Summary: AU: Stanford Era: "Dean … Sammy's in trouble." A late night phone call sends Dean Winchester and long-time friend, Caelan Hagan in a desperate search to find Sam before the unthinkable happens; uncovering lies and secrets involving the youngest Winchester, that have been years in the making.

Warnings: Violence, swearing, physical abuse, torture, implied adult themes.

Disclaimer: I don't own the supernatural characters.

Author's Note: Just another possibility on why Sam left for Stanford. Introducing new character, Caelan Hagan. Hope you enjoy.

Special Note: Thanks to Mimmi85 for your kind words. Here's another chapter just for all you guys who have taken the time out to read this story.

DEMON SPAWN: THE PHONE CALL

CHAPTER TWO

Dean Winchester loved his life. How many people could say that they woke up every morning, glad to be alive, glad to be working? Of course, not many people had the kick-ass job that Dean did; travelling the country in his baby, saving innocent people and killing evil things. And Dean knew that this was supposed to be his calling, his purpose. He was born to be a Hunter, nothing and no one could make him give up being a Hunter or tell him otherwise. After everything Dean had seen, he could say with absolute certainty and conviction that nothing scared him – not even the son of a bitch Demon that had killed his mother – and he would clock the bastard who would say so otherwise. Now Dean realised that that assumption had been completely wrong, because with just three little words, Dean's whole existence came crashing down around him.

Sammy's in trouble,

Dean's words dried up upon his lips, the breath caught in his throat, his heart clenching painfully in his chest.

Sammy's in trouble,

Dean's whole world narrowed down to pin-point accuracy, becoming frozen as those words slowly began to penetrate his numb mind.

Sammy's in trouble,

Dean gasped in a shocked breath before time started to move forward again and he found himself outside Caelan's motel room, having no memory of parking the Impala, let alone exiting the car and striding toward Caelan's motel room.

Dean rapped upon the door, trying not to pound on the door frantically and give into his despair as he so wanted to do right now. "I'm at the door now," Dean said into the phone, his voice husky with emotion. In the next instant, Dean was face to face with his best friend, Caelan Hagen, and he was shocked at the haggard look upon his friend's face.

"Dean, good timing man," Caelan said softly, opening the door wider so that Dean could enter.

Dean breezed past Caelan without a word, becoming more freaked out by the horror he could see within his friend's brown eyes. Dean had known Caelan for eighteen years, and in all of that time he had never seen Caelan as spooked as he was now.

"Are we good to go?" Dean asked, sweeping a critical eye around the motel room, making sure that everything was packed and ready to go.

Caelan nodded wordlessly as he picked up his bags and started toward the Impala, looking as anxious as Dean was to get on the road.

Dean didn't waste time asking questions, grabbing his own gear and following Caelan out to the car. He would get answers once they were on the road. All he knew was that Sammy was in trouble and the longer he stayed here, the longer it would take to get to his brother's side.

Fifteen minutes later, the two men were in the Impala and hurtling toward Stanford – Palo Alto and Sam – at break-neck speed. Dean's hands gripped the steering-wheel tightly; his teeth clenched together, his expression determined and defiant, refusing to give into the paralysing fear that was building within him as each agonized minute passed into the next.

Finally, after gaining a little of his composure, Dean turned to look at his friend beside him with a penetrating gaze. "Okay, tell me what's going on Caelan. What's happened to Sammy?" Dean practically demanded his voice gruff and harsh at the same time.

Caelan met Dean's intense green eyes briefly before he lowered his gaze to his hands, swallowing back his confusion, alarm and anxiousness. He was determined to stay calm for Dean, no matter what; because he knew that once Dean learned of his little brother's abduction and torture … Dean would close down all modes apart from one; worried, schizoid, protective big brother mode. And someone needed to have their heads in the game.

"Caelan, what makes you think Sammy's in trouble?" Dean urged, his patience almost at its limit as Caelan still refused to answer him.

Caelan took a deep breath and let it out slowly, running a calming hand through his shoulder-length wavy black hair. "He called me," Caelan revealed, finally meeting his friend's eyes.

Dean couldn't help but shiver in apprehension at the haunted tone in his friend's voice and the look of failure within Caelan's dark eyes. Dean swallowed hard, instantly knowing that he wasn't going to like what Caelan was going to tell him, trying to steady himself as best he could as he nodded at Caelan to continue.

"Dean … Sammy … He didn't sound good man. He said that he didn't know where he was; handcuffed in some … abandoned warehouse somewhere. He thought his drink might have been drugged …

(Dean's hands tightened upon the steering-wheel almost painfully, his teeth grinding together in anger. Someone had dared to abduct and drug his baby brother?! Oh hell no!)

