A/N: Did you guys think I had abandoned this story? Sorry. Mom went back (again) into the hospital, and it threw off my weekend updating plans.

So, here is the next chapter of POW.

And here is my NaNo inspiration for you all for this update-

"Good books don't give up all their secrets at once." -Stephen King

Reviews are Love!

As Always,

EverReader

Disclaimer: Not mine

Prisoner of War – Chapter Thirty Three

"Open and Shut Case"

Sam was a logical person. It was actually a strange trait to find in a hunter, as only insane people hunted things that hunted you back, but Sam Winchester was, by nature, a logical person.

So he knew, on an intellectual level, that the sight of his brother subbing for the gym coach (and god only knew how Dean pulled that off-or, what had happened to the actual coach, because Sam did NOT want to know), while wearing red gym shorts, should not be as upsetting as the giant, drunken, teddy bear from a few weeks back.

And yet...somehow, it was.

"My life has reached all new lows..." He murmured to himself as he walked into the gym to rendezvous with his brother as they had planned.

He waved halfheartedly at a couple of sophomore girls who called out to him as he passed, but he kept his eyes sternly on the floor.

They needed to end this case, ASAP.

First, his damn school was haunted, and now, Dean was teaching.

Dean.

Teaching.

In. Sam's. School.

"Sammy!" Dean crowed in delight, gesturing at himself. "You know, these uniforms aren't half as bad as I remember..."

Sam scrunched his eyes shut for a moment, breathing in through his nose and exhaling slowly.

They were. They really, really were.

Dean blew the whistle, signaling the beginning of the dodge ball game.

"Dodge ball? Seriously?" Sam asked, as kids frantically ran and dove for cover (usually behind unsuspecting classmates).

Dean grinned even wider. "The whistle makes me their god, Sammy. Besides, how better to piss off the ghost of someone possessing angry nerds?"

"Well, you might be right about that. So, get this. I heard someone talking this morning, in the library. It was about this kid, Ian, who killed himself about five years back. Apparently he was pretty nerdy, and some of the other kids gave him a pretty hard time." Sam said, gracefully dodging a rogue ball.

"Sorry, Sam..." The culprit said, obviously flustered that he'd nearly hit an older (and significantly taller) classmate.

Sam waved him off nonchalantly, but Dean's eyes didn't miss the hero worship directed at Sam, whose fame had grown significantly since he's saved Tyler from Alex.

"Suicide? Yeah, that'd be violent enough. I'm liking it." Dean said, nodding.

"Just one problem." Sam added, and Dean groaned.

"Let me guess. He was cremated?" Dean said, sighing. He blew his whistle, a short, hard blast. "Let's move it people. Losing team runs ten laps, hustle."

"Yup." Sam added, watching warily as Dean enjoyed himself just a little too much.

"Fuck." Dean said, scowling fiercely. "Any chance he's latched onto something on school property?"

Sam shrugged. "Sure, but what? And why now, after five years?""

Dean rubbed his forehead, then glanced over at Sam speculatively. "Any chance you..." He trailed off awkwardly.

Sam shook his head, unsure as too what his brother was asking him.

"You know..." Dean said, making a slight grimace. "You've had...pretty good luck finding the ghosts recently..."

Sam felt ice flood his system as he realized what Dean was trying to hint at.

Had Sam's freaky ghost whispering ability yielded anything?

They had steadfastly refused to acknowledge the changes Sam had been experiencing, in true Winchester fashion, anything that couldn't be shot or fed was but to bed.

Until now.

Until Sam's brother pretty much asked him if he'd done anything freakish lately.

Nausea threatened, dangerously close to the surface.

The look on Sam's face must have tipped Dean off that he had stumbled into very, very dangerous territory, because he was already reaching out with one hand, not even caring that they were surrounded by Sam's classmates.

"Sammy, hey, I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything by it..." Dean said, worry and concern lacing his voice as Sam adeptly side stepped his hand.

"Don't worry about it." Sam replied through numb lips, feeling like he'd just been sucker punched by his grandmother. "It's fine. No. nothing's happened. I got to...go." Sam said, back tracking quickly.

Dean started to come after him, but then stopped, frowning as he realized he couldn't exactly leave his...class.

"Sam!" He called, but Sam just gave him a wave, walking even faster now. The bell would ring any minute now, flooding the halls with students and teachers and noise-noise-noise, and Sam already knew he couldn't do it.

