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. Here's the first of many chapters that begin to explain why the duo Hunters of father and son have targeted Sammy for all of these years. I really struggled with this chapter and the next few chapters because of the information content. Hope I explained it so all of you can understand it too!
Special Note: Thanks to Kas3y and Mimmi85 for your reviews, they mean a lot. 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 THIRTEEN
After everything Dean and Caelan had done and gone through to find Sam and now … what … Sam wanted nothing to with him … again? Was it really so hard for Sam to show him a little fucking gratitude?!
Irritation instantly swelled within Dean; the feeling easier to deal with than the knowledge of not knowing what to do to help his little brother or if Sam would even accept his help. This ungrateful little …
Dean blinked back his tears of hurt and betrayal as he took a deep breath and let it out slowly, instinctively knowing that getting angry with Sam right now was not going to help matters … in fact, it would most like push Sam further away.
Dean wasn't irritated with Sam, not really … he was irritated with himself, frustrated at his own indecisiveness and doubt, unsure on what his next move should be and how he could help Sammy. He didn't want to cause Sammy any more unnecessary pain, but he had to get Sam out of here.
"You're not real," Sammy muttered over and over, adamantly shaking his head in denial.
"Sammy, it is me," Dean insisted, his tone having a sharp edge of desperation that Dean had never heard in his voice before. "I promise you little brother, I'm Dean; I'm real and I'm here to get you out, okay?"
Sam paused in his chanting to eye Dean carefully before he stubbornly shook his head. "You're not him!" Sam repeated, his voice rising slightly in panic. "You're not Dean! Go away and leave me alone!
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"So, let me get this straight," John began, his voice tightly controlled as he reopened his eyes. "After being adopted into the Campbell family, raised by Samuel, living with and growing up with Mary, you develop feelings
(John couldn't help but snap out bitingly, disgusted at the thought of this sick fuck ogling and drooling all over his late wife while they were growing up).
For your … niece … sister … and get it into your head that you will marry her one day. Upon discovering Samuel and Deanna's untimely death, you decide to leave Mary and join the Army in order to gain skills so you can better protect Mary … is that correct so far?"
Marc nodded enthusiastically, obviously not hearing John's sarcasm or pretending not to notice it. "Yes Johnny, that's right." He agreed eagerly, relaxing slightly, thinking that he had convinced John Winchester into his way of thinking.
John's half-smile was deadly, but Marc was too caught up in his own delusions of grandeur that he mistook John's smile as one of commiseration and empathy for Marc's obvious plight.
"Eleven years later you return to reclaim Mary only to discover that she's dead and so you decide to hunt me down and make me pay for Mary's death … right?"
Another eager nod.
"After learning that The Demon was there for Sam that night, you decide to … what did you call it?" John tilted his head to the side, frowning in concentration. "Recondition, right? Drug and recondition my son to your way of thinking?"
"No! Not my way; the organisation's way." Marc corrected John, still too blind to see the danger that sat before him.
"Right. Sorry, my mistake," John's chuckle was dry, emotionless, empty, but Marc smiled in response to John's chuckle, his eyes widening in pleasure at the way that John seemed to be on his side now.
"In order to achieve your goal of … reconditioning Sam … you decide to get Connor Hagen out of the way so you can gain my trust, get close to me in order to start your reconditioning and you're hell-bent on either … saving these other children or getting rid of them … does that about sum it up?" John inquired, his tone condescending now.
Marc frowned slightly. "Not quite. I didn't get rid of Connor to get close to you – although that was a pleasant surprise – no; I had to … take care of Connor because he was basically at the wrong place at the wrong time."
"What do you mean?" John eventually got out, determined to get to the bottom of Connor Hagen's death – not only because he was John's best friend, but also so Caelan could have some piece of mind about how his father had died – before he completely lost control and pounded upon this piece of shit scum-bag who had thought he could come into John's life, gain his trust, abuse and torture his son and not reap the consequences of his actions? Did this … simpleton really think that John was going to let him get away with everything he had done?!
Marc's frown deepened, a disappointed look within his eyes. "It was a … trial, to see how well … to see if the drugs would have the desired effect upon Sam that we hoped. My … associate … couldn't … he was weak and unfortunately Connor happened to see my associate and little Sammy in an … uncompromising position."
Marc waved his hands about dismissively, slightly irritated by the whole unfortunate episode. "I couldn't have Connor ruining our plans to help save your son, now could I? So, I organised for Stewart and Adams to take a drugged and unconscious Connor out to the werewolf's hunting grounds and leave him there.
Technically the werewolf killed Connor, not me!" Marc grinned; pleased by his devious nature and heinous plan in order to keep his own hands clean from the murder of Connor Hagen.
