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 12

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

It took several minutes for Dean to penetrate his brother's confusion and pain. Dean had seen Sam in pain before, plenty of times. He had held him through broken bones, talked him through stitches and teased him while icing sprains. But, seeing him collapsed, making terrible noises in the back of his throat, contorting smaller and smaller, was something he had never seen and never wanted to see.

Finally, Dean managed to reach him by causing a different pain. He squeezed Sam's shoulder, pinching hard while he talked into his face. And Sam began to hear him and the pain in his torso started to ease as he melted against Dean.

"Please make her stop," Sam said. Exhaustion laced the words.

Awkwardly they tottered to their feet, Sam clumsy and weak; Dean trying to stay balanced getting his brother off the floor.

Dean knew Sam. He had watched his mannerisms evolve and had stood by him through a hundred traumas. Sam never surrendered. He fought until he couldn't fight and then he talked. Overmatched, injured, scared, it didn't matter because Sam drew from reserves of pure stubbornness and anger. He didn't know how to do anything else.

And that's what made these phantom attacks different. Because Sam was giving in and giving up and that just didn't happen.

Dean maneuvered his brother on to the bed and looked at him. He was pale as death and holding his broken arm close to his body like it was his only protection.

"It can't be her but it is. I don't understand," Sam said.

"What did she do to you?"

"Dean…"

"Just tell me."

"She just locked me in that room. Every now and then she'd come back and sort of…whammy me, I guess."

"It was intense, like just now?"

Sam nodded but he turned his face towards the wall.

"What else?"

"Nothing. I'm telling you."

"Sam, your arm is broken."

Sam sighed. "Foster did that."

"Why?"

Sam scoffed.

"Okay," Dean said. "So Foster stayed old school but AJ was throwing spells around. There was a lot of EMF being loaded into your room. And there was an altar next door. Bobby said they set up a fear trap. That'd make sense with those pictures too. Put your mind on a memory when you were helpless and then ramp up the sensation."

Sam stood up again looking like a trapped animal.

"I burned the hex bags and the blood she had," Dean said. "That should've taken care of it."

"Something's wrong. It's not just the sudden pain. I feel like someone's watching me. I can't shake this fear, this weird feeling that something's about to happen."

Dean scowled and shook his head. "Anything else you want to share?"

Sam shook his head. "I know it's irrational."

Dean scratched his forehead. "Sam, you lied to me about what happened when you were a kid. I asked you flat out and you lied."

"Dean…"

"No, no excuses. You have to be honest now. Did anything like that happen again, this time or a few months ago?"

Sam shook his head. "Gleason's ghost, the last time, got a little friendly. You walked in on him at the hospital."

"Yeah, I remember." Dean didn't want to think about it.

"That was it. And this time it wasn't about…she just wants to punish me because her family's dead."

"Wanted to punish you, past tense, Sam, she's dead."

Sam walked across the room, his shoulders slumped and his movements slow.

"It has to be a spell," Dean said, still trying to figure things out. "She made me forget you. That lasted a while. Bobby got someone to snap me out of it."

Sam turned around. "Do you think they can help me?"

"I don't see…" Dean stopped. He was about to confirm that Audrey could probably do the job. But, if he did that, wouldn't the spell attack again? That's how it had worked on him. "I don't see how she can. AJ's brainwashing was all about the hex bags and I already burned them so…I don't think so. We need to think of something else."

Dean hated the way Sam turned his back again to stare out the window.

"Let me think on it more," he said."I'll call Bobby. Maybe you should sleep."

"I just woke up," Sam said, scorn in his voice.

"Are you hungry?"

"I'm not…"

"Sure you are. You slept through like four feedings."

Sam shrugged but Dean didn't care about food. He cared about calling Bobby and getting Audrey.

"You're feeling okay enough for me to go?" Dean said.

Sam barked out a laugh as he turned away from the glass. Dean opened his hands in question.

"Sorry," Sam said, nodding towards the kitchen area and the supplies he had bought earlier. "You already did that."

"Yeah, I was thinking real food." Dean rolled his eyes. He really needed to get away from Sam to call Bobby.

