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 and Kas3y for your kind reviews. I was starting to get disheartened, thinking that no one was interested in this story, but you've provided me with the encouragement to keep continuing. Here's another chapter just for all you guys who have taken the time out to read this story and to all the people who have this story on their alerts or have put it on their favourite lists. Thanks. It means a lot.

DEMON SPAWN: THE PHONE CALL

CHAPTER EIGHT

If Dean thought that hearing his little brothers screams of agony was bad, causing a red hot wave of intense, seething hatred to roll through him, then hearing his baby brother's broken, distraught sobs and his despondent, despairing, demoralizing apology almost caused Dean to break down and sob like a baby, something within him fracturing because his brother should never sound like this. Sam should never sound so … defeated; and then to turn around and blame himself for whatever this SOB had done to him and was still doing to him right now – and Dean knew it wasn't good by the sound of his brother's tortured screams, having a horrible suspicion on what it was that could cause his normally strong and independent brother to fall down to the pits of instant despair, humiliation and shame – caused Dean's fury and rage to spike to an all-time new level for him.

Swallowing hard, Dean pushed those emotions aside for now, knowing that Sam needed him. "Sammy, it's okay," Dean called in between his brother's heart wrenching, broken sobs, hoping like hell that Sam could still hear him. "It's not your fault little brother," Dean told his sibling, his voice cracking slightly at the sincerity of his words. "You have nothing to apologise for … do you hear me? Hang in there Sam, just be strong for a little while longer and I'll come get you … okay Sammy? I'll find you … I promise."

After a while – which seemed like an eternity to Dean – there was a God awful silence; his brother's painful sobs and whimpers seemingly vanished in an instant and Dean wasn't sure if he should be worried or relieved.

Fearing that the call had been disconnected from Sam's end, Dean glanced quickly at his phone and was both reassured and dismayed to see the seconds tick by on his phone's display, indicating that the call was still valid. But what the hell did that mean for Sam? Why was he so silent? Had he passed out or had … they done something else to him?

Dean's heart galloped ahead at full speed at that thought, praying for some kind of sound to let him know that his brother was still alive.

It was vague and distant, but Dean could hear that same sick fuck who had taunted him about how he was going to "break" Sam, speak words that Dean couldn't decipher to someone – or more than one – else, who was obviously present with both Sam and this – gonna be dead soon – asshole!

"Dean Winchester," the Dead Fucker said smugly, slightly out of breath. "So, it's finally just you and me now. My boys are … keeping my Demon Spawn, little Sammy Winchester, occupied while we talk."

Dean gritted his teeth together so tightly that he could feel a physical ache within his jaw; his fingers squeezed his phone in a near-death grip, pressed firmly against his ear, a low, guttural sound working its way up through his body.

"Hey soon to be Dead Fucker, you don't get to call my brother that!" Dean's voice was so low that it almost sounded feral and animal-like. "Why don't you tell me where you are … I'd love to pay you a visit."

Dead Fucker laughed. "Oh Deano, did I ever tell you how adorable you are when using your big boy threatening voice? Unfortunately for you … I'm neither intimidated nor impressed by your act of male dominance."

"You think this is an act?" Dean snarled. "Tell me where you are and then you'll see how much of an "act" it is!"

"Hmm, it seems that hearing me break your brother has upset you a great deal. I apologize for that. You weren't supposed to be involved in this but little Sammy, my Demon Spawn, needed to be taught a lesson. And I must admit that maybe I lost my temper a little bit, but the best is yet to come!" Dead Fucker taunted Dean smugly. "And because I'm such a generous person … I'm going to tell you exactly where we are … and you can come and join this party. What do you say Deano? You wouldn't want to miss out on the grand finale, would you?"

Dean closed his eyes, his body literally shaking with rage. "Just tell me where and when asshole … I'll be there." Dean promised, anger clouding his judgement. He didn't care that he might be walking into a trap or that he might be outnumbered. All he knew was that he had to get to Sam ASAP. Besides, with the way he was feeling, he was confident that he could take down ten of these sons of bitches!

