Stubborn Survival: Gleason's Revenge
By: Coffeemaniac
Set between 2006-2007. John Winchester has been dead a few months. It's been eight weeks since Sam was kidnapped by Mark Foster and Richard Gleason
Rated M for violence, torture, mentions of child abuse, and mentions of child sexual abuse. The violence and torture are fairly graphic, the other things are not.
Reviews are welcome and encouraged.
Part 4
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Sam woke up wishing he hadn't. His mouth tasted like metal and his lips felt glued. A weird tingling sensation pulsed through his neck and limbs. His head felt heavy and it was hard to keep his eyes open.
He groaned as he rolled from his back to his stomach, the injuries of the last couple of days making their presence known. His hand landed on something bony and he jerked back only to find his brother lying next to him.
"Dean," Sam said while trying to garner some balance.
He situated himself so that he was sitting but that ignited a wave of nausea. He took long, slow breaths and held his head in both hands while he pressed back the need to be sick. After a few moments he pushed on to his knees and shifted around on the hard, dirt floor.
Dean was lying on his back. One leg was bent half while the other was lying nearly straight. His arms were pulled above his head with his wrists shackled into some medieval looking chains that were affixed into the wall.
Sam spent a couple of minutes checking his brother for injuries while he tried to rouse him back to consciousness. Dean remained stubbornly still despite the fact that he didn't seem to have any bumps or bruises that would account for it.
Sam started working on the restraints next. The manacles holding Dean's wrists looked welded closed. There was no lock or anything that could be removed. The same held true for the chains leading to the wall. When Sam looked closer he could see some singed skin beneath the metal. After locking him up, someone had soldered the metal into one piece.
"Come on, Dean, wake up," Sam said.
Sam sat next to Dean and leaned against the wall. He thought about waking and the weird taste in his mouth. While he reviewed the first moments he realized that he had been drugged. Dean must have been also and he hadn't woken yet.
He remembered the fight in the elevator. They had been outnumbered and apparently, outmaneuvered because they fell in a dismal defeat.
Sam looked around the cellar. He remembered it though only vaguely. Someplace, not far from the steps was a set of posts driven into the ground. He had been tied down to them. Mark Foster had used it as a place for Sam to briefly recover from days of torture and neglect.
Sam shivered. He rubbed his arms and tried to focus on Dean. He refused to think too much about being back in the cellar or knowing that the barn was so close.
Cold, damp air hung still around them. Sam smelled the musty odor of mud and stone. He touched Dean's face, feeling a chill against his fingertips. He took off his flannel over shirt and tucked it around Dean's torso. It wasn't much but it was all he had.
Sam stood up. He walked in a crouch to the edge of the stairs. Looking up, he could see light peering through the slats of the two doors. He climbed slowly, listening for any noise over the creak of his footsteps but didn't hear anything. When he reached the halfway point he pushed on the wooden planks that served to cover the cellar expecting them to be locked. He recoiled when they burst open letting in the light of a cloudy day.
Cautiously, Sam climbed up, looking in all directions as much as he could, expecting a shovel to the head or a gun in his face. Instead he emerged into the open lawn, the barn standing a few hundred feet away and a young woman sitting cross legged in front of him.
With brown hair hanging to her shoulders, iron straight and thin, she turned brown eyes in his direction. Thin lips spread into a smile as she held out her arms. She wore a white, cotton dress that curled around her ankles and brown, open-toed sandals.
"Welcome to my home, Sam Winchester," she said as she folded her ankles together and stood up in one fluid motion.
"Did the 70's spit you out?" Sam didn't know where the question came from. It was out of his mouth and hanging between the two of them before he could stop it.
She held her hand up, her fingers split into a "V". "Peace," she said.
Sam darted forward. He dragged her off the ground by the front of her dress then shoved her around so her back was pressed against him while he shoved his arm under her neck. He pushed back, cutting off her air just a little bit while she made a gasping noise and wrapped her hands around his forearm.
"Let's go," Sam said.
She let her legs go limp. The sudden gain of all of her weight caused him to stumble but Sam held on.
"You think I can't carry you wherever I want? Find me someone who can get my brother loose or I'll just break your neck and find a torch myself."
"It's not going to be that easy, Sam."
The woman murmured something that Sam couldn't hear and suddenly it felt like a knife had been slammed into his belly. Sam cried out, releasing his captive and crouching with his arms wrapped around his middle. A moment later the pain stopped just as quickly and Sam panted as he tried to recover.
"You're not in charge here," she said.
She spoke again, softly and deliberately. This time Sam's head exploded in agony. It felt like his eyes were melting as he squeezed his skull trying to keep his brain inside. Once more it stopped abruptly and he was left fighting the black spots dancing through his vision.
