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.
This chapter is a bit longer than the others.
Part 6
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Dean finished the day's research by straining his eyes on an old microfiche machine at the library. He read eight separate accounts of Big Foot sightings. There were a total of twenty or so people involved during the individual events including a pair of tourists from England, an off-duty police officer, and a retired Air Force Colonel. The people who died were a couple of men taking a day hike. A State Trooper had been in the area and witnessed their attack.
Dean made a few phone calls and finally convinced someone to take his name and number to pass on to Trooper Dale Felton. Since the trooper was local, Dean hoped for an interview with him.
He guessed that he was probably dealing with a Wendigo but having one this far east was unusual. Normally, Wendigos were found in Minnesota or Michigan but monsters popped up where they wanted to pop up so Dean didn't dismiss his theory. A Skinwalker might also explain the sightings. Skinwalkers are capable of changing form so it could be mimicking Big Foot. A werewolf could also be to blame. They didn't resemble Big Foot but people would need to put a monster into a familiar context and Big Foot has mass appeal so one person calls it Sasquatch then everyone assumes its Sasquatch.
Dean stopped outside the Impala and turned around. He felt like something was following him. He felt like something or someone should be following him. Sasquatch. He tapped his hand on the roof of the car and shook his head. In a life of strange, that thought was one of the oddest he'd ever had.
He opened the car door and slid behind the wheel with a sigh. His stomach rumbled and he remembered seeing a "pizza by the slice" place near the motel. He figured a couple of pepperoni and sausage with some hot wings and a six pack would set him right for the evening. With luck Trooper Felton would call and he could talk him through the attack to see what kind of distinguishing characteristics stuck out.
Once Dean figured out what he was hunting, he could make a plan to kill it. Although, he had to admit that any of his suspects so far should have a higher body count. Wendigos, skinwalkers and werewolves rarely left victims alive. So, whatever was in the woods either hesitated to kill or wasincompetent.
Dean saw the pizza place and pulled into a space near the front. The dinner rush was over so he didn't have to wait to put in his order. A few minutes later he took his food and headed to the nearest convenience store where he picked up a six pack of beer. Fully loaded for a night in, Dean drove to his motel room looking forward to hot food and, hopefully, a decent movie or two.
After he let himself in, he decided to call Bobby before settling down. He liked to check with the older man just to run ideas by him and to keep in contact with someone. It seemed better to have another person know where he was and what he was working on.
Bobby answered on the second ring, "Dean," he said sounding more excited than necessary.
"Hey, Bobby, how are you doing? Listen I'm in upstate New York checking out Big Foot sightings. I'm going to do some interviews to see if I can get a bead on what it is."
"You're what? Dean, what about…"
"I don't want to keep you but I wanted to give you a head's up."
"Wait, Dean, you're hunting Big Foot? What about…"
"Well, not really Big Foot, of course. But, you know…civilians...so, I'm just going to…"
"Dean, what about Sam?"
A crack of pain shot through Dean's brain like a lightning flash and Dean pressed against his forehead as he answered. "Hey, keeping track of hunters is your job. I haven't seen Sam in weeks. If I hear anything I'll call you."
"Weeks? What?" Bobby said.
"I got to go. Thanks and I'll call you later."
Dean clicked off the call and turned his phone off. He wondered vaguely why he needed to shut it down but the thought only remained a moment. The smell of food drew him instead and he retrieved some paper towels and sat on the edge of the bed with his dinner next to him.
He didn't know why Bobby would be asking him about Sam Cooper. The two had worked together once a few months earlier and the other hunter was competent enough but Dean hadn't seen him since.
Dean dismissed the whole conversation from his mind as he clicked on the television and landed on an old Chuck Norris movie. He munched pizza and drank three beers fast before the first half was over. The dialogue was crap but the action scenes were enough to keep Dean interested. When the final credits rolled, Chuck had won the heart of a blonde, killed and maimed a bunch of bad guys, and received the admiration of the local populace.
Dean started flipping channels before the credits finished rolling.
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Friday-Day Four
Sam wokewith a start. He jerked up, just escaping a dream where he was falling out of a plane. He swore softly. He started to sit up and found he couldn't. With a rush of panic he found his arms and legs bound to the four corners of the narrow bed. He yanked anxiously on the leather cuffs circling his wrists but they were attached to the headboard with chains that jangled when he moved. He could feel the rough leather of cuffs around his ankles too.
Taking a quick physical inventory he found he still wore the gray t-shirt and jeans he had arrived in. His boots were gonebut his white socks remained. He sighed and tugged experimentally on his wrists and ankles hoping to feel a weakness but the headboard and footboard were solid as were the actual bindings. He'd need something other than brute force in order to escape.