"I'll eat anything. I'm starving."

"Thought you said you weren't."

Sam shrugged. "I don't know. It comes and goes."

Dean wondered if that was a sign that the spell was dissipating but he didn't dare hope yet.

"You know that last attack," Sam said. "It was…different, I guess."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it hurt, you know, obviously. But, I don't think it was as intense. Maybe it's just wishful thinking."

Dean shrugged. "She's dead. Hex bags destroyed. Makes sense."

Sam nodded. He grew quiet and stared off and Dean guessed he was remembering.

"What is it?" Dean said.

"Just something she said about her father. If he lived in a different time, boys would have been honored by his attention."

"Sick bitch."

"Yes and no. It was normal for Roman men to have young male sex partners. Men in ancient Greece took adolescent boys for sex but the adult was supposed to educate and protect the child at the same time."

Dean scowled, hating Sam's logical tone. He turned away as anger started surging to the surface. He didn't care about dead civilizations or AJ Gleason's justifications. He was furious at Sam for not telling him the truth, furious at the whole dead Gleason family and he was furious at his father for letting Sam get taken when he was fourteen. Rage coursed through every part of him but he didn't know what to do with it so he paced.

"Dad should have had you checked out," Dean said.

"He wanted to but I wouldn't go."

"So, we're still dealing with a spell." Dean needed to change the subject. "When I started to break programming, I'd get a splitting headache. It felt like a cleaver in my skull."

"Mine is more of a knife to the gut."

"Different strokes, I guess."

"We need food," Dean said, still wanting to get out of the room in order to arrange for Audrey to meet them.

"Go. I'll be fine."

"Just watch TV or something. Keep reminding yourself that whatever you're feeling isn't real."

Sam nodded. His face was washed of color and his eyes looked cloudy. He kept flexing the fingers poking out of his cast.

"We're going to fix this, Sam."

"How do you know?"

"Cuz I'm the big brother."

"Dean…"

"We're going to kick it in the ass like we always do. You have to trust me, Sammy."

Sam nodded, giving a weak smile.

Dean grabbed his jacket and headed out.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

After Dean left, Sam noticed he was standing in the middle of the motel room and not doing anything. He looked around, taking in the two full beds, the television and mini kitchen. He didn't want to be there. The room felt small. But, he didn't want to be outside either. Anything could be outside; at least he knew what was in the room.

Unless something slithered in through the bathroom window. Sam exhaled looked towards the narrow air vents. He remembered an X-Files episode where a monster could elongate his body and fit through tiny spaces.

"That's TV, not real life," Dean reminded him in his head.

Dean. One more time his brother opted to leave him alone. Sam reminded himself that he didn't need a babysitter but a shiver raced through him as he realized that he only had one good arm and anything that wanted to get him probably could. How could he fight off Big Foot or a Wendigo or any monster with a broken arm? If Dean was really worried about him, he wouldn't have left. Dean already proved he couldn't be relied on. After all, he forgot that Sam existed.

Sam moved towards the back wall. From there he could see the two air vents plus the front door and the bathroom door. He couldn't think of a better place to watch his surroundings. He stayed still checking and re-checking each point of egress. If something wanted in, at least he would see it coming.

Ignoring the way his heart pounded against his ribs, he glanced towards the duffel bags. There were guns inside. He'd need one if anything came crashing inside. He hated to leave the wall but he needed the gun. He swallowed and took a few steps forward. If there was a monster nearby, this would be the best time to attack. Standing in the middle of the room with his back exposed, it would be easy to kill him.

Sam moved quickly trying hard to concentrate on getting the weapon rather than watching every direction. He unzipped the closest bag which was Dean's. Laying on top was the Taurus that his brother favored. He lifted it, awkwardly holding it against his body for leverage as he snapped the chamber to make sure it was loaded. He snapped it back in place then rose slowly and carried the gun back. He reclaimed his space at the wall, glad to have a solid mass behind him and a gun at his side.

Sam stiffened when he heard something, a growl maybe coming from outside the door. He stood up straighter breathing slow to keep his hands from shaking. The clock near the bed ticked louder and the small refrigerator in the kitchen groaned to life. Sam waited to see the monster, knowing it would break in, feeling its breath even though it remained unseen.

