The townspeople have kept him trapped here for centuries, and every year a sacrifice has to be made, or the harvest fails."
Her eyes widened. "What do you mean, sacrifice?"
Sam said nothing, and after a moment, she shook her head. "No. No way, this is crazy, YOU'RE crazy..."
"You're chained to an apple tree." Sam pointed out bluntly, as he started once again pulling at his bonds. The sun set early this late in the year, and they needed to get out of there soon.
"Crap. Crap-crap-crap!" She whispered, looking around in fear.
"Just keep watching the scarecrow, and tell me if it moves." Sam said, continuing to twist his wrists. He could feel blood start to well around the cold edges of the metal, but he refused to let that deter him. If Dean came to the library looking for him in time, if he found the message, if he got here in time, then he might be able to help Sam and Emily.
But the sun was going down, and Sam couldn't afford to take chances, not with Emily's life on the line, too.
"So, what's the plan?" She whispered.
"Get out." He answered shortly, strainng again with all his might. If he had his lock picks ( and a third hand) he might be able to pick them, but though he was good, he wasn't have as fast as Dean.
"Then, find wherever the fuck this thing holds up in the winter and torch it. Bye-bye monster, bye-bye town."
"Holds up? You mean, like, hibernating?" She asked, as the sun finished setting.
"Yeah, a tree, most likely. Something old, real old." He said, grinning in triumph when one wrist started moving easier than the other, the blood acting like a lubricant.
"The first tree." Emily suddenly volunteered, and Sam paused, looking over at her.
"It's near here, just a little closer to the center of the orchard. It's old, legend says it came over with the first immigrants." She added.
"That'd be it." He agreed.
"But how are we going to get out?" She asked fearfully.
Painfully, he thought to himself. There was no way he was getting his hand out of this cuff without dislocating half the bones in his hand.
This was going to suck.
Trying to calm down Emily, however, he said. "Right before they grabbed me, I left a message for my brother. He's on his way."
She frowned. "How do you know? What kind of message?"
"Paper Airplane..." He muttered, bracing himself as best he could to yank with all the force he could on his hand. He just hoped he didn't tear half of it off in the process.
Just as he was about to to go for it, Emily froze, eyes widening in terror. "What was that?"
"Can you see the scarecrow?" Sam asked urgently.
"Nope. Which means we better hustle." A familiar voice said, and Sam wanted to scream and laugh and cry all at once.
Dean was here.
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Dean knelt quickly beside his brother, laying his flare gun beside Sam's legs as he went to work with his lock pick on the first cuff.
"Scarecrow's gone, we gotta move!" Dean ordered urgently, as the first cuff popped open. Dean swore violently when he saw Sam's bloody wrist.
"Someone's losing a limb over this..." He said darkly.
Sam had already grabbed up the flare gun, doing his best to cover Dean and Emily both while Dean freed his other wrist. Dean swore lowly when he saw the second one was even worse than the first.
"Get Emily, I'll cover you." Sam said, eyes everywhere.
Dean wanted to check the rest of him out, look for other, hidden damage, but he knew Sam was right. They had a monster on the loose and a victim in harm's way.
He knelt beside Emily, starting on her restraints.
"Who the hell are you guys?" She said.
"We help." Dean answered shortly.
Suddenly, she shrieked.
"Dean, DROP!" Sam yelled commandingly, and Dean did, as he felt the whoosh of the flare shoot past over his head.
The scarecrow had come up behind him silently, but now it was making a keening, creaking noise, like an asthmatic eighty-year old trying to scream.
"That won't be enough, Emily, show me the tree!" Sam yelled.
"Not now, Sam!" Dean countered. "Now we get out and torch it in the morning!"
Sam looked at him inscrutably, and for a moment Dean was afraid he was going to run off into the orchard anyway, but then he nodded jerkily, and Dean sighed a silent sigh of relief.
That relief was short lived, however, when they got to the gate of the grove.
Scottie, June and Harley were all they, blocking the way.
And they were armed.
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Sam raised his arms instinctively, trying to warn Dean and shield Emily simultaneously.
"Please, Uncle Harley, just let us go, it's not to late!" Emily was crying.
Tearfully, the man said- "I'm sorry, Em, but you have to let him-" Harley's words cut off with a guggle and June screamed and Emily launched herself into Sam's arms reflexively.
Cowan had come up behind Harley, thrusting a clawed hand into his back. As Harley struggled limply and June screamed, Cowan's other arm grabbed her, and as he dragged them into the night, Scottie ran off in terror.
Sam wrapped his arms around a sobbing Emily as he stared bleakly over her head at his brother.
"Now, can we torch the damn tree? He asked tiredly.
A few hours later, Sam sat numbly in their motel room as Dean examined and re-wrapped his wrists. They had stopped bleeding, but Sam was going to get some funny looks as school the next few days if he wasn't careful.
Dean hadn't said a word about anything, the fight, Merit, Cowan, even Emily had been a closed subject once they'd stuck her on a bus to Blue Earth. Pastor Jim specialized in helping people like her, people who's lives had been upended by the supernatural.
Sam was tired.
Really really tired.
He hadn't slept in more than two days, he'd been shot, drugged, chained and pretty much everything else, and right now it was everything he could do not to sway where he sat, as Dean's lips pressed together unhappily as he surveyed Sam's wounds.
"Shoulda torched the whole town." He muttered.
"Won't need to." Sam mumbled tiredly. "By this time next year, it'll be a ghost town."
Dean looked at him shrewdly. "Go to sleep, Sammy." He ordered.
Sam raised his eyes to Dean's, to tired to be careful, to pick and choose and dance around every word.
"Knew you'd come. Knew you'd find the airplane." Sam mumbled as he flopped back on the bed, too tired to move up any further.
"Yeah? That's not what you weren't saying last night." Dean said pointedly.
Sam sighed, letting his eyes close, to exhausted to be anything but honest and to the point.
"Didn't say you wouldn't save me. Said you couldn't forever..." He sighed. "No one wins anyway..." He muttered disjointedly.
"Come again?" Dean answered, actually sounding amused as Sam felt something being laid over him.
"Life." He said, yawning without opening his eyes. "People act like you can win, like it's a game. But the thing about life is..." He yawned again, rolling over as Dean killed the lights. "No one gets out of it alive anyway."