Sam spent several minutes twisting and turning to get a better look at his situation. As his energy flagged he lay back down and closed his eyes. He really wished Dean would show up. The last time the Gleason's captured him, things had gotten decidedly dismal before his brother found him. At least this time, Dean knew where he was. All Dean needed to do was storm the gate and mount a rescue.
Unless AJ had succeeded in wiping his memory which, Sam had to admit, was becoming a likely possibility. What else would keep Dean away?
If Dean wasn't coming then Sam would need to save himself. He just didn't know how.
Opening his eyes, Sam blinked at the dull light shining from the ceiling but he noticed that something was blocking his view of the domed fixture. He squinted as he grew used to the light and found a black board suspended several feet above his head. And once he found it he couldn't stop seeing it, because the black board was covered with the photos from the folder.
Multiple photos, both in color and not, depicting Sam in pain. As a child and as an adult his face appeared frozen in anguish and fear. His body showed the abuse, his eyes showed anger in some, despair in others. Each one illuminated suffering in unflinching detail.
Sam held his breath as he took in each photo. He trembled as the stark images assaulted him all over again. The ones that were two months old were horrific. He looked haunted and hopeless, chained and terrified of whatever was coming next. His illusions of courage crumbled with every picture. He hadn't been brave, he'd been destroyed.
The others that showed a naked child, abused and alone, didn't look like him. He could divorce himself from those because he didn't remember ever being that kid. After Dad rescued him, Sam shoved those memories into a closet far back in his mind. He refused to talk about it, never told anyone the truth of when Charles Gleason's ghost disappeared and the human, Richard Gleason, took his place. That skinny, terrified boy in the photos wasn't him, couldn't be him because he pushed all of that so far down that it was like it never happened.
But, the others, the photos from the barn, those stabbed into his mind with the force of a battering ram. He couldn't deny those, couldn't escape the terror they woke in him. Sam closed his eyes to escape the images burned into the darkness and brought the fear closer. He forced himself to breathe. He needed to let out some of the tension cording through his limbs. He knew that she put them there to break him down. He knew it and he couldn't let it happen.
Every moment that he let those horrific pictures affect him gave her that much more power over him. He knew it and he had to stop.
But, he couldn't stop looking at them, couldn't stop remembering the agony, couldn't stop remembering the anxiety while he waited helplessly for the next abuse to start. He saw it on his face in the photos and he felt it as he lay there, tied to a bed, completely vulnerable to whatever they wanted to do to him.
"Hold it together, Sam," Dean said. His voice running through Sam's mind as clear as if he were really there.
Sam cursed again. When he finally escaped he was going to kill AJ. He should have killed Mark Foster months earlier so he'd make sure to get that right too. He didn't care if they were human. She was a witch and he was a monster and they were both going to die. He figured he'd take George Bentley too. Why not? He'd destroy the Axis of Evil before they could hurt anyone else. Then he'd burn their bones and burn the house. And the barn, he would definitely torch the barn.
Sam's gaze drifted up again. Those damn photos stared back at him. He turned his head to the side, seeing the door a few feet away. The room was small, smaller than he realized. No furniture, no windows, nothing to break the monotony of the square, bland space except the photos stationed above him.
He closed his eyes. He didn't want to sleep, hated the vulnerability and loathed not knowing when someone would come back in the room. He tried to imagine ways to escape. Once he was free of the restraints, he figured he could make another run for freedom. This time he'd break the neck of anyone who approached him. He'd hit them with everything he knew about killing monsters and they wouldn't be able to stop him. He could picture his hands on Mark Foster, could imagine the sensation of his neck snapping. He remembered the feel of the floor beneath him from his last attempt and he could see the stairway in front of him and the door beyond that. If he broke free from the bonds holding him, he'd escape with a fury that they could never anticipate.
When he opened his eyes he found the photos still there. He didn't recognize the fear on the face in each one. He knew he had been scared during the whole ordeal. Pain had overwhelmed him. Physically devastated, weak from hunger, dying of thirst and the constant threat of worst had left him terrified. But, to see it etched in the photos, looking like a trapped mouse with no fight left, no hope left was terrible. He remembered all of it but he had thought that his faith in Dean and the determination instilled by his father had provided some strength. He had thought he was fighting back but the photos showed nothing but a stricken victim, drawn and weak and hopeless.
He forced himself to look at the ones from ten years earlier and jolted at the same fear that appeared there. Apparently, whether young child or adult, Sam was still the same petrified person.
