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. I struggled with the last chapter with trying to explain what is going on. I hope that everyone understood what I meant … It made sense in my head!

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 FOUR

Caelan's eyes widened at Dean's words and then narrowed as all of the pieces of the puzzle finally began to make sense.

"Hunters," Caelan murmured in both disbelief and resignation. "Fucking Hunters!" Caelan repeated and Dean could easily hear the outrage and treachery within his friend's voice. "Fuck! Why would Hunters do this man? We're supposed to help people, not fucking torture them!"

"I don't know Caelan. But I will tell you one thing I know for certain," Dean's expression hardened. "I'm going to track down every one of those bastards who did this to Sammy and make them wish they'd never been born!" Dean vowed vehemently. "And anyone else who knew about his or even thought that Sammy needed to be punished … they're going to regret the day that they fucked with the Winchesters!"

Caelan's eyes grew round at his best friend's promise for vengeance and blood. He understood his friend's rage at finding out that Hunters had been hurting his brother for years; people that they had grown up with and trusted … to turn around and hurt a member of their extended family … It made Caelan violently ill just thinking about it. But they didn't know any of this for sure. They didn't know if Sam had been punished for years. And even though Caelan had come up with a theory that made this scenario distinctly plausible … they had no solid proof that this had even happened.

They had to tread carefully. Announcing that you were going after other Hunters … wasn't really a declaration you wanted to make lightly. Hunters tended to get pissed off if you went gunning for them for no reason at all. If they weren't careful and didn't work this out correctly … the two of them could have every Hunter after their asses!

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Thirty Minutes Earlier: Before Phone Call

Sam's expression set into determination as he picked up his phone, deciding that he was getting out of here one way or another. And if that meant that he had to face his big brother's wrath, ridicule, pity, rejection or hate, then that's what Sam would do.

Still, maybe he didn't need to get his brother involved just yet. Sam may have been able to handle a lot from his brother, but he couldn't allow Dean to see him like this (naked, vulnerable, weak). He wanted to spare his brother the humiliation of finding his baby brother in an abandoned warehouse, shackled, beaten and naked. What in the hell did that say about the Winchester name? And what if this somehow got back to the great John Winchester?

Sam shuddered at the thought. No. His Dad and brother couldn't find him like this. Hopefully they never had to find out about this … ever! Which left only one person Sam could think of who was close to the Winchesters and would offer some sort of a discreet nature to Sam's unusual predicament.

"Caelan," Sam whispered as he quickly scrolled down the names until he came to Caelan's and quickly pushed the button to connect the call before he changed his mind. He couldn't die here; shackled like some … helpless normal victim … like some damn damsel in distress! He was a Winchester, damn it, and it was time for him to at least act like it!

But as soon as Sam heard Caelan's less than friendly gruff greeting that reminded Sam of familiarity, of his brother and his home, Sam couldn't help but sob in both relief and fear. "C-C-Caelan," Sam stuttered, hoping beyond hope that his friend could tell from Sam's desperate tone that he was in trouble and needed help.

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Dean sat in the driver's seat of the Impala, trying to wrap his mind around things, trying to control the sudden rage that surged within him; trying to rain in his turbulent, conflicting emotions as he saw Caelan look at him several times with concerned, wary eyes. Obviously he had something to say, but didn't quite know where to begin or how the younger Hunter would take it.

"Dean," Caelan began hesitantly, not wanting to get the oldest Winchester sibling any angrier than he was at the moment. "I … we don't know if any of this is true." He said cautiously.

Dean turned to look at Caelan skeptically. Was he freaking kidding?! He'd been the one trying to convince Dean of Sam's continual years of punishments not more than five minutes ago!

"Now, wait a minute and hear me out before you shoot me down completely, okay?" Caelan pleaded, his hands held up in a soothing, non-aggressive manner.

Dean opened his mouth, about to argue with Caelan, but then thought better of it as Dean closed his mouth and slightly tilted his head to the side, giving Caelan the go ahead to continue. The least he could do after being friends for eighteen years was to hear him out.

"Right, thanks," Caelan nodded his appreciation. "Now I know that I was the one who suggested that this had been going on for years … but we don't know that for a fact. In fact, we don't know any damn thing for certain. All we've got is speculation at best. We need to take our time with this one, dude. We can't go round threatening other Hunters until we've got some damn hard evidence … you get me Dean?

