Chapter Four
Sam stared wearily at his food. A sandwich- ham and cheese- sat beside the familiar carrot and celery sticks. A brown blob of pudding and a juice box containing fruit punch had been thrown in for something different, Sam guessed.
His arms ached. The elbows of both were purple and blue with bruises, dark red and black pinprick-sized spots indicated puncture wounds from the needles.
Sam raised a hand and ran it over his scalp. The day before- or had it been two days ago? Sam didn't know; it was getting more and more difficult to tell time in this place- he had been hustled down to a room that almost seemed familiar and strapped to a chair so that some stranger with a pair of hair clippers could get rid of the fuzz that had been trying to grow into hair.
Sam had fought hard when the orderlies had tried to shove him into the chair. He always fought though, so they were ready for him. He shuddered at the memory of the buzz-whirr sound the electric clipper had made, like nails on a chalkboard or a dentist's drill. Sam knew it did no use to struggle, he wasn't going to get away and all it did was leave him exhausted anyway.
But complying would be like giving in, giving up and Sam was not about to do that. Even if all his fighting did was annoy Bates, Sam felt a small bit of satisfaction in knowing that he had made the mad doctor's life a little bit more difficult.
"God, that's pathetic," Sam muttered out loud and grabbed the sandwich from the tray.
Sam sniffed at the filling, not sure how long the meat and cheese had been sitting out but decided that if Bates was pumping him full of antibiotics, he might as well put them to the test.
SPN
John and Dean took turns shaking hands with Sheriff Teller. John had insisted they go right to the police station and his eldest son had made no protest. In Dean's opinion, the faster they found out what had happened to Sam, the faster they'd get him back.
Teller had shown the Winchesters to an empty interview room for some privacy in the bustling cop-shop. The Sheriff sat across from the two men, laying his hands on the table and sighed.
"Can I get you gentlemen a cup of coffee?" he asked, "It's shit but you both look like you could use some."
Dean shook his head and John said, "All we want is to know what happened to Sam."
Sheriff Teller nodded, "I understand your worry. I just need to ask you some questions first."
Both Dean and John immediately became anxious. Although neither of them had anything to hide, the idea of being implicated in Sam's disappearance only added to their concern.
"Are we suspects?" John asked guardedly.
Sheriff Teller's bushy grey eyebrows rose in surprise at the question, "Heavens no! We just need to get an idea of what happened before Samuel went missing."
Dean cringed a little at the use of his brother's full name, "It's Sam. He likes to be called Sam."
Teller cleared his throat, "I'm sorry. Sam, then."
All three men looked up when the door to the interrogation room opened and a state trooper stepped inside. Dean saw a moment of recognition cross his father's features at the sight of the man but it quickly vanished. Dean didn't think he'd ever seen the guy before in his life. He was definitely older than John, with dark brown hair that was graying at the temples and shrewd brown eyes. He was tall- not as tall as John though- and wiry.
"Ah, Detective Kaylor," Teller announced and stood up to greet the newcomer.
"Mr. Winchester," he continued, "May I introduce State Detective Deacon Kaylor. He will be heading your son's case."
Both Dean and John shook the Detective's hand before sitting down again.
"Can you tell us exactly how you found Sam's things?" John asked but the Sheriff shook his head.
"I'd like to ask you a few questions first, if that's alright with you." Teller said. From the look on John's face it was not alright with him but he didn't complain. Instead he waved a hand in a 'go on then' motion.
"What day did Samuel- Sam- leave your home?" Teller asked and Dean immediately perked up.
"August twentieth," he answered promptly.
"Alright," Teller said, "And Sam was headed to California? To Stanford University?"
"Yes," John answered this time, before asking, "Do you have Sam's things? Can we get them back?"
Dean frowned. He was sure his father hadn't specified what school Sam had been accepted to while talking on the phone with the Sheriff.
They probably searched through Sam's bag; Dean realized and folded his arms, feeling slightly violated for his absent brother.
"Your son's belongings will be returned to you later on," Teller answered vaguely, "Why was Sam taking public transit? You obviously have a vehicle of your own; I saw it when you pulled in."
"Hey!" Dean snapped but stopped when his father laid a hand on his arm.
John rubbed a hand over his mouth. It wouldn't do to lie, especially since Sam's life might be on the line.
"Sam didn't leave us on good terms," he answered as vaguely as Teller had.
Teller grunted, "You mean you two had a fight?"
John sighed, wishing he didn't have to air out all his dirty laundry for the Sheriff but if it would help them find Sam- and write him off as a suspect- then he guessed it was necessary.
"I wasn't happy about Sam going away, if that's what you mean," John finally confessed.
Dean thought that was the understatement of the year. Recalling the shouting match his brother and father had had before Sam left, it was a little more than John being 'unhappy' about his son's decision to seek a higher education.
"Did you two become physical?" Teller asked and Dean stood up, his chair skating across the slick linoleum floor in his haste.
"Hold on! Are we being accused of something?" He asked indignantly.
"Dean, sit down!" John hissed but Dean shook his head.
"Dad! He's asking if you hurt Sam!" He argued.
"I know that Dean!" John growled and turned to the Sheriff, "No, I never touched my son. We argued, sure. We shouted, said things we didn't mean but I never laid a hand on my boy."
"Alright," Teller rose his hands, "Let's all just calm down for a moment, here."
Dean retrieved his chair and sat down with an angry huff, glaring distrustfully at the Sheriff.