He said that he wasn't hurt too badly but … I could tell he was lying, probably trying to put on a brave face, you know? I think … possibly … Sam is being … tortured …

(Dean's eyes widened at that information. This guy was so dead! Dean was going to rip his fucking lungs out! How dare he hurt his brother? Nobody messed with Dean Winchester's little brother and lived! Nobody! Dean could feel his jaw clenching and unclenching, barely able to supress his rage as Caelan continued.)

He mentioned Stanford and why … his decision … he didn't want to go man. I think … I think that someone forced him to go … threatened him …

(Dean couldn't help the growl that rumbled low in his throat, becoming increasingly louder the more Caelan revealed. Sammy didn't want to go? Someone had threatened him? Who? Dean wanted this fucker dead now!)

Dean … Sammy … I'm sorry but … it sounded like Sammy was calling to say goodbye. He kept pleading with me to tell you and your Dad that he hadn't wanted to leave you but … apparently they threatened to hurt you if … if he didn't leave. He did it to protect you; to protect all of us." Caelan revealed, his voice cracking slightly as he tried to get his emotions under control.

Dean blinked hard, the implications of Caelan's words hitting him like a sledge-hammer to his stomach. He left to protect us? Saying goodbye? What the fuck? Hell no! No way was that kid going to give up because of some asshole (that dead fucker once Dean got his hands on him!) that had threatened, tortured, drugged and abducted his baby brother!

Dean's eyes narrowed, a calm resolve settling over him; the mission clear in his mind. Find Sammy, rescue Sammy, protect Sammy, find the sonuvabitch who had hurt Sammy and make him pay!

"Tell me everything that Sammy said Caelan," Dean demanded. "No way am I letting that kid say goodbye until I get some answers from him."

Caelan let out a deep sigh and nodded, knowing that Dean was in hyper protective big brother mode and there was no way he was taking "no" for an answer!

DW SW DW SW DW SW DW SW DW SW DW SW DW

Three Hours Earlier: Before Phone Call

The first thing Sam Winchester became aware of was the pounding within his head and the coldness that had crept into his very bones, causing his body to shiver in an attempt to get himself warm. (Obviously he'd been here a while … wherever the hell here was!) The next thing Sam became aware of was that his left hand was handcuffed to a fixture within the wall – something that looked as if it had been put there; made specifically for him – and that he was wearing nothing but his birthday suit.

What the … ?!

Sam's jumbled thoughts slowly began to reorganize and gather themselves together. He remembered going to the local bar with a few of his close friends, deciding to have a couple of drinks at midnight because that was when today officially began. And it was a very special day for Sam (according to his friends, he had to live and extract as much from this day as he could). He remembered helping Jessica Moore – a girl which he kind of hoped would become more than a friend – into a cab, paying for her to get home and then … nothing.

Sam almost laughed out loud at the irony of being in nothing but his birthday suit considering what day it was. He was in his birthday suit, on his birthday. Yeah, that was just fucking fantastic! Some birthday this was turning out to be!

Sam groaned loudly as he looked about the abandoned warehouse, looking for a weapon, a way out, his damn bloody clothes! But as usual, they were good at their job. No clothes, no weapons and no damn way out of this freakin' place! Except … wait, was that a phone sitting in the middle of the room, beyond his reach, taunting him with his only possible way out or him calling for help and getting the hell out of this dirty, damp, dark warehouse and into some clothes?

Was that his phone?

Sam squinted, straining to make out the object more clearly within the faded lighting of the warehouse, deciding that it looked familiar enough that it most probably was his phone. Didn't really matter whose phone it is, Sam thought, his heart-rate beginning to accelerate with hope. It was a means to get him out of this place before something worse happened to him.

Sam shuddered involuntary as he slowly began to inch forward, reaching out as far as he could to get hold of that damn phone, pulling on the length of the extended handcuff, hearing chain on metal, testing it for any weakness that Sam could exploit. Of course there were no weaknesses, no sloppy behaviour, because these guys were pros – except for that damn phone.

Before Sam had even consciously made his move toward the object – which he really hoped was his phone – a sickening, terrifying thought made him hesitate and glance around warily, trying to search out the hidden dangers that was sure to be lurking within the shadows; because these people didn't make mistakes. They didn't leave objects in the middle of the room – especially not objects that could help Sam escape! They had never made such a rookie mistake in all of the years that they had been "punishing" him; so why would they start now?

Sam couldn't help the violent shiver that ran up and down the length of his spine at the thought that this was most likely a trap. But to what end? He had already received the punishment. What would be the point in catching Sam in a trap now that it was all finished?

