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.

Thank you to those of you who are sending reviews and/or marking this as a favorite. Writers need to be fed.

Reviews are welcome and encouraged.

Part 5

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When Sam woke from whatever spell AJ had cast, he didn't wake in the barn or the cellar. He wasn't cold though his head and body ached. He woke in a single bed with no pillow but a blanket covering him. He blinked his way into consciousness and took an inventory of his surroundings; a bare room with no windows and a single light shining above him. Wood paneled walls reached down to wood slatted floors and up to an excessively high, white painted ceiling. The light was covered by a gray dome that only allowed the slightest yellow glow to peer down at him.

The only furniture was the bed. A single door mocked him with its iron hinges and iron doorknob with no lock on the inside. There was nothing to pick and no window to break.

The room smelled stale as if it had been closed off for a long time. It looked clean but there was no lemon or pine or citrus scent to indicate that any cleaning fluids had been used.

Sam sat up, perching on the edge of the bed with his feet on the floor. He noted that he still wore his clothes and boots.

Everything was different from the last time when Mark Foster and the ghost of Richard Gleason held him captive. If Sam didn't know that it was Richard's daughter and Richard's house then he would not see any similarity to the two situations.

Sam wondered about Dean and wondered what AJ wanted. He couldn't imagine that she was still kidnapping young man. There was no reason for it unless she was the same pervert that her father was. That didn't seem likely.

Sam rubbed his face. When he pulled his hands away he spotted something he had missed before. Something lying on the floor near the end of the bed. It only stuck out a little bit but it was manila, a manila folder like every business in America used. Sam frowned at it. For some reason he didn't want to pick it up. But, it was laying there so Sam scooted off the bed, crouched for a moment and grabbed it.

He looked towards the only door, expecting AJ to burst in now that he'd taken the bait she left behind. That didn't happen though so he settled back on the bed and opened the folder. It felt smooth under his fingers. Even when his hands started to shake, the folder felt smooth and smelled like cardboard.

Photos lay within. The first one slammed into his memory. He recognized the barn. He remembered the slatted walls and the scraping of hay on the ground. As he looked closer, the chains stood out. He saw his wrists bound, dragged above his head and pulling on damaged skin. He remembered how sore his muscles became, how they throbbed with spasms. He knew his wrists had been painfully sensitive, the scraping of the metal against bone deep bruises and torn flesh barely registered compared to the rest but he remembered.

He closed his eyes for a moment then opened them slowly. He looked at it clinically, taking in the details, recording them as if he were cataloging a hunt. He kept his eyes on the body that hung from the chains, stretched out in boxers and a t-shirt, bare feet barely scraping the ground. Bruises stood out on abused legs, purple and blue and mottled even in the dark lighting of the barn and the photo. Or maybe he just knew they were there.

Sam didn't look further. He refused to acknowledge it. With trembling fingers, he moved to the next thing in the folder.

Another photo, glossy and clear, shocked him with the suffering that stared back. A close up view of his face revealed glassy, red-streaked eyes. He barely recognized himself in the face that was scrunched up around those eyes.

Sam's heart pounded inside his chest. Seeing himself in the midst of torture, in the midst of agony felt like a knife sliding through his skin. He knew what had happened. He hadn't squashed it away like a shameful secret. But, he had refused to dwell on it.

He dealt with the memories the way he dealt with monsters. If he let the fear take him, then he'd be a gibbering wreck so he compartmentalized and refused to let it affect him too deeply. He rationalized.

"Put it down," Dean's voice told him so clearly that Sam looked up to see if he was there.

Sam flipped to the next photo. With a jolt he dropped the folder and backed away from it. He couldn't breathe for a moment, his throat closed up and his lungs refused to act. He turned his back on the mess, unable to escape it but not able to face it either.

As he'd feared, the only door creaked open. He spun back around to find AJ, Mark Foster and George Bentley walking in.

"Fuck you," Sam said, looking at AJ.

"Actually, I think it was 'fuck you', wasn't it?"

Foster actually chuckled at that and Sam darted after him in mindless fury. He wrapped his hand around the bald, body builder's neck and thrust him into the closest wall. The other man struggled, kicking and thrashing. His strength served him but Sam's anger trumped it. Despite getting a couple of licks in and temporarily loosening the grip on his throat, his fighting was useless.

It took a witch induced jab into Sam's gut to break the grip. The pain was sharp, fast and sudden and Sam went down on one knee while he cradled his belly. Foster curled over, gasping for breath before he took advantage of Sam's incapacity to deliver a hard kick to his side. Sam fell over, the pain overwhelming him.

He felt more than saw AJ crouch beside him. She scrubbed fingers through his hair.

"I know that seeing yourself like that was difficult. You were so young and vulnerable then. For my father to take photos of you, of the both of you together in such a compromising pose, I'm sure it's hard to look at. It was a wonderful, defining moment for him but not for you."

The pain she inflicted so easily dissipated in a slow wave. Sam rolled on to his back and looked up at her. She stood directly above him, wearing another hippie dress. It was pink and long and flowered with lace at the hem.

"I will kill you," Sam said.