He quickly exited the gym, making a beeline for the old science building. He couldn't exactly leave school, not with Dean subbing, but he also knew he didn't have it in him to face anyone just yet.

He could miss one class, tell the teacher he had a headache. If Dean found out, Sam would just say he spent the hour following a lead.

He let himself in the quiet, dusty building. It was short and low, only five rooms and a short hall that had once upon a time been used for freshman lockers. Some genius had thought it was a good idea to but the science labs at one end of the building, and the shop classroom at the other end.

Sam could only imagine how much suffering that must have caused certain student, the car and power tool loving kids shoved side by side with the science whizzes.

Talk about a recipe for disaster.

Someone higher up the food chain must have finally gotten the picture, however, because when the new labs were built, they were in a separate building on the other side of campus. Shop had been discontinued nearly ten years before, in favor of computer and typing classes, and now the building was unused except for storage.

Dust motes danced in the air and Sam stifled a cough as he tried desperately not to think about what Dean had tried to ask him back in the gym.

Had Sam heard anything? Sense anything? Tuned in to anything ghostly with his freakish ghost-whispering ability?

Sam wanted to scream and punch the wall. He couldn't stand the fact that Dean knew, knew there was something wrong with Sam, something not right, something different.

Sam had felt like Dean had stripped him naked in that gym, was more ashamed than he could ever remember feeling, at least in school.

It was like his own personal brand of hell was invading every square inch of his life.

Ghosts were invading his school, and his brother was asking for freak-status updates.

Sam stiffened suddenly as he felt the temperature plummet.

"No." He said, shaking his head. He was sick of ghosts, sick of seeing them and hearing them and being singled out by them.

He was angry that it was happening, over and over, angry that he was becoming used to it, angry that he was coming to expect it.

"No!" He yelled the word this time, but the ghost didn't care.

All around him, he could here the sounds of tumblers, as the locks on various lockers began to spin themselves back in forth.

Sam shook his head in denial, but before his very eyes, locker door's began opening and slamming closed, over and over again. Old, yellowed papers were flying about, a storm of forgotten words. The hall echoed with the cacophony, and Sam covered his ears to try and drown out the din. More and more lockers were slamming now, and Sam broke the cardinal rule of hunting.

He squeezed his eyes shut, tightening his hands over his ears. He knew it was dangerous, knew how fool hardy it was to close your eyes when you were around a supernatural creature, but at that moment, he just...didn't care.

It could kill him. It could possess him. It could throw him out of the window.

As long as it just...

"STOP!" Sam screamed out into the hall, feeling a bright ball of anger in his chest bloom and explode out of him, like a miniature nuclear bomb.

In a second, in a heartbeat, every door froze, open or closed, however it had been at the moment Sam had screamed.

Papers drifted lazily to the ground, the silence so loud it now echoed.

Sam stood, ankle deep in paper, looking about in horror and despair.

Had he made it stop? Had he somehow stopped the ghost?

What was he becoming?

Something fell off the wall behind him suddenly, the sound of impact muffled by the carpet of papers but not completely silenced.

Sam approached warily, bending over to pick up the item. It was a small plaque, an award of some sort.

"Dirk Chambers- Auto Repair Shop, Top Of Class". There was tinier writing above that, and Sam wearily wiped away the dust.

Three smaller words were revealed, and Sam sucked in an unhappy breath.

"In Memory Of".

Sam laughed bitterly, sliding down the wall to sit in the nest of papers, feeling like the lone survivor of a tornado, or an earthquake, stranded in the wreckage of a thousand lives.

Well, that wasn't exactly subtle, but he'd done it. He'd made contact with the ghost.

He had a name, and that was three fourth's of the way to solving the case.

He'd done it.

Sam began to weep.

Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural

Dean frowned as he listened to the voice mail from Sam.

"Dean, it's me. I have the name. Told my teachers I had a headache and headed to the house. See you after school."

Sam's voice sounded off, raged and hoarse, and if Dean didn't know any better, he'd swear Sam had been crying.

And the way he'd worded his message struck him as odd. Sam hadn't said he had 'a name', he'd said he had 'the name', like he was absolutely sure he was correct.

With anyone else, it might have been a simple, grammatical error, but Sam didn't make errors like that, which meant that Sam didn't think he had the right name, he was certain.

He pulled up to the house, ascertaining, with a glance, that John was, once again, gone.

"Sam?" He called out as he let himself in.

"Sam?"

"Here, Dean." Sam said, quietly from the study off to the side of the main room.