Sam frowned, knowing that this whole thing was wrong. Not only had they left behind an object that might help Sam escape – please God, let it be my phone – but Sam was positive that he wasn't supposed to wake up here at all. Normally when they had finished punishing him, they would drug Sam up and dump him in some cheap, unknown motel room, his wounds having been treated, bandages wrapped tightly around the deeper cuts, injuries and definitely with his God damn clothes on!

But this … here, now … it was all wrong. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. What did this mean? Were they going to come back and punish him some more, finish off what they had started? Or had they finally decided to leave him here to rot, starve to death; atone for his sins with the ultimate sacrifice … his life?

Sam shook his head to rid himself of those depressing thoughts, and then wished he hadn't as the sharp motion of his head made him feel dizzy and nauseous at the same time. Sam bit his bottom lip hard, waiting for the dizziness to pass before he decided to go for the object in the middle of the room. He had to do something. No way was he going to just sit here, completely stark naked and wait to starve to death, shackled in some dingy, abandoned warehouse. He was a fucking Winchester and Winchesters didn't know the meaning of the word "give up".

Blinking back his nausea, Sam's expression hardened as he pulled at that damn extended handcuff, trying to inch closer to the object – and yes! He was definitely certain that it was his phone now! – determined to get to his phone, call someone for help and get him the hell out of here!

Technically, calling for help while he was being punished or afterwards was against their rules, but they – he – had broken the agreement first; and be damned if Sam was just going to sit here and rot. If they could break the rules, then so could he. He was going to get that damned phone, even if it was the last thing he ever did!

SW SW SW SW SW SW SW SW SW SW SW SW SW SW

Two Hours Earlier: Before Phone Call

Sam's head hung dejectedly, staring down at his phone, his older brother's name flashing upon his screen, his thumb hovering over the call button, hesitating to push the button that would bring his brother instantly to his side (and damn it, that's all he wanted right now, was his brother!)

But …

Trying to stifle the deep shudders that coursed through his weary and exhausted body, Sam lifted his eyes and glanced around his surroundings once more – the empty, abandoned warehouse – noticing that his left hand was still handcuffed, his wrist ripped to shreds because he had struggled to retrieve his phone, which had been almost too far from his reach for the past … God, how long had he been here? Sam didn't even know now as time became inconsequential to him, only existing in the here and now.

Sam shifted slightly before remembering that his body was full of aches and pains; not only because of the beating (punishment) he had received, but also because of the recovery of this phone which had put stress and strain on his already bruised and battered body.

Cracked or broken ribs were a definite. His nose was probably broken as well. Sam was grateful that he could no longer feel blood dripping from his body in several different locations at once – thankfully most of his wounds had clotted, especially the cut above his right eye, which had been so annoying when he had proceeded to retrieve his phone because he was sick of having to blink the blood from his eyes.

Blood from his – most likely broken – nose had eased down to a low grade drip instead of the gush it had been as the blood dripped onto his right hand. He could see the bruises already beginning to form upon his body and he refused to think about the mess his back would be in right now. Refused to think about how much the whip had hurt when it struck his back repeatedly until Sam lost consciousness.

Sam absently began to wipe the blood that had dripped upon his hand onto his jeans before he remembered that he no longer had any clothes on what-so-ever and Sam could feel his checks redden in both shame and embarrassment. Was he really going to call his big brother for help when he had walked away from his family two years ago and had no contact with them at all? Did he really want his big brother to see him like this? Shattered, broken, shaking and sobbing like a five year old?

The hand holding his phone began to shake violently, his brother's name upon his phone display beginning to blur because of the tears forming within his hazel eyes.

No.

Sam definitely didn't want his big brother – his hero – to see him like this. He didn't want anyone to see him like this. But …

Sam weakly pulled at the handcuffs once more (maybe this time his hand would slip magically out of the cuffs and he would be free!) But nothing was budging, the cuffs digging deeper into his already bleeding, red raw wrist.

"Fuck!" Sam swore softly as he rested the back of his head against the wall, staring up at the abandoned warehouse's ceiling, uncertain about what his next move should be as exhaustion began to creep over his mind and body.

Maybe it would be okay if he just rested for a while. Just rested enough so that he could gather his frazzled thoughts together enough for him to figure out what his next move should be in order for him to get the hell out of here.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that he shouldn't fall asleep, he shouldn't be resting until he had gotten free and escaped this dreadful nightmare! But he couldn't fight the urge to rest. And almost against his will, he could feel his eyes slipping closed.

"Dean," Sam sighed longingly, wistfully as his body and mind slowly sunk down toward oblivion, a lone tear slipping slowly down his check.

TBC