"Bitch," Sam said. He was kneeling in the cold grass.
"You have no idea," she said.
The silence between them stretched like an empty cavern. Still twitching with leftover adrenaline, his stomach and head still pulsing with pain, Sam managed to get on his feet. Hunched over slightly and fighting nausea, he glared at the witch who stood motionless and watching.
"My name is AJ Gleason," she said.
Sam waited for more.
"You murdered my father," she said.
"He had a heart attack."
"You murdered his remains."
"I don't think you know the whole story."
She chuckled but there was no humor in it. "I know everything. I could have had him for a hundred years, a thousand, but you…and your family ripped him away."
"We killed a monster," Sam said.
"My father had tastes that would'vebeen considered normal if he'd been born in another time or place. Society decides who the monsters are but that doesn't make them monsters."
"He was child molester, a rapist."
"You should have been honored by his attention. He never forgot you. He shaped his entire ideal on you."
Sam shook his head slowly. Her words made his stomach turn.
"You're as crazy as he was."
"You're going to be mine, Sam."
Mark Foster had beaten him nearly to death trying to get Sam to say 'yes'. But, Sam had never really known what he would have been agreeing to. He just refused repeatedly no matter how bad things got because agreeing to anything felt like a mistake. AJ seemed to be looking for the same 'yes'.
"I still don't know what the hell you people want," Sam said.
AJ laughed for a long moment. It sounded like the raving cackles that echo in a mental ward. Goosebumps rose on Sam's arms and neck while she wrapped her arms around herself apparently lost in the moment. When she finally stopped, her face red and blotchy from the outburst, she folded her legs and sat down on the grass again.
"My father wanted to possess you, Sam, you must have figured that out."
"He's dead. What do you want?"
"To fulfill his dying wish. I'll make you my slave and then I'll give you to Mark. He wanted to take you away before, didn't he?"
Sam glared at her as he considered his best course for getting Dean and himself out of there. He needed bolt cutters to cut the chains holding Dean to the wall. They could figure out how to get the manacles off later.
"Are you listening to me?" AJ demanded
"Uh, yeah," Sam said still thinking about escape.
A slice of pain like someone ripped his gut open burst through Sam's abdomen. He cried out, falling to his knees and holding his arms around himself. The sudden attack left him curled up on his side. He clenched his jaw forcing back any pleas to stop. And then again, just as fast as it came, the pain left. He gasped softly, feeling like a beached fish.
"You will pay attention to me," AJ said, looming over him in her seventies frock. Her eyes were wide and glowing with a red tint.
Sam nodded slowly. He turned on to his knees again, stiffly getting back up.
"I'm going to have your brother released. He'll be taken off the property and left someplace. I'm sure someone will find him."
"Wait, what?"
"I don't need him. My father never dangled family to get what he wanted. He just took it."
"Then why did you bring him here?"
She shook her head, frowning at Sam as if he failed some test. "I can't have him following you here, can I? He knows this house. He'd just come back."
"He'll come back anyway."
AJ smiled and pushed her hair behind her ears. "No. Because he won't remember. Not this house or my family or…you."
"What?" Sam took a step towards her. He bunched his fists as panic threatened to take over.
She giggled like a child as she held up one hand. "I'll tell you a secret," she said. "Dean has been unconscious all this time because I cast a very powerful spell over him. I am very, very good at making spells."
AJ twirled her hand and Sam collapsed. The darkness swallowed him so quickly, he barely registered it and then there was nothing.
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Thursday-Day Three
Dean Winchester rolled from his stomach to his back and groaned softly as the first rays of morning crept through the motel window. He blindly reached out, wrapping his fingers around the closest pillow and flopped it over his face. The rough pillowcase caught on his morning stubble but he was just glad for the extra measure of darkness.
He lay there drifting between sleep and waking, enjoying the peace. But, in time his body demanded that he use the bathroom.
He barely opened his eyes. The hard floor, thinly cushioned by worn carpet creaked softly under his socks. The ceramic of the bathroom tile didn't feel much different although there was a chill there. He didn't bother with the light switch, just lifted the lid on the toilet. When he was done, he dropped the lid and went to the sink to wash his hands.
Dean blinked into the mirror, surprised to see bruising on one cheek and a red gash above his eye. He didn't remember getting into a fight. He hissed at a sudden burn and looked down to find soap on his wrist. Under the soap, an angry red spot flared at the irritation. Dean rinsed his arm off and took a closer look. Several small burns decorated both of his wrists. He looked them over carefully but couldn't remember how he got them. The wounds weren't serious. They wouldn't need any covering or treatment but they confused him. How could he burn himself and not remember?