"Yes, I'm sure you will." Dead Fucker chuckled darkly. "To be honest Deano … I've always considered you to be an insufferable ass whose use of violence, unseemly and unnecessary threats to be … archaic, out-dated." Dead Fucker paused, his modulated voice sounding excited, gleeful. "I'm looking forward to knocking you off of your high-horse, taking you down a peg or two, to get rid of your damned cocky, smug attitude!"

Dean couldn't help but grin in triumph when Dead Fucker lost his composure, resentment and anger colouring his tone. Dean had managed to ruffle his feathers, which had been Dean's plan; because if Dead Fucker was angry, then he was bound to be sloppy and mistakes would be made, which would give Dean an advantage … something he could use against this bastard who had dared to touch his little brother! "Just tell me where Dead Fucker, I'll be there."

All of a sudden there was a lot of noise bursting through from the other end, as if someone had opened up a door and Dean could hear his brother's weak cries of pain once more, which made Dean more determined ever to hunt these SOBS down and teach them why nobody should ever fuck with the Winchesters!

"Hey Sav –"

"No names!" Dead Fucker growled angrily. What the hell do you want? I'm kind of in the middle of something here!"

"Sorry," the new voice said, sounding anything but sorry. "But it's your phone Slither. I think you're going to want to take it. It's your Dad."

"Fuck! Who the hell told him about this?" Dead Fucker exclaimed, a little bit of uncertainty and doubt entering his highly pissed off tone. "Sorry Deano, I'm going to have to cut this short. Maybe I'll see you next time."

"Hey! Wait –" Dean cried out in alarm. "You didn't tell me where you are! Shit!" Dean cussed angrily when realising that the call had been disconnected. He'd been so close to getting Sam's location and bringing him home. But now …

"Fuck sake!" Dean swore, slamming his fists against the steering wheel, almost tempted to give into his overwhelming anger and hatred for the pieces of scum who had deliberately tortured his baby brother while he had been listening in, bragging about it, but Dean knew that he couldn't give into these emotions yet. He had to find Sammy. And in order to do that, he had to calm the fuck down and think rationally.

Dean took a deep breath and let it out slowly, some of the intense rage he'd been feeling beginning to ease; and now Dean knew what he had to do. It was time to call John Winchester.

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John's heart thudded loudly against his chest, an almost paralysing feeling overwhelming him at Dean's words. What? Sammy was missing?! Was this somehow connected to the conversation he had overheard Marc having? Had that bastard abducted his son?!

John forced himself to take several deep calming breaths before responding to Dean, but even then, his voice came out gruffer than he intended, fear for his youngest son automatically turning into anger, not willing to let anyone – let alone his own son – know just how scared he was at the moment.

"What do you mean Sammy's missing and in trouble?" John demanded in a hiss. "How the hell can he be missing? He's been living a normal life for two years now. What kind of trouble can Sammy get into while living a civilian's life for fuck sake?" John couldn't help the sarcastic quality that tinged his tone now, the ever present scorn and bitterness that he had felt when Sammy announced he was leaving them to go to school, rising unbidden to the surface once more, cursing his son's stubborn bull-headedness to lead a "normal" life and not follow in the footsteps of his father and older brother, continuing the family mission, their legacy. And now look what had happened because of Sammy's stubborn, independent streak … he was in trouble and missing! John couldn't help but think that if Sam had stayed with them, his family would have been better equipped to keep an eye out and protect him, and then he wouldn't be in this unfortunate predicament.

"I don't know Dad," Dean sighed loudly and John could hear the underlining worry within his oldest son's voice. "That's what we're trying to figure out now."

John nodded to himself, trying to reign in his conflicting emotions. It didn't matter that Sam had seemingly deserted his family for normality or that he hadn't contacted them in two years. Sam was his son. And no matter how much they had fought in the past or the issues that lay between them now, John would always be there for his son, no matter what.