"We need to talk," AJ said. She looked up at Foster and Bentley. Both men understood and left the room.

"Mark wants you, you know? He wants you back in the barn, back under his control."

"He's a coward," Sam said as made his way back to his feet.

"Really?"

"He's only brave when his victim is helpless."

"Are you his victim?"

"I'm no one's victim," Sam said.

Her voice took on a sing song quality. "Once upon a time, you were."

"No," Sam said.

"That little boy in the photo had no control over his circumstances. He was defenseless."

"And you're defending the man who did that."

"My father was a man who should have lived in a different time. It's not his fault that he was born now with all the social taboos. There was a time when taking a young boy and mentoring him was an honor for the boy and his family."

Sam barked out a dark laugh and shook his head. She really was as crazy as the rest of her family. He needed to find the hex bag that she was using to control him.

"You remember the boy in the rain? The one that you picked up?" Her words came out slow and deliberate as if she needed to lead him through it.

"I remember."

"His name is Griff Donahue. He's one of ours. I put him out there so you'd find him."

Sam just stared at her. He had already guessed that the kid was a plant. It's the only reason that he and Dean would have accepted the presence of the fake police so easily.

"It takes time to convince a human being to be something that he doesn't want to be. Griff has been with us for about two months. Of course, we had him settled in within the first week but, he's a boy, not a man and he was raised in a suburb, not in a monster war zone the way you were. But, even after he said 'yes', it still took some reinforcement to keep him with us."

"You tortured that child?"

"Not me. I was away at school but, yes, he was, for a while."

Anger flashed through him.

"He's a child," Sam said.

"Would it be better if we were working with adults?"

"You're a sick bitch, you know that," Sam said.

"If it makes it easier for you to think so," AJ said.

"Is it sex slaves? What? I…" Sam shrugged.

AJ laughed. "Well, not for me," she said.

"Then what? Or who? Your father is dead. The whole miserable Gleason line is dead. What are you doing?"

"I don't need a 'yes' if that's what you're asking. That was my father's rule and my grandfather before him. I don't want it or need it. But, I will have you obeying me."

"No." He shook his head. "No, you won't."

"Mark thinks he can beat you into it. He says he was close the last time. He says you're broken now and it wouldn't take much more."

"Do you believe him?"

"I don't know yet. I guess I could let him try."

The flare of panic jolted through Sam. He fought back any visible reaction, refusing to let her see his fear. He was afraid that Mark Foster was right. He was afraid that if he went back to the barn then he'd give in to anything.

"Good-bye, Sam," AJ said.

Sam rushed her, adrenaline spiking along his nerves. He took her into a fast headlock, intending to break her neck. But, she moved just as fast and he collapsed in a screaming rage of pain that snuffed out his consciousness like a light switch.

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Sam woke up but he couldn't gauge time. It felt like the same day but with no windows and no outside light, he couldn't be sure. It might have been a minute, an hour or a full day. His head ached in a vague way that left him feeling muzzy but not really in pain. He picked himself off the floor wondering how many times he was going to have to do that.

His body trembled with the effects of AJ's spells so he took a moment to sit on the bed and re-examine his options. He needed to find a way to avoid getting zapped so often or he wasn't going to be able to function. But, the way this thing seemed to moving, he didn't think he had much time left before they incapacitated him anyway. Tortured him. He pushed that aside. If he started worrying about that then he wouldn't be able to manage anything else.

The folder holding the photos sat on the bed too. He didn't pick it up. He didn't need to put himself through another walk down the nightmare-memory lane. He lay back instead and tried to recover from the repetitive attacks on his nervous system. There wasn't much else to do.

His stomach rumbled annoyingly. He couldn't remember the last time he ate or drank anything. He knew Mark Foster liked to keep him starved and dehydrated. But, again, he couldn't think about that. He wasn't anywhere near a critical point in that regard, and he was planning to escape.

Planning to escape wasn't the same as having an escape plan.

Sam sat up, took a breath and stood. He walked to the only exit and started examining the door. He didn't get very far before he heard the creak of the hinge. Sam jumped to the side and readied himself for a fight.

The door pushed open. Sam took the one second needed to determine that AJ with her hex bag and spells wasn't there. He grabbed the nearest person to him. A face he didn't recognize but still a threat, Sam caught his arm, dragged him forward a step then shoved him back fast. The man plowed into George Bentley knocking them both off balance but Sam didn't let go. Using the nameless guard as a weapon, Sam reeled him in a second time then swung him back out. Bentley took another hit and went down hard in the hall. The guard was finally reacting and Sam felt him tense up, trying to stop momentum. As soon as he started to pull back, Sam let him go. It was like releasing a rubber band and the man careened into the opposite wall.

Sam ran out of the room and into some part of the main house. To his right, it was three feet and then a wall, to his left, a hallway. Darting to the left and leaping over Bentley, Sam's feet bounded against glistening hard wood floors. Smooth, white walls lined up on either side, not encumbered by doors or decoration. He barely noticed as he ran for freedom.

