Teacher's Pet Chapter 14

[jcrgirl]

Title: Teacher's Pet Chapter 14
Author: JCRGIRL
Banner: imogen_lily
Pairing: Dean/Sam, OMC/Sam
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Overall: Wincest, AU, bondage, non-con (not the boys), kidnap, abuse, D/S overtones, weecest (Sam is 16)
Word Count: ~ 5200
Beta: glimmerella
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue. Just playing in Kripke's sandbox.
Summary: Sam is kidnapped and the hunting community, headed by Dean and John, band together to find him. Four days after he's taken, Sam stumbles out of the woods beaten, bruised and broken and reminds Dean and John that not all evil is supernatural.

Author Notes:  Y'all thought I forgot about you, didn't you? Sorry for the delay in the posting. I've had a horrendous week with no time to write. Once again much love to my beta glimmerella and my cheerleader imogen_lily who I couldn't do this without. We finally get the brothers back together and find out a little more about the mysterious Agent Brown


Dean sighed and leaned back in his chair, his eyes tired and itchy from staring at the computer screen. He rubbed them to relieve the dryness, quickly blinking to spread the resulting tears. The house was quiet, everyone asleep after a day of phone calls and internet searches. It had been three days since Sam woke up and two since he’d brokenly whispered to Dean the nightmare he’d lived. In that time, every minute Sam was awake, Dean was at his side. They played cards and watched TV. Sam read while Dean spent an exorbitant amount of time decorating the cast on his leg with every inappropriate thing he could think of. Missouri cuffed him when she walked by and happened to notice the crudely drawn piece of anatomy on the back of Sam’s knee.

“What?”  He squawked indignantly. “It’s his wei-knee. Get it?” He nudged Sam’s elbow and considered the slap to the head a small price to pay for the smile he received. A small, genuine Sammy smile.

When Sam slept, which he did a lot with the help of his overtaxed body and a steady stream of painkillers, Dean was at the computer. As soon as they had a name, John called Ash wanting to know everything the hacker could find on Reece ‘including the toothpaste he uses.’  The information was trickling in slowly and Dean reviewed each new piece with single-minded determination. He made it his mission to be an expert on the man he was going to kill and there was no doubt in his mind that he would kill him.

Pushing with his toes, he rocked onto the back legs of his chair and stretched his arms high above his head, relishing in the pull of muscles and pop of joints. He lowered himself down, working his neck side to side, and clicked on a screen to maximize it. He sneered at the picture, a headshot in Marine Blues, then skimmed the accompanying information that Ash sent.

Name: Reece III, James Allen

Aliases: Jim

DOB: 6/22/1966

Height:  6’ ½”

Hair: Dark Brown

Eyes: Gray

Identifying Marks:

Scars: None

Birthmarks: None

Tattoos: None

James “Jim” Allen Reece III, youngest son of steel magnate James Allen Reece Jr and Marion Olivia Reece nee Rogers, born June 22, 1966 in Philadelphia, PA. His parents died in a head-on collision on March 15, 1983. Upon their death, Jim was placed under the guardianship of his brother, David Edward Reece, who assumed control of Reece Steel Corp. After graduation, Jim enlisted in the Marines and became a member of the Magnificent Seventh with deployments in Saudi Arabia and Somalia. After an honorable discharge from the Marines, Jim attended Vanderbilt University and graduated Suma Cum Laude with a BA in Secondary Education. He has taught at high schools in Gallatin, TN, Ocala, FL and Lebanon, OH. David and James Reece were both listed on Forbes 400 Wealthiest Americans for 1998 at number 292 and 309 respectively. It is reported that each sibling is worth in excess of 1 billion dollars.

Dean blew out a breath and reached over for this coffee mug, bringing it to his lips as he maximized another screen. Staring at the picture of Ms. Goss next to today’s article detailing how police didn’t have any leads or suspects in her disappearance, the cup hovered over his bottom lip. He clicked back on Reece’s bio, knowing somehow the man had to have something to do with the missing teacher. He tilted the cup up and frowned, looking down into the empty depths. Scrubbing a hand down his face, he went to the coffee maker and poured a refill.