Dean frowned harder as he studied Sam closer. He was surer now than ever that his little brother had, in fact been crying. There was no physical traces to be seen, but the way Sam avoided his eyes, cleared his throat made Dean dead positive.

"What happened?" He said, stepping in and tilting Sam's face towards his, looking for wounds or any other signs of physical damage.

He brother didn't exactly cry easily.

At least, not anymore.

Sam shook his head. "You got what you wanted." He said dully.

"What the hell are you talking about? What happened?" Dean said, growing more alarmed by the minute.

"The ghost. It...contacted me." Sam's voice was completely flat, as if he were sleep-talking, and it sent shiver's up Dean's spine.

"What? Contacted you how? Are you hurt?" Dean said frantically, pulling Sam over to the window where the light was better.

Sam was pale, with dark shadows under his eyes, but Dean could still ascertain no signs of actual physical harm.

"Sam? Sammy? Start talking or I'm calling Dad." Dean threatened.

Sam blinked slowly, turning to his brother.

"I went to the old science building..." He began.

Dean listened with growing horror as Sam described his experience.

Even though it hadn't attacked Sam outright, it had certainly tried to contact him, in a way it hadn't any of it's other victims. When Dean had started to ask Sam if he'd sensed anything weird, he'd certainly never meant for Sam to go to some old building by himself acting like ghost bait.

But he'd be lying if he didn't admit to himself, at least, that Sam was certainly more sensitive to ghosts than Dean was.

He refused to consider the possibility that it could be anything more. He acknowledged that some people were just a little more sensitive, and obviously, Sam was one of them. It sucked, on one level, since as a hunter, Sam was exposed to a lot more ghosts than the average person, but Dean was determined that's all it was.

Sam had always been extraordinarily perceptive, and Dean had decided that's all it was, no more, no less.

Of course, you didn't have to be extraordinarily perceptive to notice a hallway shakedown like that.

"Why the hell did you go alone?" Dean snarled, fear for his brother making him brusque.

Sam seemed to hunch in on himself for a moment, and Dean regretted his tone instantly. "I...didn't feel too good. I just wanted a few moments of quiet."

And had gotten a half-time show from the ghost shop-class pasts instead, Dean thought guiltily, knowing his words to Sam in gym had been what made Sam seek peace and quiet in the first place.

Dean closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Okay, okay. So, shop ghost. Dirk. What's his story?"

"He died about nine years ago. Overdosed on pain meds." Sam replied in that same, dull voice.

"At school?" Dean asked, sure they wouldn't have missed a news article like that in their previous research.

"No, at home." Sam replied.

"So, why now? And how? And why at all?" Dean asked in frustration.

"His dad." Sam replied, folding himself onto the couch, suddenly looking impossible small for someone of his height.

"What do you mean?" Dean asked, sitting beside Sam on the couch and throwing an old blanket towards him.

Sam took it mechanically, huddling under it. "His dad just got a job as a bus driver. Both the kids who spazzed out rode the same bus."

"Son of a bitch. You think dad's doing it on purpose?" Dean asked.

Sam shook his head tiredly. "Won't know until we go question him." He said, starting to stand up. He coughed suddenly, a hard, wet cough that sent fear coursing through Dean's veins, a cough Dean hadn't heard in several weeks.

"Shit, Sam!" Dean said, reaching out to feel if Sam had a fever.

Sam waved him away again. "I'm fine. It was just dusty in the science building."

"Bed. Bed, right now. You're exhausted, you have shadows under your eyes, you're coughing, and if you think I don't know you've had a headache for the better part of a week, you're crazy. Bed. Now." Dean said insistently. He wasn't about to let Sam use himself for target practice, especially after his little monologue back in Indiana.

He also wasn't going to let him get sick again.

"Dean. I fine. We need to go check out the bus, and now's the best time. Two dozen kids are going to climb on that bus tomorrow morning, and not all of them are high schoolers. What if this thing possesses a six year old or something?" Sam argued hotly.

It was more animation than Dean had seen in Sam since that afternoon in Gym, so he reluctantly gave in. He forced Sam to take two Tylenol and to start on one of the extra bottles of antibiotics that the doctor had given them.

"Dean, we shouldn't waste these." Sam said doggedly.

"We're not." Dean said firmly, and Sam finally gave in and swallowed the pill.

"Alright, where is the bus coral located?" Dean asked.

"Where else? Behind the old science building." Sam said glumly.