The hall ended in a T shape. Sam skidded into the wall. He could hear Bentley and the other man screaming at each other and probably into a phone or radio. Sam felt time running out on his escape. He chose the left hall because he had to choose a direction. The sound of chasing steps dogged him as he reached a staircase that wound down and was mildly surprised to discover he was on an upstairs floor. He made it about halfway before Mark Foster and another man appeared at the bottom. The other man ran towards him while Sam waited. He knew he had a better than even chance of winning in a close battle. Foster ordered the man to stop just before he reached Sam.

"Winchester, stop," George Bentley said from behind and at the top of the stairs.

Screw that, Sam thought and beat a path downward. He jammed both hands into the chest of Foster's companion and sent him tumbling the rest of the way down. Foster dodged out of the way and didn't get bowled over. Sam kept going, aiming for Foster, planning to take him down fast and then keep running. He could hear others coming down the steps. Bentley and his cohort or just one of them was chasing and it sounded like they were catching up.

Sam yelled when something hard tangled in his legs. It felt like a police baton or a bat but whatever, it slammed into his calves, tripping him. He tried to recover but his foot missed the next step and he twisted, landing with a bang against the steps. Still trying to get control his limbs flailed as he skidded downward.

He finally came to rest at the bottom, his shoulders, arms and head on the floor, his legs twisted on the stairs. Lying near his head, he spotted a short, wooden bat, like the kind a pre-school kid might use. He gasped at the pain as he started to push his body around to get himself righted and standing.

A boot collided with his side and Sam cried out at the new pain, once, twice, three times before it stopped. Panting around the blows, he recoiled internally when Mark Foster crouched beside him.

"That wasn't very smart," Foster said to Sam then looked up the steps. "Get him back to the room."

Sam threw a fast punch and was glad to feel Mark Foster's his skin bunch up under the blow and his head snap to the side. Adrenaline and determination drove him towards getting up but he was slow after the fall and still tangled up on his back. The two nameless men and Bentley pounded on his torso until Sam fell back to his knees. Strong hands lifted him by his arms and started dragging him up the steps.

"Jeez, he's heavy," one of the men said.

"Kid's all muscle," Bentley said. "Watch him. He doesn't go down easy."

"I'm going to kill him," Foster said. Sam thought he sounded like he meant it.

"No, you're not. You should know better than to get that close," Bentley said.

At the top of the staircase, Sam jerked backward, hoping to throw his captors back down the steps. They barely flinched but they wrenched his shoulders back in a vicious payback. Sam gritted his teeth. Fleetingly he thought they dislocated something but the pain disappeared too quickly.

They marched him back down the hallway and into the room he had just escaped from. The two men shoved him stumbled but didn't fall. He turned around to find Foster's bald head gleamingin the overhead lamp from the hall while his one earring glinted. He was fidgeting, shifting his weight back and forth and grazing his fingers over the red spot on his contrast, Bentley pulled his suit jacket straight. He took his wire rim glasses off but there was nothing nervous about his movements. He seemed placid and in control.

None of them spoke and it reminded Sam of the days he spent hearing only Mark Foster's voice or the ghost of Richard Gleason. He took a long, slow breath to quell the fear rising up in him. The nameless guards left him behind and closed the door, cutting him off from everything beyond it.

Sam planted himself on the bed because there was nothing else to do. He rubbed his shoulder absently but that didn't help the bruising. He rubbed the back of his leg next. He stared at the wall and then at the door and finally flopped over on to the bed. He scooted his long body to the top and spent some time looking at the ceiling.

Dean's face flashed in his mind. Sam refused to believe that AJ had wiped Dean's memory of him. The two of them were so much a part of each other, how could she make Dean forget his brother? It wasn't possible.

Sam felt himself drifting. His mind started wandering as exhaustion pushed up through the rest of his churning thoughts. He couldn't afford to let that happen. Struggling to focus he spun around and sat on the edge of the bed.

He stood up to stretch his legs but after getting knocked down the stairs and kicked, moving didn't feel good. He did it anyway, knowing that keeping his muscles limber would help with speed later.

He needed a way out of the room he was in. They wouldn't be careless coming through the door again so he'd have to convince them to let him out. He ticked off ideas in his mind. He could pretend to be sick or injured. He could talk AJ into thinking that he was considering her offer. He could annoy them to the point that AJ would have him sent to the barn. Sam stopped at that last one and rejected it. He wasn't going back there for any reason, contrived or otherwise.

A knock on the door caught his attention. He stared at it curiously wondering who and why. The door creaked open to reveal AJ and Foster. She entered first, carrying her confidence like a shield. She kept her eyes on Sam. Foster followed her but he just looked cocky while he held a Taurus 9mm. He watched Sam too.

"You tried to escape," AJ said.

"You told her?" Sam spoke to Mark in a taunting voice. "Tattletale."

"Shut up," Mark said.

"I expected this but I was hoping it wouldn't happen," AJ said."You know that I can strike you down whenever I want so I thought you'd at least respect that. Maybe consider my offer."

"How are you making me an offer?"

"Good night, Sam," she said.

And just like that a burst of pain imploded inside his head. It hit so fast and so strong there was no time for defense. Sam's world turned black.