Mouthing off and making threats … It's not going to work against other Hunters man. All that's going to do is piss them off and then we may never get to the bottom of this. We have to do this like professionals, okay man? We can't lose our cool … until we know for sure …"

"Really Caelan?!" Dean couldn't help but interrupt, his voice low, quiet, seething with barely controlled fury, his tone dripping with disdain and sarcasm. "You're lecturing me about being professional? You are such a hypocrite, man! You have no right to lecture me. Or do I have to remind you of the incident back in '93?"

Caelan's mouth dropped open in surprise, his shocked, hurt eyes locking onto Dean's intense bitter gaze. Dean had thrown that incident back in his face?! Caelan snapped his mouth closed, his brown eyes narrowed in hurt and pain. "No Dean, you don't," Caelan replied coldly. "I get the message loud and clear."

Dean blinked at the shocked, hurt look within his friend's eyes and couldn't believe the words that had come out of his mouth. He could have kicked himself for bringing that up. It wasn't like him to be this petty and cruel (especially not toward Caelan, who was more like his know-it-all big brother).

"Fuck!" Dean exhaled softly. "Caelan … shit man, I shouldn't have …"

"No, you're right Dean. I don't have the right to lecture you." Caelan interrupted, avoiding Dean's eyes, his tone low, hurt and pissed.

Damn!

Dean ran a hand through his hair, sighing loudly. He had to fix this. He needed Caelan – not just to help him find Sam – but because he was Dean's brother. And Dean hated it when either of his brothers were hurt. He especially hated it when he was the one who had done the hurting. Dean wished he wasn't like that. But when he was pissed and hurting, sometimes the only way he could lash out and hurt the other person was by spouting mean and hurtful things. It may have been the truth, but Dean had a talent for nearly bringing men to their knees with the lethal silver-tongued barrage of true, hurtful words that struck a man deep and left them wounded years later.

"Caelan, come on man … I shouldn't have … that was a low blow, even for me and I don't care if you want to take a swing at me for it. Hell, I'll even let you get one in for free after that comment. But I need you man." Dean couldn't help but plead as he looked upon his friend's unmoving stance.

Dean closed his eyes and tried again as he reopened his eyes, letting his emotional barriers down, letting Caelan see just how sorry he was and how guilty he felt for causing his brother this emotional pain.

"Caelan … I'm sorry man. That … back in '93 … I get it man, I really do. Hell, I would have probably done the same bloody thing. It was your Dad, dude. You had to … follow the evidence … even if it turned out that … Hunters might have been involved with his death. You had to follow every lead there was man …"

Dean took a deep breath and let it out slowly, tears suddenly prickling in the back of his eyes. "I was an ass for bringing it up. I'm sorry. I just … I just want to find Sammy man. And I … I need your help to do that. Caelan … brother … will you please help me find Sammy?"

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Seconds During/After Phone Call

Sam felt the phone torn from his grasp and thrown across the room before he felt a fist connect with his jaw, the ring on the man's finger cutting and splitting his lip open.

Sam shook his head, dazed, trying to stay conscious as he sensed – rather than saw – the man standing over him. "Ah!" Sam gasped, his eyes widening in terror when he noticed what the man held in his hand. "No! No!"

Sam tried to scramble backwards as fast as he could, trying to escape this particular punishment. But, being handcuffed and shackled to the wall, Sam could only go so far before he was jerked to a stop.

In a last ditch effort to escape this … punishment, Sam faced his attacker, his eyes wide, trying to appeal to the humanity within the man. "Please," Sam couldn't help but plead, hoping his puppy-eyes would be enough to stop what he knew was going to happen next.

The man paid no mind to Sam's desperate, humble plea as he kicked Sam in the jaw, sending the boy sprawling upon his back before the man placed his right foot upon Sam's left wrist, his left knee shoved down upon Sam's chest (effectively stopping Sam's feeble attempts at escape).

The man leaned closer to Sam so that he could peer into Sam's horrified eyes as he extended Sam's left arm, raising the branding iron and …

"Don't! DEAN!" Sam couldn't help the agonized scream that tore from him when the branding iron was forced down upon his bare skin (in between his collarbone and upper shoulder of his left arm).

"Fuck! You son of a bitch!" Sam cussed as loudly as he could – considering the bastard's knee was still upon his upper chest – tears prickling within his eyes at the intense heat and all-encompassing pain that radiated out from his shoulder-blade and all the way down his arm.

Fucking sick psychotic asshole! What the fuck had he branded upon him?