And just like that, John's rising frustrations toward his youngest son vanished, his protective father instincts kicking into high alert. "Okay," John breathed, trying to centre his concentration. "Caelan's with you?"

"Yeah. He's checking out the scene where Sam was last seen. I'm just about to meet up with him."

"Talk to me Dean, what do you know?" John commanded in a tightly controlled voice.

"Not much," Dean admitted regretfully. "Sammy called Cal and said he was in trouble and didn't know where he was." Dean paused; an edge of nervousness entered his tone now. "I should have called you sooner, but I knew you were in the middle of a hunt and I didn't want to make you worry for nothing … at least, not until we knew more."

"It's okay Dean, you did the right thing." John assured his son, grateful that Dean hadn't contacted him earlier because in his ignorance, he might have asked the other Hunters for help, which would have tipped Marc off and his boy might not be alive right now.

At the moment, after hearing Marc's side of the conversation – if it was indeed him who had a hand in his son's missing status – then it was apparent that Sam was still alive. Marc had seemed unbelievably pissed and frustrated, but John couldn't recall Marc giving an order or code to kill anyone.

Unless … John's blood suddenly ran cold as he recalled Marc issuing a Protocol Four. God, he hoped that wasn't an order to kill his boy!

"We think whoever took Sammy … they seemed to know a shit load of personal stuff about us." Dean revealed quietly and there was something within his boy's tone which caused John's attention to focus more upon Dean.

"He called me to deliberately taunt me and I heard …" John heard Dean swallowing hard several times, his voice cracking slightly as he fought to get control over his emotions. "I want these fuckers dead Dad!"

And John was surprised by the venomous hatred that he could hear within his boy's voice. "The guy who called me … he used a voice modulator, so that suggests to me that we know him somehow." Dean continued, his tone nowhere near as dark as before, although John could tell that his son was fighting desperately to keep his anger under control.

"The Dead Fucker kept saying that Sammy was his Demon Spawn!" Dean scoffed in an indignant tone. "Can you believe that? Sammy's not his! And he definitely ain't no Demon Spawn!"

"Demon Spawn?" John repeated numbly, distinctly recalling Marc referring to John's off-spring as being a Demon Spawn. Oh Shit! Was he talking about Sammy?!

John closed his eyes, swaying slightly on his feet, dread making him feel sick to his stomach as he recalled the numerous times he had handed his young son over to Marc willingly while he pursued tracking the very elusive Demon that had killed his wife, too blinded by grief and his obsession to see the danger he had all but pushed his young, defenceless, easily-manipulated boy into each and every year since Sammy had been ten years old!

John bit back a curse or a sob of remorse – John wasn't sure which – holding the phone tightly within his shaking hand. "Dean, are you sure that's what he said? Are you positive that's what he called Sammy?" John basically whispered, having no strength to shield himself behind his cool, calm and collected exterior, feeling too overwhelmed by guilt, fear, betrayal, sadness and his own stupidity to hide his frightened tone from his son.

"Yeah Dad, I'm sure." Dean replied hesitantly, obviously sensing his father's turbulent emotions. "Why Dad? What's going on?"

"John! We're ready to go! How bout you shake a leg and get a move on?" Marc called in his normal cheeky, teasing fashion from inside John's motel room.

"Not now Dean," John hissed urgently, instinctively knowing that he couldn't be caught having a phone conversation with Dean at the moment, and especially not by Marc. "I'll call you when I can. In the meantime keep searching for your brother, and kept me updated." John said, hanging up on his son mid-speaking, feeling an all-encompassing need to rush this son of a bitch, pounding his fists against Marc until John got the answers he wanted and needed.

But Sammy was missing; and this bastard obviously had something to do with it. John had to try and play it cool until he got the location of his youngest son and then he would let loose his fury upon Marc Ley-Lamp who had done far worse than betray John's trust. He had dared to touch his boy. And for that, John vowed that Marc's life-span was in danger of becoming extinct in the next twenty-four hours. Marc would learn first-hand what happened when anyone – supernatural or human – hurt one of his boys. Marc would be begging for death by the time John was finished with him!

