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.
A/N: I just realized that I was late in posting Chapter 10. Darn those three day holidays that screw up my timing. So, anyway, here is Chapter 11 and I'll be back on schedule. Thanks for your patience and thanks for reading.
Part 11
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Monday-Day Seven
Following a pre-arranged plan, Dean followed Irv's car to Corning. Irv drove to the local hospital which was a three level brick building about a mile from where the Chemung River split the city into two halves.
Sam remained mostly silent, barely answering Dean's questions. He continued holding his arm and squirming in the passenger seat as if he wanted to jump out.
When they reached the hospital, Bobby flashed his fake FBI credentials. He told the nurse that Sam was a fellow agent and he'd been injured in the line of duty. There weren't many people waiting anyway but the federal weight pushed Sam to the front of the line. About ten minutes later he was in a wheelchair with Dean by his side.
A young doctor named Mary Jane treated Sam. Dean read her nametag before giving her a knowing smile.
"My parents have a sense of humor," she said and Dean guessed that she said it a lot.
At first Sam pulled away from Dr. Jane and any other stranger that drew close. Dean managed to talk him into letting her look at him but Sam remained stiff and tense throughout. It took several hours to get X-rays, his arm set in a cast, IV fluids to remedy the dehydration and IV's for pain management. They took his clothes and gave him scrubs to wear since his jeans were urine soaked and the rest of his things were filthy.
Doctor Jane asked what happened and Dean told her that Sam had been in an accident at home and no one had found him for a couple of days. She didn't believe him but she didn't argue. She suggested keeping Sam overnight but said it was "just for observation" so Sam declined and Dean agreed with his brother.
Bobby and Irv stood up to greet them when they came back to the waiting room. Dean noticed that Bobby's hand had been wrapped in bandages.
"How're you doing, kid?" Bobby said to Sam.
Sam gave a jerky nod. "Good. Fine."
Bobby looked at Dean who said, "It's true. A broken arm, a broken rib, some bruises. He just needs to take it easy for a few days and in six weeks they'll take the cast off."
"Irv's going to give me a ride back to my truck," Bobby said.
"Get that done and head down to Texas," Irv said.
"I want to find a room, get some sleep and head out in the morning," Bobby said.
"Still kind of close to Cayuga," Dean said.
Dean glanced at the nurse who stood behind Sam's wheelchair. She gave him a bland smile.
"I'll bring the car around," Dean said.
He walked out to the parking lot and brought the Impala to the curb. The nurse, who looked like a destitute Betty White, waited with Sam, Bobby and Irv. She admired the car as she started to help Sam. He pulled away from her, gave her a surly "I got it" and slid into the front seat. The nurse didn't seem to take offense and wished them a safe trip home.
Once the two of them were settled, Bobby leaned into the open driver's side door. He took a long look at Sam before turning his attention to Dean.
Dean said, "Towanda, Pennsylvania is about an hour from here. It's random enough and far enough that we can hold up there for a day or two before making the drive to your house."
"Okay," Bobby said. "What do you think, Sam?"
Sam jerked like he was startled. "Yeah, sounds good."
The words were Sam's but the way he squeezed his good hand into a fist and tensed up, Dean almost expected him to throw a punch.
"After I get the truck, I'll head to you," Bobby said.
Dean thanked Irv for his help and told Bobby to be careful. Then he pulled out of the parking lot to head for the freeway.
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An hour later, Dean rented a room at a crap motel in Pennsylvania. Sam helped carry in their gear before he headed towards the bathroom. He took a long shower and when he emerged, wrapped in a towel, steam followed him out. Apparently he'd kept the cast out of the water because it looked dry. He picked up the sweats and t-shirt that Dean had found for him and disappeared into the bathroom again.
When he came back out, he was dressed. He slid into one of the beds and rolled on to his side, facing away from Dean.
Dean decided his brother needed sleep so he didn't bother him about it. A small restaurant sat in a parking lot connected to the motel so Dean called ahead to order food. He waited ten minutes then drove over to pick it up. Normally he would have walked the short distance but he didn't want to leave Sam alone.
Dean returned with a chef salad for Sam and two cheeseburgers with fries for himself and Bobby. Sam took the food from him with barely an acknowledgement. The hospital had given Sam a sandwich earlier but he still ate the salad ravenously and drank two beers. Dean wished he'd thought of food sooner.
"When was the last time you ate?" Dean said.
"Hospital," Sam said, around a mouthful of lettuce and ham.
"Before that."
Sam shrugged, finishing the last of his beer. "Breakfast at that motel, I guess."