Sam jerked his attention to the door when he heard the click of it opening. He pulled on the leather cuffs on his arms and legs as Mark Foster entered. The bald man smirked as he stood beside the bed. He folded his arms and leaned casually to one side.
"Have you been enjoying your pictures?"
"You sure you don't need AJ or Bentley in here to protect you?"
"From you? An oversized boy?"
Sam watched Foster move from the side of the bed to the end. He tugged his arms again, wishing he wasn't restrained with the other man so close. Fear thrummed through him making it difficult to remain still.
"Have you been wondering who took the pictures? I mean, you don't remember anyone standing around with a camera, do you?"
Sam stayed quiet.
"Bentley took a few while you were in the barn. We always take some of the boys so we can show them. Give them a little reminder of what disobedience means."
I can't wait to kill them, Sam thought.
"But, the others? Richard took those."
Sam shuddered. He shifted to get a better look at Foster.
"He knew what his uncle wanted, what they both needed if they were going relive the time they spent with each boy."
A shiver passed all the way through Sam's body as he processed the new information.
"So what?" Sam said."Charlie and Dick were perverts. You think that's news?"
The words sounded strong but Sam didn't feel them. He clenched his hands into fists, trying to beat back the rush of nausea. He could imagine the Gleason's with their sick obsession and it made him ill. He didn't want to know that the photos existed or what they had been used for. He wanted to rip them apart, erase their existence.
"You're looking a little pale," Foster said.
"What do you want?" Sam said, tired of his presence.
Foster barked out a humorless laugh. "Just to remind you that I'm here. And you're still mine."
Sam held his breath. It was all he had left to keep from funneling his frustration into the open.
Foster patted his sock covered foot and left the room.
Another rush of cold filled him from the inside. His limbs trembled with it. He deliberately kept his head turned. He couldn't look at the dreaded images anymore. The sight of them was making him crazy.
Sam had been in plenty of bad situations where he was at a disadvantage. Fear happened. Frustration and worry happened. But, the dread he felt was deep and new and he couldn't believe it was because of Foster. It had to be the memories and the physical reminder of the photographs.
Sam concentrated on breathing. Long, deep inhalations of air then slow exhales to calm down. It was a simple relaxation exercise he used at Stanford. Jessica had taught him.
His father never spent much time on explaining how to deal with the fear of hunting. Hard exercise after a difficult hunt to tire them out and loosen up their muscles was the closest they ever came to decompressing and that was always after the terror, not before.
Not that Sam was terrified. Why would he be? Living with the unknown and dealing with monsters, actual or human filled his everyday life. Pain followed he and Dean around like a vicious puppy constantly nipping at their ankles. What could Mark Foster or AJ or any of them inflict that Sam hadn't already dealt with at some point? He didn't need to spend energy being afraid. He needed to figure out how to get released from the restraints and escape.
But, the deep breathing and the pep talk didn't seem to be helping. The knot in his stomach only tightened along with the vise around his lungs.
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Dean's cell rang just as he slid behind the wheel of the Impala with a microwave burrito in one hand and a convenience store coffee in the other. He managed to get both settled on the dash and answer before it stopped playing "Smoke on the Water".
"Mr. Wolfe? This is Trooper Felton. My commander asked me to call you."
Dean told the trooper that he was a reporter and wanted some details on the potential Big Foot sighting. Felton was reluctant at first but with a little encouragement, he told Dean the story.
He started with his interview of a couple of victims. The college-aged tourists had decided to take a nature walk and they were attacked. The boyfriend managed to use a hiking stick to fend off the monster. Both the girl and the boy insisted it was Big Foot but the investigators wrote it off as a bear attack.
The next day Felton decided to take a look around on his own.
"I just figured I'd take a walk; see if there was any evidence of the attack from the day before," the Trooper said."I used to hunt deer there when I was a teenager so I know the area. So, I took my day off and walked the trail they said they walked and tried to find something to show an attack. There were some broken branches and messed up ground but nothing to prove Big Foot."
"But, something happened," Dean coaxed.
"Yeah. I was just about to head back to the car when I heard kind of a weird growl. It wasn't like a coyote or wolf. Wasn't a big cat either. I had a close encounter with a cougar when I was a kid so I know what they sound like."
"Bear?"
"Kind of. Maybe that's the closest but usually bears aren't that loud. They can be, but mostly they grunt and moan just to make their presence known. They don't roar that much, not like you'd think."
"Then what happened?"