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Sam's body sagged with relief when Sicko ordered his two henchmen to leave the room immediately, obviously agitated by whatever had just happened. With his hands still cuffed to the work-bench, his upper-body lying upon the bench, on the verge of succumbing to the darkness surrounding him, Sam pushed it back, instinctively wanting to know what had gotten Sicko so bent out of shape – it could be something that Sam could use to his advantage – as he pretended to be out for the count.

Squinting through barely open eyes, Sam could see Sicko give him a cursory glance before he spoke into a phone held against his ear. "Father," he greeted in a less than enthusiastic way. "To what do I own the pleasure of this call?"

Sicko tensed at the reply his father gave him; suddenly becoming defensive. "The fucking little bastard made me bleed … and maybe things might have gotten a little out of hand and maybe I might have lost control for a fraction of a second, but I'm in control now and I know exactly what I'm doing."

Sicko snarled loudly, clearly not impressed. "Agreement? Really Dad?! You're going to bring that piss-poor "agreement" that you have with this Demon Spawn to run away and live a normal life, into this? If I didn't know any better I'd say that you feel sorry for this … thing!"

Sicko looked over at Sam as he contemplated his father's words. "What plan?" He scoffed. "To let him go and live a normal life while not punishing him for the crimes that he committed against you and disgracing our family name? Sounds to me like you're getting soft old man, so I decided to step in and do something about it! You may be okay with letting a monster off the hook, but I'm not!"

Sam couldn't help as his jaw dropped open in a silent gasp of shock as he tried to process Sicko's words. It was obvious that they were talking about him. But crimes against Sicko's father? What the hell was Sicko talking about? Sam had never hurt anyone in his life – well, things that weren't evil anyway – he silently amended.

"None of that matters anymore Dad!" Sicko snapped in irritation. "I've heard it all before … you will avenge your beloved Mary's death by torturing and killing the thing responsible for her murder …" Sicko intoned in a bored voice.

Mary? Were they … was Sicko talking about his mother?

"Besides, it doesn't matter anymore where the little shit runs off too … I'll always be able to track him. I branded him with our symbol." Sicko declared proudly. "So, no matter where he goes, certain people – like us – will be able to tell what he is just by looking at him!"

Sicko's whole posture stiffened, his eyes narrowing in anger, his lips turning up into a cruel, dark smile. "Let them come," Sicko said dangerously. "I'm not fucking scared of either John or Dean Winchester!"

Sam's body jerked reflectively at the mention of his father and brother. Oh God, now they were involved in this too? After everything Sam had done to keep them out of it, to keep them safe and now …

Sam froze as Sicko moved toward him and began to run his fingers through Sam's hair, Sam violently trying to repress the urge to shudder or move away from Sicko's touch. If he wanted to know what was going on, he had to remain as "unconscious" for as long as he could.

Sicko rolled his eyes. "Yes Dad, another speech I've heard a thousand times before; how long it took you to track John Winchester down, how hard it was for you to gain the great man's trust … really Dad, I don't give a fucking shit about that. Your plan is too slow! So I decided to speed it up a bit by calling Dean Winchester."

Discreetly Sam blinked back the moisture within his eyes, remembering that Dean had been on the line while Sicko had "broken" him.

"What? Why?" Sicko's hand stilled in Sam's hair, his face scrunched up with displeasure. "I'm not scared of Dean Winchester! Let him come! Besides … I'm eager to teach that little obnoxious bastard a lesson he'll never forget … what?! Protocol Four? Dad, there's no need to … I didn't ruin … Dad … Dad!"

Sicko pulled the phone away from his ear, staring at it in disbelief before he hurled it violently against the wall, screaming out his frustration, obviously very distraught by what he had been told to do.

Sam watched as Sicko left the room, a feeling of apprehension falling upon him. What the hell is Protocol Four? Was Sam's last thought before he succumbed to the darkness' enticing embrace.

TBC