Keeping his voice even, John continued, "I'm a mechanic by trade. I was in the Marines. I never even finished high school. I was scared for Sam…. I didn't want him going so far away. With all the terrible things you hear about on the news I was worried for my son."
Teller nodded apologetically, "I understand. I'm sorry for the questioning but in cases like this we have to be sure to rule out family members."
"We understand," John said, "Don't we, Dean?"
"Yeah," Dean muttered, still eyeing the Sheriff warily.
"Okay," Teller too off his hat and ran a hand through his thinning silver hair, "When was the last time you spoke to Sam?"
Dean thought back to the message he'd left on his brother's phone, "The night he left."
Even Detective Kaylor looked surprised at this statement.
"We were all kind of emotional after Sam left so we didn't try and call him until later, Dean explained, "I didn't call him during the first week either 'cause I figured he'd want to get settled in."
John nodded, "When Dean did call Sam and he didn't get an answer we thought he had just forgotten his phone in his dorm or something like that. But then Dean tried again… and Sam still didn't call back…"
John's eyes suddenly grew hot and he quickly looked down at the stainless steel tabletop. He should have known something was wrong, damn it! He was a hunter and he hadn't had the sense to realize his youngest was in trouble the first time he'd failed to answer his brother's message.
"One more question and please, don't take offence," the Sheriff begged of the Winchesters.
Dean tensed, waiting for the bomb to drop.
"Where were you the night of August twentieth from ten forty-two to eleven thirty?"
John paused. He had been in a library in Altoona, Pennsylvania trying to find information on a poltergeist.
"We were in our motel room having a late dinner," Dean lied expertly.
Teller's grey brows crept together, "I thought you said you were a mechanic."
John nodded, "I travel around a lot; the economy, you know."
Dean added, "He's better than AAA."
"I think I have everything I need," Teller said and stood, "I'll leave you in Detective Kaylor's capable hands now."
John nodded, shook the Sheriff's hand and watched him leave before turning to the State Detective.
"Deke! You son of a bitch!" John smiled and stood to give the state detective a manly hug.
Dean just sat dumbfounded as the two friends greeted each other.
SPN
Sam struggled as the orderlies marched him down the hall. He was tired and sore but he didn't stop.
"Quit squirming!" one of the orderlies snapped but the command succeeded only in making Sam fight harder. He dragged his feet along the linoleum floor, forcing the orderlies to take his full weight- not that it was much, he'd lost a lot since arriving here- and he smiled when he heard both men panting as they hauled him down the hall.
"Maybe Bates should just give you a fuckin' lobotomy," the second orderly sneered, "That'd shut you up."
The very thought made Sam's stomach queasy but he didn't show it. Instead, he dug in his heels and nearly broke free from his captors when they jerked his arms, unaware that he had stopped moving.
"Son of a-" the first orderly who had spoken growled and held Sam's upper arm in a bruising grip.
Sam tried to twist away from the punishing hold but he was trapped.
"Not so much fun now, eh?" the orderly smirked while his partner likewise tightened his fingers around Sam's bicep.
Sam tried not to be frightened when they walked into the room with the dentist-like chair. At least they hadn't taken him to the surgery room; he was glad for that.
Doctor Bates looked up and smiled at Sam condescendingly.
"What the fuck are you smiling at?" Sam snarled with as much anger as he could muster.
Bates just chuckled and didn't answer. Whatever. Sam decided he didn't want to know what the asshole was grinning for anyway.
"Gentlemen," the doctor motioned to the orderlies and they pushed Sam towards the chair.
One of the men shoved Sam against the seat and pinned him there with one hand on his chest. He grabbed Sam's wrist and pressed it against the armrest and expertly cinched the strap tight- probably tighter than necessary- while his partner tied Sam's other arm down.
The orderlies moved stealthily away and watched, smirking, as Bates prepared to extract blood.
Sam hissed in pain as the doctor inserted the needle into the already tender flesh of his elbow and watched as though fascinated as his own blood swirled up the tubing and into the bag it connected to.
"Not so bad, eh?" Bates said companionably and Sam wondered just how bad it could get.
W
Sam curled up on the cot and put his hands over his eyes. Hot tears- tears he held onto until he was alone- seeped through his fingers. He shivered and then hugged his knees, wishing he had a blanket for a little bit of warmth.
He wondered if his father and brother knew he was missing yet. He hoped they did because that would mean they were looking for him.
Maybe they think you're at school, Sam told himself morosely, maybe they're still angry at you for leaving them.
"No," Sam whispered in a tight, watery voice, "They know. They know and they're coming for me right now. Any minute now Dean's gonna open that door and take me away from here."
Sam even held his breath, listening hopefully for the sound of running or shouting or shooting but the only thing he could hear was his own muffled whimpers.
He buried his face into the sour-smelling pillow and cried for a long time.
Author's Note:
1. Thanks to SamDeanLover28, reannablue, RainbowBetty, missingmikey, Samstruck, sarah, judyann, sammynanci, cold kagome, AshleyMarie84, L.A.H.H, BranchSuper, CeCe Away, Souless666, BonanzaRocks, MysteryMadchen, mandancie and Guests for reviewing.
2. Deacon Kaylor may be a familiar face to some of you. He was in the episode Folsom Prison Blues in season 2.
3. Thanks to everyone who favourited or who has alerted or is following this story.
4. Please leave a review! They mean so much to me!