"So I turned around," Felton said. "And I swear there was a man behind me. Like a giant. I took a step back and now it didn't look like a man, it looked like a man-gorilla or something. It was huge. I remember reaching for my gun but it hit me so hard I just flew a couple feet. My gun went flying too but not in the same direction. That's when Fred Compton and Jim Thomas showed up. The thing turned on them so fast it was like watching a snake strike. It swiped Fred first. I think he was dead before he knew anything because it opened him up from chest to hip. I got to my feet as fast as I could but it already had Jim Thomas and was shaking him. When it dropped Mr. Thomas, his head was practically turned around and I knew his neck was broken. When I looked at the, whatever it was, it just stood there for a few seconds. It didn't growl or anything, and then I heard the trees and brush moving and it was gone."
"Did it try to follow you?"
"No, sir. I never saw it or heard it again. I just made my way back to the car and called for help," Felton said.
"Did anyone investigate after that?"
"Oh, yeah. There were all kinds of investigators searching the area. They brought in a zoologist from the Bronx too. But, they couldn't find anything except the bodies."
"So the bodies were left. It didn't take them with it?"
"No, sir, it just left."
"What do you think attacked you and killed those men?"
"Mr. Wolfe, I think Big Foot is real. And I think he's living in the woods around Cayuga. Sheriff Carlisle, the main man in Cayuga, thinks I'm crazy. He authorized the investigation and did all the things he's supposed to do but he still thinks it's all for nothing. He told me it was hysteria. One person cries Big Foot and suddenly everyone is seeing him but, Mr. Wolfe, he's wrong. I know what I saw."
Dean thanked the trooper for his time and got directions to the attack site. After clicking off the call, he reviewed Felton's story and the few notes that he'd taken. There was definitely something out there but he wasn't set on it being a Wendigo anymore. Wendigos are vicious and hungry. Leaving a meal behind didn't fit with their standard behavior. It didn't sound like a skinwalker either and both attacks occurred during the day which canceled the werewolf theory.
Dean climbed out of the car and tossed his cold burrito into the trash in front of the store.
Returning to the convenience store Dean picked up four bottles of water. He looked at them and put two back. What did he need with four bottles? He visited the pastry section and grabbed a couple apple pies. He checked out, slid back into the Impala and remembered he had left his phone on the seat. He took a look for missed calls and saw two from Bobby Singer.
Dean tapped a couple of buttons and two rings later, Bobby answered.
"Okay, I don't think it's a Wendigo or werewolf. Still haven't ruled out a skinwalker but I'm not convinced," Dean said.
"Shut up," Bobby said."Where is Sam?"
"Jesus, Bobby, why would I know?"
"Dean, listen to my voice. Your brother, Sam, where is he?"
The sharp pain that skewered Dean the day before didn't compare to the agony that stabbed him this time. He cried out, dropping the phone and gripping both sides of his skull with two hands. Dark edges started creeping in. He threw his head back and fought to stay conscious until the pain started to pass.
A disembodied voice floated from the car floor. Dean felt settled enough to grab it. He punched the off button and leaned back again.
He took some long, deep breaths until his stomach stopped churning.
"Okay, that was weird," he said.
He couldn't remember why Bobby phoned. But, since it didn't relate to Big Foot sightings, Dean didn't have time to make a return call. He left his phone off and started the car. He still needed to check out the woods.
Vaguely he wondered at the migraine strength headache that attacked him but since the pain backed down, it didn't seem to matter anymore. He felt so good to be pain free that he was content with that.
Dean followed the directions he gained from Feltonand pulled into a parking lot near a walking path. He locked up the car and grabbed a bag out of the trunk to hold the bottled water, two handguns, salt rounds, silver rounds, iron rounds and plain bullets. Then threw a couple of knives in for good measure and shouldered the bag.
The day was warm without a hint of bite in the air so Dean put the bag down and took off his leather jacket. The long sleeved pullover seemed sufficient. He tossed his jacket in the trunk and re-shouldered the bag. With his cell and another gun tucked into pockets, Dean figured he was as prepared as possible.
He started along the trail looking and listening for anything odd but all he heard was birds twittering and the occasional mouse or squirrel or chipmunk moving along the underbrush or the tree branches. A slight breeze and the shade of the overgrown timber made his walk comfortable. He watched for fallen twigs and twisted knots of tree roots and anything else that might trip him. But, mostly he breathed the air and tried to remember that there was potential danger in all the calm around him.
As he neared the place where the men were killed, Dean grew more cautious. Now he listened for any change in the natural sounds. If the birds stopped chattering or flew in a sudden panic, or the critters moving from tree to bush went silent, he'd know something was happening.
He searched with his eyes and kept his senses alert but nothing changed; nothing indicated that the wild life felt endangered. He didn't hear any odd footsteps or growls. He didn't see any hairy beast-men lurking behind trees. He kept moving forward wondering if he should leave the walking path. He could do it and find his way back. He prided himself on his sense of direction and ability to track distance. But, the attacks occurred on this path, not off.