At the sink, he looked past his reflection in the night black window and took a drink of the past its prime liquid. Reece was rich and smart. Ash had been at it for two days and still the information they had gathered was minimal. Bobby and Ellen were canvassing the woods around the gas station looking for the cabin Sam was held in, but there was no way to know how long Sam wandered before stumbling on the hunters. Caleb and Pastor Jim went to Reece’s home in Bedford in the hopes of finding something that might narrow the search or indicate where Reece might have gone next. Dean’s jaw tightened at what they found.

Caleb sounded physically pained as he described the framed pictures of Sam - candids of Sam, obviously taken without his knowledge, both at school and around town - littering the surfaces of furniture and hanging on the wall. The article from the paper about the Mathlete regional final win hung on the refrigerator, the picture cut so that only Sam and Reece showed smiling for the camera. Hidden under the floorboard of the master bedroom closet, the images weren’t as innocuous. Grainy photos of Sam in the gym shower at school taken at an odd angle like through a high set window, dark photos of Sam sleeping taken around the sheet hanging over their bedroom window and fuzzy photos of Sam and Dean taken from a distance. Under the images was a Ziploc bag with cut hair the color of Sam’s, a pair of Central High gym shorts with SW in black marker on the tag and Sam’s favorite hoodie that turned up missing two weeks ago. Reece’s obsession with Sam wasn’t new; he’d been planning this for a while.

Movement on the wooden privacy fence made Dean pause, glowing eyes turned toward him and stared. Not breaking eye contact, he reached for the pistol sitting snugly in his waistband and leaned to the side to flip the switch for the back porch light. Bathed in the amber glow of the bulb, a large tabby hissed at the sudden brightness and deftly jumped down into the neighbor’s yard. Shaking his head with a small chuckle, Dean replaced the gun and picked up his cup, taking another sip of his coffee.

“You need to update your information.”

Dean startled and lost his grip on the ceramic mug in his hands. The cup fell to the stainless steel sink and clattered around the bottom, thankfully not breaking, but spilling coffee on the counter and down Dean’s t-shirt. Grabbing a towel, he angrily rubbed at the brown stain on his shirt and turned to glare at the newcomer. “What?”

Yesterday, Bobby had modified a set of standard crutches to add a platform on the right one with a handle for Sam to rest his arm. Sam was able to wrap his uncasted fingers around the handle and take his weight on his elbow instead of his hand. It was awkward and frustrating for Sam, but he was ambulatory. Now, Dean wondered if the alteration had been a good idea. Sam stood behind Dean’s seat at the table, studying the open laptop with pursed lips.

“You should be asleep,” Dean admonished, wiping the coffee from the counter with the sponge on the sink.

“So should you,” Sam murmured absently as he stared unblinkingly at the screen.

“Yeah, well,” Dean walked over, his spread palm pushing the lid to the computer shut, “You’re still healing.”

Sam sighed and lifted the lid again. “You need to update your information. Reece has a tattoo of the Marine Corp emblem on his right inner forearm.”  Sam ran a finger over the cast covered portion of his arm.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I saw it when he… I thought it was Dad, that you and Dad had…” Sam trailed off, his eyes on the screen but focus elsewhere. Dean reached out for him, but before his fingers came in contact Sam blinked quickly and cleared his throat. “I don’t know about scars or birthmarks. I just saw the tattoo.”

Dean dropped his hand. He hated this limbo he’d found himself in. After rising from that morning of whispered horror and heartbreak there was a distance between them. Yeah, he and Sam had spent every waking moment over the last few days together, but there was an underlying awkwardness to it that didn’t exist before. Dean was uncertain how much to touch or if Sam wanted him to touch and Sam wasn’t offering any clues. “You should really try to get some rest.”

Sam yawned and knuckled his right eye, a gesture so reminiscent of a younger Sam that Dean had to remind himself that Sam was sixteen not six.  The left eye was still swollen, but the puffiness had receded enough that Sam could now see through the half closed lid. Both eyes were underlined by dark circles highlighting the fact that although Sam’s body and the chemicals coursing through it demanded he sleep, he wasn’t resting.