Dean returned to the main room. Now that he was awake, he was ready to start his day. He dug some clean clothes out of his duffle and went back in the bathroom to the start the shower. He took off the necklace that he always wore and put it on the sink. He stopped to look at it for a moment noting that the small pendant was surprisingly ugly. But, he even as he set it down he knew he'd continue wearing it.
After washing, being cautious of the odd burns and finding a few more bruises, Dean dried off and got dressed.
Once he slid into the Impala he started to feel better. Just being behind the wheel, smelling the familiar scent of the old car gave him a sense of peace. He decided he needed breakfast. While he ate he could spend some time looking through the local papers to see if there was a job nearby. Failing that, he'd head to the next town and do the same. Sometimes it was easy to find a gig, sometimes it took some work.
Dean drove a couple of blocks before finding a small diner that likely served greasy potatoes and strong coffee. That was exactly what he wanted. For some reason, he was unusually hungry and thirsty.
He walked in to find a square layout with only about twenty mostly empty tables and a service bar. Dean settled onto a stool near the cash register. He looked around at the red and beige motif thinking the place needed a re-model to put it into modern times. He glanced backward when he heard the squeak of the glass door. Two guys walked in. They looked like farmers with their blue jeans, heavy boots and leathered skin. One of them was tall; maybe 6'2 or 6'3 and Dean stared at him. A weird sense of déjà vu washed over him and he couldn't stop watching the big guy.
"You okay, pal?" The shorter man had stopped in front of Dean.
Dean smiled innocently. "Sure, yeah, uh, your friend there, he reminds me of somebody."
"Bradley, you know this man?" Bradley's friend didn't take his eyes off Dean as he asked the question.
Bradley took a long look at Dean before shrugging. "No, sir. He doesn't look familiar."
"You have a nice breakfast," Bradley's friend said and the two men made their way to a table.
Dean thought they were a little sensitive but he didn't need to get in a fight with a couple rednecks in upstate New York. He turned back to the bar and found a skinny kid staring at him. The kid had an acne problem and was wearing a white apron around his waist.
"Can I start you off with some coffee?"
"Yeah, that'll be a good beginning. Can you get your cook to fry up three eggs for me? Over easy. Throw some bacon and hash browns on there too."
"We can do," the kid said as he poured coffee in a white cup and pushed it towards Dean.
After serving the drink and leaving Dean two glass containers, one with powdered creamer and the other with sugar, the kid disappeared behind a swinging door. He returned a couple of minutes later with two more coffees. He delivered them to Bradley and Bradley's friend. Dean shook his head when the same feeling of knowing the big guy returned. What was it about Bradley that seemed so familiar?
The kid returned to the service bar.
"You passing through?"
Dean looked at him with his half-combed blond hair and the start of some stubble that probably wasn't really growing yet.
" driving around right now."
"Ya know, I work at the Holiday Inn a couple nights a week. I saw your car there. It's a beauty."
Dean nodded. "Thanks, but, uh, I don't think you saw my baby. I wasn't at a Holiday Inn. At least not this decade."
"Really? It's hard to believe there're two of them floating around here."
Something flashed through Dean's memory. It felt like someone was flipping those little animated cards that show the rabbit running one frame at a time. Then a stabbing pain thrust into his brain like acid and Dean had to slap both hands against his skull just to keep it from splitting. It came and went fast. When Dean could, he looked up to find the kid had come around the counter and was standing in front of him.
"You all right? Need me to call someone?"
"No. No, I'm all right," Dean said.
He took a few breaths and within moments he was better. The pain barely left a memory behind. He felt normal, just still thirsty.
"Can I get some water and some orange juice?"
The kid nodded fast and left to retrieve the drinks. Dean exhaled, picked up his coffee and drank a long swallow. The burn on his throat registered but he was so thirsty that he didn't care.
When he felt steady enough, Dean reached for a copy of the morning paper that had been left in a stack near the register. He opened it and read through the pages in a leisurely way while he sipped coffee. The boy brought his breakfast which Dean ate while he continued perusing the small town news stories.
The food tasted great sating Dean's extreme hunger. He ate ravenously and around the same time he finished, he also found a potential hunt.
Going back about 18 months, hikers around the area had started reporting Big Foot sightings. Dean knew Big Foot was a hoax. Any hunter worth the title knew that, but the reports came from reputable sources. In the last month, two people had been killed and witnesses described an ape-man with giant hands and feet. So, clearly there was something out there. It wasn't Big Foot but it was something.
Dean decided to stay in town. He had found a job and an excellent place to eat breakfast so what more could he need?