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"Sammy, come on dude," Dean sighed in frustration. "It is me."
"You're not real … you're not real … you're not real … " Sam continued to chant from before, staring at Dean, his eyes wide, brimming with tears, too freaked out to listen to anything Dean had to tell him right now.
"Damn it!" Dean swore under his breath; now what the hell did he do? Dean tried to calm his racing thoughts and pushed all negative emotions to the back of his mind as he peered at his little brother critically.
Although he couldn't really see the complete injuries that his brother had sustained – because of the way Sam was folded in on himself – he did notice how Sam was favouring his left shoulder and his right knee … so, they were either badly sprained, broken or dislocated …
Great! That was just fucking terrific! Getting his tall younger brother out of this damn box forcibly, without causing any more damage to Sam's already bruised and battered body was going to be impossible. Sam had to come out of there willingly and somehow Dean had to coax him out of there. But how the hell did he do that?"
"Sammy … c'mon buddy, let me get you out of there," Dean pleaded, not above showing any emotion when his little brother's safety and well-being were concerned. "Sammy, I just want to take you home dude, okay?"
"H-home?" Sam repeated, sounding like a vulnerable six-year old. "You want to take me home?" Sam's bottom lip trembled violently and Dean could see that Sam wanted to believe him, he wanted to get out of this box and go home but something was holding him back.
"Yes Sammy," Dean almost laughed in relief at getting some other reaction out of his brother instead of fear and mistrust. "I want to take you home. Come on little brother," Dean reached for Sammy yet again and was rewarded by Sam reaching out toward Dean before the sound of glass shattered reverberated all around them.
Instantly Sam's eyes closed down as he scooted impossibly further away from Dean, staring at Dean darkly, accusingly, retreating further into himself.
Fuck! Damn it!
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John felt his blood run cold at Marc's words, remembering how John and Dean had been conveniently called away to assist in a hunt that Marc himself was involved in, and John had asked Connor to look in on Sammy – who was only ten-years old at the time – and sit with him until John and Dean returned in the morning.
"You … Sammy was only ten-years old!" John said, horror tinging his tone. "He was just a little boy and Connor … Connor was a great man and you just … killed him?!" John's voice rose incredulously.
"No, I didn't kill him … the werewolf did." Marc clarified, grinning broadly. "And yes, Sam may have only been a little boy, but he was dangerous John; and the reconditioning had to start as soon as possible in order to try and save him."
"You called Dean and me away on that hunt deliberately, didn't you? You wanted Sammy to be all alone so your associate could what … drug and torture my ten-year old son?!"
"No." Marc said, his brow puckering with puzzlement at John's words and the scathing tone within the man's voice. "I told you, it was only supposed to be a trial of the drugs. My associate –"
"Yeah, lost control." John scoffed sarcastically. "I heard you the first time. Tell me Marc … this organisation that you work for … how many kids have you reconditioned or killed in the name of it? How many innocent lives have to be taken in pursuit of this mad crusade that you're on?"
"It's not mad!" Marc exclaimed, his tone beginning to rise in indignation. "And those kids were far from innocent!" he scoffed. "I'm not the only operative out there trying to change these kids destinies … trying to save them from the dark path that they are on."
Marc paused, eyeing John thoughtfully. "You know, little Sammy is one of my success stories. It took a while, but eventually I had him believing anything that I wanted him to believe. He was saved; saved from his destiny and dark path, out of harm's way, no longer a threat to you or Dean.
I was content to let him live his life as long as he never contacted any of you ever again; as long as he abided by the terms of our "agreement" then I was content to leave him alone. I didn't do this John. What's happening now … it isn't my doing. Sammy hasn't … I haven't had to recondition him in two years now." Marc announced proudly.
"How many kids Marc?" John demanded through gritted teeth. "How many kids have you done this to? How many kids have you fucking brainwashed like you did with my son?"
Marc tilted his head to one side, considering John's question. "It's hard to say really; anywhere from half-a dozen to a dozen, maybe. Of course, most of them were failures and had to be eliminated because they couldn't be saved … I think that's because I started too late with them, they were in their teens.
Sammy was ten and Max Miller was … well, let's just say I had some help in that department when I recruited his father to take over the reconditioning when I was pulled away on … other projects. And then, of course, there is my associate, ever since he was five-years old.
Of course, he doesn't know who he truly is but … he obeys my every command without question and I have full faith that he would never turn on me. He's too dependent upon my commands to do without me now.
Of course, I hadn't counted on him being so completely and utterly … obsessed with little Sammy. I apologize for that. If I had known that he'd do something like this … I would have stopped it long ago."
John's eyes narrowed as he peered into Marc's soulless pale blue eyes. "Except you did know, didn't you? He's only doing what you programmed him to do, isn't he?"