Seeing that his tormentor was distracted by Sam's pain, an excited gleam within his demented eyes as he towered above his captive (removing the knee from his chest, so that Sam could breathe properly); Sam noticed that as he crept closer to inspect his handiwork, he had let his guard down.

Sam quickly rolled to his right, bending his left leg and extended it as fast as he could, aiming to kick the bastard in the shins. But … Sam's aim was way off by a mile and the kick had no strength in it at all.

He retaliated quickly, by giving Sam a swift, hard kick in the ribs.

"Nuahh!" Sam hissed in agony, knowing that the second way of his "punishment" had begun as he strived to keep the unconsciousness at bay, rolling onto his left side in an unconscious effort to protect the area that he had just kicked.

"Well little Sammy, you shouldn't have broken the rules to our agreement then, should you?" He mocked, his voice calm, controlled and amused all at once.

"I-it's Sam … asshole!" Sam gasped, blinking away his tears of anguish as he tried to shuffle his body into a sitting position. But all he could really achieve was to lift his head and shoulders up from the ground. "And you're … the one w-who br-broke it first!" Sam declared, glaring up at this sick fuck defiantly, willing his body to stop shaking, trying to show this man that Sam was not intimidated by his actions at all (even though there were suddenly two images of the sicko and Sam's body trembled with abuse and exhaustion).

A smirk appeared on the man's lips before he crouched down next to Sam, placing his right foot upon Sam's left wrist – which was already torn to shreds because of the handcuffs – before he grabbed a handful of Sam's hair and violently pulled his head up so that Sam could see the sadistic smirk upon his captor's face.

"Hmm … I suppose that is true," he agreed, delighting in the extreme effort that it took for Sam to keep in his cries of suffering. "But only I'm allowed to break the rules … in honour of your special day … Sammy," his foot applied more pressure upon Sam's already abused wrist, gripping Sam's hair firmly as he leaned over, his mouth close to Sam's ear (And Sam couldn't help but shiver at the feel of this sicko's breath against his ear).

"Don't you want to know what I branded onto your body Sammy?" he taunted, his free hand not so gently tracing the out-line of the white-hot, singed, bloody brand, causing Sam to bite upon his bottom lip to keep his screams to himself, reflectively jerking in an effort to stop this fucker from poking and prodding at his newly acquired wound, more concerned with staying awake than trying to escape (although escaping would be good right about now, especially if this fucker dropped dead in front of him!).

Sicko chuckled in demented delight, watching as the young man struggled beneath him, pleased that this … thing's spirit wasn't broken yet. He revelled in the knowledge of more horrendous torture to come. He would break this … thing. He didn't care how long it took. And then … he would claim little Sammy Winchester for his own.

"What you have branded upon your body is my very special signature of brand." He paused; his eyes flickering down toward the recently added mark upon the young … boy/thing … beneath him and felt a shiver of pride and excitement fill him. "Not only does it represent the organisation that I work for, but now … whenever people see you … or you look at yourself … everyone will know that you belong to me!" He whispered with pleasure. "My very own Demon Spawn,"

Sam couldn't help but wince at those words. Demon Spawn. It wasn't as if he hadn't been called that before. Since his punishments started, that would be what they would call him – Demon Spawn – instead of his given name – Sam Winchester – as Sam tried to ponder this apparent organisation that this bastard belonged to; but the amount of thrilling excitement that he heard within Sicko's whispered words made Sam's blood turn cold with trepidation, making it impossible for him to concentrate on anything else right now. This was not going to end well.

"To do with as I please," he continued gleefully. "Whatever shall I do with my very own Demon Spawn?" Slowly, he extended his tongue, letting it hover at the base of Sam's neck, hesitating – not in fear of what he was about to do, but in excitement – before he ran his tongue from the base of Sam's neck, all the way up to his temple, his smile growing broader as he felt Sam shudder in revolution beneath him, making sure that Sam could see the delight within his eyes, while he saw the growing fear within the young … thing's eyes. "Oh yes little Sammy, you and me are going to have so much fun together."

Sam's eyes widened at the suggestive tone within Sicko's voice, shaking his head in an effort to get this nut-job to release his hair, catching sight of a scar beneath Sicko's mask – which covered the back of his head and nose, leaving his eyes and lips exposed – that started beneath his left jaw and went … all the way up to his left eye, Sam noticed as his head was jerked back even further to the point of him looking into his tormentor's pale blue eyes.

Sam made a mental note to store those identifying marks within his memory (they would be helpful for when he eventually tracked this sicko down and dealt to him in the Winchester style!)