He remembered the monster in the hall at the Gleason estate. He had heard it growling and pacing outside his door. He had known it would attack him if he tried to leave the room. If Dean was telling the truth about killing it then he must have killed something else. Sam knew his monster lived and he knew it had followed him to the motel. It had probably hidden until Dean left knowing that Sam was an easy target alone.

Sam rolled his shoulders, wincing at the pull on his broken arm. The gun hung heavily in his hand. He wished the monster would come in. He needed to act, to kill it or be killed by it. The waiting reminded him of the barn. The fear back then had been overwhelming. Waiting for Charles Glass…Charles Gleason to come back to that little attic room had been like that too, terrible, encompassing terror he couldn't escape. Like waiting for a monster to break into his room and rip him to shreds.

He thought he should open the door and meet it. He could barrel into the parking lot and shoot it before it could react. Unless it was a really fast monster or something with impenetrable skin or a vampire that had to be decapitated or a Wendigo that had be torched. In truth he had no idea what was out there and the gun in his hand might be useless.

He stared at the door. He couldn't force himself to go out. He wanted to…badly. Every part of him wanted to leave the room and destroy the evil outside. He knew he could do it. He'd been doing it his entire life. But, he couldn't move. His legs refused him. It felt like his feet were hardened in cement. It felt like his entire body weighed five hundred pounds and nothing could move him forward.

Sam closed his eyes and slumped backward using the wall for support. His fingers lost their grip on the gun and it thudded to the floor. A scratching at the door startled him and he jerked forward. His heart started its latest escape attempt and he wiped wet palms against his jeans. The door handle turned. Sam sank to a crouch, covering his head. His body started shaking. He clamped down on his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering. He braced himself for the claws or the teeth to rip him to shreds, crying out when the pressure fell on his back.

"Sam. Sammy, come on. What's going on?" The aroma of hot oil and potatoes gradually seeped into Sam's brain. It took even longer for the words battering his brain to make sense.

Sam took long breaths, barely able to keep from toppling over. His legs threatened to dump him. He couldn't stop shaking no matter how much he concentrated. Dean dragged him off the floor and unceremoniously dropped him on the bed. Sam could feel his brother pacing.

"Dude, what is going on?" Dean said.

But, he couldn't answer. If he started talking he'd sound like a maniac. He'd sound crazy.

"Damn it, Sam."

Words burst out of him. "The monster."

"There is no monster." Dean sounded angry."How many times do we have to do this?"

"You said you wouldn't leave and you left. You forgot I existed. Why should I believe anything you say?"

"It was a spell. I would never just…"

"And then you left."

"When? What are you talking about?"

"Last night. You said you wouldn't leave but you did. Maybe you lied about the monster too."

"You mean when I went and got food? Is that what's stuck? I'm sorry, I didn't know it was a big deal to get you breakfast."

"It was a lie."

"Sam, listen to me. Whatever AJ did to you is making you like this. You have to trust me."

The pain started low and soft through his gut but it was building. Sam held his breath. He refused to let Dean see. He had to hide it, just like his fear, just like his doubt. Dean would decide he was weak and he'd leave. He wouldn't stay with a handicapped brother when there were monsters to fight.

Sam couldn't look at Dean. If he did then Dean would see that the pain was back. It'd be too much.

"Look, it's going to be okay. Just try to hang in there a little while. The spell can't last forever."

Sam nodded, silently agreeing but not believing. He'd be a cripple. His arm wasn't going to heal right. He'd always feel the monster waiting to rip him up. He'd never get away from the fear.

He flinched when Dean patted his shoulder but if his brother noticed he didn't show it.

Dean retrieved a bag from the floor and Sam realized he could smell french fries.

"Eat something, you'll feel better."

"I'm not hungry."

Sam crawled to the top of the bed and curled up on his side. If he tucked his legs in, close to his belly, the pain wasn't so bad. He shifted until he found a comfortable position and closed his eyes. He could feel the monster watching from outside. He could feel his brother's eyes too.