Dean stopped, fished his bottle of water out of the bag and sucked it down in one go. As he did, he turned in a slow circle looking for anything out of the ordinary. But, there was nothing.
Until there was.
A bone thin, red headed man who rivaled Michael Jordan in height suddenly stood beside him wearing a scowl. His uniform instantly gave him identity. This was the sheriff of Cayuga.
"Dean Winchester? What are you doing here?"
Dean had forgotten that he met the sheriff before but as soon as the man started talking, Dean remembered being incarcerated.
"Uh, looking for Big Foot," Dean said.
The sheriff blinked. "You told me there's no such thing."
"There isn't. But, something is working these woods so…"
"Mr. Winchester, there is nothing in these woods except for mice, coyotes, skunks and bobcats."
"And ? That's your working theory?"
"And , black bears that can be cranky."
Dean smiled. He sort of liked the sheriff. He decided to be honest. "I don't think you have a bear problem or a skunk problem. I think you have a monster problem and that's why I'm here."
"Well, I've been working here all my life and I've spent plenty of time in these woods. I've never seen Big Foot or Yeti or Sasquatch or whatever. What I have seen are scared people who fill in the blanks when nothing else makes sense."
"If I don't find anything then I'll leave. I'm not here to cause trouble. But, you have several credible witnesses describing the same creature and you've had two deaths."
The sheriff rubbed a hand over his red head and rubbed the back of his neck. He walked a few steps away from Dean and made a low noise in his throat. Dean thought it sounded like a growl and his body tensed.
"There's another thing, the trooper, the last victim, he said he saw a man before he saw the monster."
The sheriff was still turned away from him but Dean noticed the birds and the rodents had stopped making noise. The forest had slipped into utter silence. The Sheriff turned around. His face and body had morphed in a moment from an exceedingly tall red-haired man to an exceedingly tall, hair covered beast. Tufts of thick brown fur sprouted from inside his uniform. His face twisted and elongated, his limbs stretched long and narrow, his eyes turned gray and flat.
"Crap," Dean said as he pulled the gun from his pocket. Before he could bring it up, the thing that used to be the sheriff knocked it out of his hand. Then he backhanded Dean sending him rolling off the path and landing with a grunt at the base of a tree.
Dean scrambled to his feet, barely feeling the new bruises as he untwisted the bag hanging on his shoulder. The sheriff growled loudly, sounding like an angry beast though it was nothing like anything Dean had heard before. The sheriff rushed him with his limbs flailing like willow branches caught in a storm. But, the uncoordinated flapping moved fast and he was on Dean before Dean could produce any new weapons. With a whack to the side of his head, Dean took flight for several feet before he tumbled into a bush and stopped.
Dean pushed himself up, adrenaline hiding any injuries while he ran away from the monster sheriff. He needed some distance and time in order to get a gun out. He managed to get 50 feet away while the sheriff cocked his head and stared after Dean with those creepy, gray eyes. Then it turned away from him and in just a moment, it changed back to the red-headed bean pole of a man.
Dean dropped his bag on the ground and reached in, feeling for a gun and the silver rounds. As he pulled it out, he said, "So, you are a skinwalker, huh?"
"Not been killing or changing. Going on twenty years until now," the Sheriff said. "My father was a skinwalker, could change all the way to dog and back. My mother was human. I never could do all the stuff my father did and I never felt the need to hurt anything."
"What changed?"
"I don't know. All of a sudden, I can't seem to stop myself. I need to hunt."
"And kill," Dean said while he pumped bullets into the gun.
The sheriff nodded. "Yeah, I suppose so."
Dean leveled the gun and cocked it.
"Can't let you kill me. Can't risk anyone else."
"You better do it then. I can feel the need growing."
Dean popped off three quick shots hitting the sheriff in the forehead first then two to the heart. The older man stood staring at him with a look of surprise before he fell over. Dean exhaled then took some slow breaths to calm the adrenaline pumping through him. He walked slowly to where the sheriff lay. The aches from getting thrown around started bothering him as he knelt to search for a pulse. He knew there wouldn't be one. Silver killed skinwalkers.
Dean needed to burn the body but he needed a minute too. He looked down at the dead man noting his pinned identification marked him as Sheriff D. Carlisle. He liked him. He didn't know why, couldn't remember much about their last meeting but Dean knew he wasn't a bad person. As a human, he'd been decent. At least that was Dean's impression. He wondered what changed in Carlisle to make him start morphing and start attacking.