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Dean instantly regretted snapping at Caelan like that, but he had been so close to having convinced Sam to exit the box and now … because of Caelan, Sam had retreated back into the box, seemingly worse than before.
Dean knew that Caelan hadn't meant to scare Sam, that he was just following procedure to get rid of any evidence that might lead police or any other government agency's turning their investigation onto any of them. The last thing any of them needed or wanted was to have the police trying to track them down, to question them about things that they couldn't provide answers for that the police would believe. They couldn't afford to have to evade the police as well as trying to avoid other Hunters who may be involved in Sam's abduction and torture session.
Dean could tell by the look in Caelan's eyes that he hadn't taken offence to Dean's comment and for that, Dean was grateful. He'd insulted his best friend more than enough for one day.
Once Caelan was gone, Dean turned his attention back toward his brother and almost immediately Dean knew that something was off about Sam's breathing (fast and shallow, gasping as if he couldn't get enough air).
Shit! Fuck!
"Sammy, hey buddy, c'mon dude, I need you to look at me," Dean told his bordering on a panic-attack little brother.
Sam violently shook his head, his eyes widening in fear, large tears gathering within his hazel eyes, his rocking beginning to increase in tempo the more agitated he got.
"Sammy! Look at me!" Dean demanded sternly, his anxiety level kicking up another notch at his kid brother's distressed moans of terror in between his panicked gasps for air. "Sammy please," Dean whispered, horrified when large tears began to roll down Sam's checks, his wide eyes begging – pleading – for someone to help him.
"I – I – I wa-want D-D-D-Dee … pl-pl-please hel-help. D-D-Dee … ple-please … h-hel-help … "
Hearing his strong, independent baby brother use such an anguished, frightened tone, reminding him of when they had been small children and hearing Sam call him by his child-hood nick-name; awoke something within Dean that had been lying dormant since Sam had gained his independent streak at the age of thirteen, no longer needing Dean as much as he had before, wanting to try and do things for himself, no longer needing a mother-hen older brother to guide him through the troubled patches in his life as Sam tried to deal with his problems on his own.
Dean's "mother" instincts kicked in and he knew what he had to do to help his brother. He could have kicked himself for not seeing it before now.
Sammy wasn't trying to be obstinate, stubborn or difficult; this poor kid was freaking out, scared and panicked. Sam was on the verge of an extreme panic-attack, his traumatized mind finally having enough as it reverted back to what had kept Sam safe when he was a child … panic-attacks.
Yeah, panic-attacks weren't good, but every time Sammy had suffered from a panic-attack in the past, Dean had been there to help him through it and to make Sam feel safe, loved and secure once more. So, Sammy's mind reasoned that if he suffered a panic-attack, Dean would automatically be there to save him. And Sammy's mind was right; because Dean was here and Dean was going to save him!
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"Whatever do you mean?" Marc asked innocently. "You don't honestly think that I would … experiment on my own son, do you?" Marc smirked, unable to hold back his excitement and pleasure any longer. "It's perfect, don't you think Johnny? Nothing to directly tie me to either Connor's or little Sammy's deaths; being able to exact my revenge for Mary's untimely death, without actually getting my hands dirty … I'll tell you something Johnny. Even if you do get little Sammy back … after what he's been through today … he will have completely lost his fucking mind!"
"You fucking bastard!" John's expression darkened, instinctively rising to his feet as he reached into his inner-jacket pocket to blow this sick son of a bitch away for good!
"Easy Johnny," Marc warned in a soft, controlled voice. "If you want to see your little Sammy again … you'll sit your ass back down and hand me the guy you were just reaching for."
John hesitated, unsure as to what to do now, realising that Marc had him over a barrel. He had his son somewhere. If John killed him now … they might never be able to locate him and that was something John couldn't do. He couldn't gamble with his son's life like that.
Hating himself for his stupid fatherly instincts, John sat back down and reluctantly handed his gun to Marc underneath the table.
"Good choice," Marc grinned triumphantly, thinking he had the upper hand when all along John was deliberately stalling Marc, hoping to give his sons the time they needed to locate Sammy before John could deal with this twisted sick mother fucker who had been foolish enough to turn up here alone.
Not that either Stewart or Adams would have provided John with too much trouble – they were good, but John was better! – but it would have been harder to explain away three dead bodies instead of just the one.
And with Marc Ley-Lamp's "confession" having been recorded on John's digital voice recorder – a useful piece of equipment when talking to witnesses about a "case" – no one would blame John for what he was about to do to this man. More importantly, because of the proof he now possessed, no Hunter would retaliate or come after him because of Marc's death.
Marc thought he had won; but John had out-played the player, even if Marc didn't know it yet.
TBC