Dean didn't know what to say to that. Anger didn't come close to the fury rampaging to the surface but he didn't know what to do with it.
"We could've stopped someplace sooner. Why didn't you say anything?"
"You said you wanted to get here so I figured, we'd get something here like we always do."
Dean pushed his food away and leaned forward. "Sam, are you all right?"
"I'm fine."
"I don't think you are. You're not acting right. How do you feel?"
Sam shrugged. "My arm hurts but…"
"But, what?"
"That's it. I'm fine."
"Smoke on the Water" broke the moment. Sam flinched when Dean stood up and reached in his pocket. He pulled the cell out and the music abruptly stopped.
"Hey, Bobby," Dean said while he watched his brother. Sam stood up and moved to the head of the bed where he sat back down. He was watching the motel door so intently Dean turned to look thinking there was going to be something there. All he saw was the closed door.
"You boys settled in?" Bobby said.
"We ate. Got some food for you to stay here the night and then I'm thinking we'll head to your place in the morning."
"How's Sam doing?"
"Okay, I guess."
"Listen, if you boys are all right, I'm going to start driving home. I don't like leaving the phones alone this long."
"Oh, yeah, we're fine, Bobby. Do what you need to do."
Dean turned to look at the door again when Sam backed up. He stood in the narrow space between the bed and the wall.
"What's going on?" Bobby said.
"Uh, nothing. Nothing. I'll call you back in a while to check in."
Dean disconnected the call. He slipped the phone back in his pocket.
"Sam?" Sam cut his gaze over to Dean then back to the door. "What's going on?"
"I keep hearing something outside the door. You said you killed the monster."
"I did kill it."
Dean walked over and opened the motel door. He stepped out and looked in both directions. There was nothing out there. No humans, pets or monsters, just a couple pigeons fighting over a candy wrapper.
He went back in the room.
"Nothing out there," he said to Sam.
Since Sam was a kid, he had ticks that twitched through his face whenever he was agitated and didn't know what to do or, was doing the wrong thing. Dean suspected the former in this case because Sam looked like he was gearing up for a seizure.
"There's no monster," Dean said. "Not tonight. We killed everything that was after us, okay?"
"Yeah…okay."
Sam shuffled out of the space he had retreated to and headed for the bathroom. Dean watched him go thinking about the photos on the wall where Sam was held. He didn't have the first idea of how to talk about that, especially when Sam had put about a decade of not talking about it between them.
Dean looked at the silent television then at the laptop then at the neon lights of a bar shining across the street. He picked the TV remote up from the small table that separated the two beds. He dropped it when he heard a yell from the bathroom.
He barged through the closed door to find Sam curled over. He was making strangled sounds in his throat. His eyes were squeezed shut and his face was contorted.
"Sammy," Dean said. He put his hands on Sam's shoulders, feeling him tremble with every breath. "What is it?"
"AJ," Sam said, barely any sound coming through clenched lips.
"Breathe, Sam, breathe, she's not here."
Sam made another strangled noise before going quiet. The only sound in the room came from the mouthfuls of air he dragged into his lungs.
"Okay," Sam said. "I'm okay. She stopped."
"What are you talking about? She's dead."
"It's the same. It's what she did back at the house." Sam pushed away from Dean.
He walked into the main room and Dean followed.
"What do you mean?" Dean said.
"The pain, like, like getting stabbed. It's still happening."
Sam stopped. He put his hand on the back of his neck as he said, "But, that can't be right, can it? She's dead."
"Let's go to the hospital," Dean said."Maybe the doctor missed something."
Sam shook his head. "You know she didn't. I just…I must be having some kind of flashback. Let me get some sleep. I'm sure that'll fix it."
"Sammy, it might be more than that."
Sam frowned at him. "Like what?"
"I saw the pictures. The pictures on the door in the room where you were held."
Sam threw his good hand up and buried it in his hair. He pulled it down as he paced away from Dean.
"Damn it," he said.
"Just take it easy, it's not that bad."
Sam swung back around. "Look, Dean, I don't want to talk about this. What happened, happened. It was a long time ago. I just want to get some sleep."
"If you want to talk…"
"I don't."
The definitive answer left Dean empty. He didn't want to talk about it either but he felt like a bad brother for wishing they could avoid the subject.
He stood quietly while Sam threw himself on to the bed and rolled on to his side. He tucked his good arm under the pillow and his broken arm beside it.
"Dean," Sam said, his voice barely above a whisper. "You're staying, right? Not going out or anything."
"I'll be here all night."
Dean watched while Sam visibly relaxed. Several minutes later, a soft snore and even breathing filled the room.