Sam mumbled something that sounded like all I do is rest and his lips turned down in a sleepy pout. “I came out to get some water.” He hobbled over to the sink and pulled a glass from the draining board. Filling it, he swallowed the contents down in one go and licked the lingering drops from his lips.

Dean watched, forcing his thoughts away from Sam’s long throat working. His breathing hastened and blood began to divert. He tore his gaze away and chastised his body for even thinking about his brother that way right now.

“I guess I’ll go back to bed. Unless you want help with the research.” Sam rubbed his sore ribs where the crutch passed over them as it moved.

“Nah, Sammy,” Dean closed the laptop again. The last thing he wanted was for Sam to deal with the search for his tormentor. “I’m about to wrap this up anyway.” He took a chance and squeezed Sam’s shoulder gently. “Night, Sam.”

Sam nodded, eyeing the closed computer, and made his way to the doorway, his crutches making a rhythmic thud shoonk noise Dean was surprised he didn’t hear earlier. At the opening, Sam turned and gave Dean a tired smile. “Night, Dean.”

Dean lay on his back staring wide-eyed in the dark, the worn springs of the battered sofa he was using as a bed poking him in the back. Sam’s room was just big enough for the double bed the injured man was sleeping in and John insisted that Sam have the bed to himself so John and Ellen took the spare rooms upstairs while Dean and Bobby were relegated to worn sofas in the parlor. The last two nights had been the same, Dean staring at the ceiling waiting for dawn. His mind refused to settle and succumb; worried that Sam would disappear if he was less than vigilant. Dean listened to the popping and creaking of the old house settling, analyzing each sound for sinister origins before discarding it as a threat. The antique clock on the mantle ticked away each restless minute and Westminster chimes tolled out each sleepless hour.

He perked his ears at a noise in the hallway and listened carefully. He heard it again and just as he was pushing away the covers and retrieving his gun from under the couch, a blue-white light filtered in from the living room across the way followed by the soft jingle for laundry soap. Heaving up from the worn down cushions, he tucked the gun in the waistband of his flannel pants and padded across the hall.

The cheery jingle had been replaced with a familiar two tone tuba song and Dean smiled at the underwater depiction on the TV from a fish’s meandering point of view. Tilting his head, he peered over the back of the couch and found Sam curled up, glassy eyes staring blankly. Circling the couch, shuffling his feet so Sam would hear, he sat at the end opposite Sam’s head and lifted his brother’s legs into his lap. This had become their normal position, the most contact that Dean dared.

A pyramid of water skiers zoomed across the screen, oblivious of the dorsal fin following in their wake. Dean rested his hand on Sam’s ankle and rubbed his thumb slowly back and forth across the knobby bone. “Jaws 2 was so much better. Roy Schneider frying that sucker to protect his boys is a classic. Fried fish all around.”

Sam was quiet for a long moment and Dean started to wonder if his brother actually heard him when Sam spoke softly, “Yeah, but this one was at Sea World and it was in 3D so double bonus points.”

“True, but this one they just blow it up again like the first one. It’s like they couldn’t think of an original idea. They could have, I don’t know, sliced and diced it with that big fan thing. Shark sushi.”

Sam snorted quietly. “So the only good death is one you can turn into a dinner preparation.”

“That’s a lot of seafood to let go to waste, Sammy.” Dean said in his solemnest voice, a smirk playing over his lips.

They debated the qualities of the two movies a while longer, even throwing the original back in the fray. Finally, only able to agree that Jaws 4 was an abomination, the conversation died down comfortably and they watched the death count rise at the jaws of the megalodonic monster in companionable silence.  It was around the time that Sean Brody, the little brother that always reminded Dean of Sam, was in danger of being eaten that Dean looked over to find Sam asleep.

Standing, Dean stared down at Sam before tugging the remote from the younger boy’s sleep slackened hands and turning off the TV. Dean carefully picked Sam up to carry him to his room.  A streetlamp in front of the house, filled the room with an orange glow, one of the reasons Dean didn’t take the more comfortable couch in here, and provided enough light for him to navigate the furniture. Laying Sam gently on the bed, he pulled the covers up and turned to leave when cool fingers encircled his wrist.