"And as a very special treat – because today is a very special day for you after all – I'm going to let you in on a little secret." Sicko offered reasonably, almost as if he was doing Sam a favour.

Sam couldn't help but roll his eyes at this psycho's tone. "Let me guess … all of this was a little misunderstanding and you're setting me free …" Sam retorted sarcastically.

"You are funny little Demon Spawn!" He chuckled humourlessly. "But no. Nobody is setting you free." He said in a cold voice. "My secret is … my Dad and your Dad … have hunted together a few times over the years."

Sam couldn't help the shocked gasp that escaped him as Sicko's words registered. "Your Dad and … you … you're a Hunter?!" Sam exclaimed incredulously. "But … why? Why are you doing this? Why … have me … pun-punished? I don't … I don't understand!"

Sicko relented the hold the hold he had upon Sam's neck, holding Sam's head at his captor's eye level as he grinned and shrugged his shoulders indifferently. "My father has his reasons; Grand and noble reasons in fact. Me … I just love to see you tortured, begging to be released, begging for forgiveness … It makes me harder than any girl with big boobs ever would."

He applied more pressure to Sam's mangled wrist (Sam was sure he had something snap) before he ruthlessly flipped Sam onto his stomach (Sam saw black spots dance in front of his eyes, definitely hearing a crack and popping sound come from his shoulder as his whole body weight fell upon his arm as Sicko flung him onto his stomach without any regards to his trapped limb, Sam's scream tearing from him before he even registered that he was screaming) as Sicko's left knee was strategically placed upon his lower back as a deterrent – and a warning – to prevent Sam from planning to escape.

Sicko let go of Sam's hair – finally! – running his fingers up and down the weeping whip marks upon Sam's back. "What can I say kid? I guess I fell in love with you when you were ten years old. And now that I have branded you … you finally belong to me. Think of it as a birthday present from me to you." He whispered, a moan of desire escaping him as he rubbed himself against Sam's naked hip. "And by the end of tonight … you will belong to me in more intimate ways … if you know what I mean," he promised.

Sam, who was on the verge of blacking out – because of his (possible) broken wrist and (probable) dislocated shoulder – suddenly snapped back to reality as Sicko's words and actions began to register within his mind.

Sam closed his eyes, trying not to let the panic and fear over take him, trying not to antagonize this crazy bastard anymore, swallowing back his urge to dry-wretch as he felt this psychotic sicko's growing excitement.

"Wh-what reasons?" Sam choked out, ignoring the way that he was beginning to grind more forcefully into Sam's exposed hip, trying to keep this … nut-job talking instead of … Sam bit upon his bottom lip, refusing to let those thoughts or images enter his mind at the moment.

"Sorry?" the sick bastard murmured distractedly, stopping his grinding action – Sam sighed in relief – as his hands moved further down Sam's back; his touch soft, tender and almost loving.

Sam swallowed hard, trying not to think about where his hands were right now. His main goal was to distract Sicko for as long as possible. Well, at least until Caelan arrived to safe him (if Caelan could even find him that is!).

"Your Dad," Sam elaborated. "You said your Dad had no-noble reasons for … punishing me. What noble reasons could a man – a Hunter – have in torturing an innocent kid?" Sam spat out bitterly before he even registered what he had said.

Sicko paused before Sam felt his head smash into the concrete floor beneath him. "You mind your tone when talking about my father Demon Spawn!" He retorted, his tone cold and harsh before he chuckled softly, darkly. "I know what you're trying to do little Sammy," he cooed as he ran his fingers through Sam's unruly light brown hair.

Sam blinked furiously, trying to fight the darkness that threatened to engulf and embrace him, Sicko's words barely making any sense to him at all.

"You're stalling," Sicko continued, his teeth nipping cruelly along Sam's exposed neck and jawline, leaving red, inflamed skin in its wake. "So … why don't you be a good … boy and tell me who you were talking to when I walked in?"

Sam stared up at his tormentor defiantly, telling him to go screw himself as his hazel eyes narrowed in stubbornness.

"I see," Sicko sighed regretfully as he slowly got to his feet and pulled out his phone from his jacket pocket, staring down at the wilful young thing beneath him. "I guess you leave me no choice then. Just one quick call and I can guarantee that your Daddy will have a very bad "hunting" accident." He threatened, not flinching from the young man's defiant glare. "Are you willing to risk your Daddy's life on your stubborn Winchester pride?" The man asked, grinning when he noticed a touch of fear leap into the thing's hazel eyes.

TBC