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Tuesday-Day Eight
"I don't know, Bobby, all he does is sleep."
Sam heard the worry in Dean's voice and hated being the cause of it.
"It's been almost a full day. I think it's time to take the bull by the horns."
Dean made a snorting noise and Sam guessed that Bobby didn't agree.
"I'm awake," Sam said, hoping to avoid Dean's version of taking the bull by the horns.
"Hey, how you feeling?" Dean said.
Dean didn't end the call with Bobby. Sam pushed and squirmed awkwardly until he could sit up and lean against the wall. His head started spiking shafts of pain and he rubbed his eyes. His casted arm lay heavy and useless against his stomach.
"Okay," he said.
Unease filled him though. He kept feeling eyes on him, kept expecting the monster from the hall to find him. The digital clock changed digits with a sizzle that made him wonder if it was ready to spark a fire.
"Sammy," Dean said.
"What?"
"What's going on?"
"Nothing. I'm just…l'm waking up is all."
"Hanging up, …uh, yeah…will do."
Dean pocketed his phone. "All right, you hungry? I hit the market down the street. We have cereal, milk, coffee, a couple day old muffins, what do you want?"
Dean left him alone, Sam thought. He said he wouldn't but he did. And he forgot him, forgot he existed.
"I'm not hungry," Sam said.
The clock beside the bed grew louder. Sam shifted under the sound. He looked towards the motel door, shuddering as the image of it bursting open flashed through his mind. Rubbing his eyes again, he told himself to relax. He pushed the covers off and turned around to put his feet on the floor. The carpet felt rough and cold. He didn't stand up.
"Are you all right?" Dean said.
"A little jumpy, okay? It's just a side effect."
"Why don't you grab a shower? Get some of the grime off."
"Yeah, good idea."
"Careful to keep your wing dry," Dean said.
Sam made it a couple of steps before his gut lit up with slashing pain. He cursed as he pulled his casted arm in putting pressure on the injury. But, there wasn't an injury and he knew it. He doubled over while something carved a hole in his stomach. He squeezed his eyes closed and forced back any sound.
"It's okay, it's okay. Shsh." Dean's voice pushed through the pain, his hands on Sam's shoulders grounding and safe. "You're okay, Sammy, you're okay."
Gradually the throbbing started to fade. Sam let himself breathe again. The vise in his belly slowly loosened.
"That's it. Shsh. You're okay," Dean said and finally it was true.
The pain lessened to nothing and Sam could almost imagine that it hadn't happened again.
"It's over," Sam said. His voice sounded weak in his own ears.
Dean guided him, steering him towards the bed. Sam struggled back. He didn't want to be there. He couldn't trust Dean to stay with him or even remember him, so he couldn't trust him for anything else.
Dean gave a frustrated noise then released Sam to stand on his own. "We're going to the hospital," he said.
Sam wished that he dared to sleep. His broken arm felt too heavy, like it was weighing him down. But, he stood taller instead.
"I don't want to," he said.
"Yeah, well, I don't want to keep picking you up. My back can't take it."
"Then leave me alone," Sam said, his temper and tone snapping.
Dean held up his hands. "That's not what I meant. There's something wrong."
"It's called phantom pain, Dean, it's not that unusual."
"Don't be stupid."
Between the unrelenting pressure of something watching him and being berated by this brother, Sam couldn't stand being still.
"I'm going out."
"No, you're not," Dean said.
"Stop me."
"Don't make me because I will."
"Good luck with that." The challenge Sam threw surprised even him.
Dean scowled as he moved to stand in front of him. Sam knew he was no match for his brother, not with a broken arm. He looked at Dean and at the door several feet away and suddenly he had to get out of there. Ugly sensations overtook him like an ocean wave slamming through his body. He couldn't breathe, sweat broke out across his skin, his limbs started to tremble and all he could see was the door. He pushed into Dean who stepped back, looking like he couldn't believe what was happening.
"Let me go," Sam said.
"Sammy," Dean said.
"Just let me go. You can't keep me here."
"Calm down."
"You can't hold me like this," Sam said, unable to keep the plea out of his voice. "Let me go."
"Sam…Sammy…come on, I'm not. I don't know what you're…"
The horrible jab to his gut brought Sam to his knees. He doubled over with a cry. AJ twisted his insides like it was nothing and he couldn't do anything to stop her.
"She won't let me go." Sam gasped out the words, between strangled attempts not to scream.
Dean dropped beside him. He grasped Sam's shoulders and put his face close to his.
"No. You hear me? She's not here. She's not here!"