“Stay?”

Looking down at Sam’s trusting face, he nodded and moved around the bed. Tucking the gun from his waistband under the pillow, barrel to the wall and safety on, he crawled onto the mattress beside his brother. He scooted closer, lying on his side with a few inches between them. Burying his arm under the pillow, he wrapped his hand around the butt of his gun. Dean had just closed his eyes when those same cool fingers took his hand and pulled him closer. Taking the hint, Dean pressed against Sam’s side and curled protectively around the younger man. Sam’s body relaxed, melting into Dean.

“Sleep, Sammy. You’re safe.” He kissed Sam’s temple, the heat of his brother’s body lulling him to sleep.

Sometime later, too dark for dawn but too light for the hour just beforehand, Dean woke as the hinge on the door creaked. He lifted his head and propped his upper body slightly on his elbow, the hand gripping the gun butt tightening. Careful not to move too much and reveal his motives, he rotated his forearm still hidden beneath the pillow 180 degrees so the muzzle no longer pointed to the wall but at the door. The oiled metal waited inconspicuously beneath the covers, pulled high around their chests, to be called into action. The hall light was on, backlighting the figure in the doorway. Slowly, Dean pulled back the hammer, the metallic click causing the figure to tense at the implied threat. Sam stirred at the sound and he squeezed the hand resting on Sam’s hip in reassurance.

The person angled their body and the light spilled across their face. Dean stared into the cloudy green eyes of his father as the older man took in their position. Dean held his breath and the trigger.

John seemed stunned, frozen in the illuminated wedge of the open doorway. He licked his lips and opened his mouth, the intention to speak clear, but failed to force the words passed shock paralyzed vocal chords. Dean lifted the gun from beneath the blankets and made a show of releasing the hammer and placing under the pillow again. Once it was secured, he lowered himself to the goosefeather stuffed cotton and snuggled back into Sam, eyes closing and arm possessively crossing the younger man’s body. Sam sighed and burrowed closer, unconsciously seeking the safety and love of his brother. The click of the door echoed in the small room, but Dean was unconcerned. He’d deal with the fallout tomorrow. Tonight was about Sam.

“Please explain again why I am up at the ass crack of dawn, Brown.” Agent Bullard slid into the booth of Doris’ Diner and picked up a vinyl covered menu, frowning at the greasy fare.

Looking up from the printouts he was leafing through, Brown yawned. “Reece is meeting us here at 7 and I wanted to brief you before he arrives. He picked the time, dude, not me.” He raised his hands in a mock sign of surrender.

“Riiiight. And how does an old Marine buddy of yours figure into some kid’s disappearance?” Bullard smiled at the waitress and ordered eggs and sausage with coffee, waiting patiently while his partner placed an order for pancakes and orange juice.

Shuffling through the papers Brown pulled one from the bottom and slid it across the Formica table top. “James Reece III, Jim to his buddies, has been under FBI investigation as a person of interest in the disappearance of three boys over the last four years.” He slid another paper across, a black and white picture of a dark haired boy with light eyes and the words MISSING across the top in bold print. “This is Jacob Havenner from Lebanon, Ohio, fifteen, member of the National Honor Society and captain of the soccer team. He disappeared October 13, 1995 walking home from school.  His body was found December 20, 1995 behind a local restaurant by kitchen staff taking out the garbage.“ He set down another paper similar to the first, but the boy appeared a little older and his hair a little lighter. “This is Jason Thomas from Ocala, Florida, seventeen, full ride scholarships to Yale and Harvard and lead running back for the football team. He disappeared December 6, 1996 during the town’s Christmas parade. His body was found March 13, 1997 on a local horse farm when the owner went for his morning ride.” Another sheet, this boy around the same age with hair that looked almost black. “This is Hunter Robbins from Gallatin, Tennessee, sixteen, head of his class and state champion tennis player. He disappeared November 21, 1997 from a varsity football game. His body was found February 12 of this year in a secluded section of a city park by morning joggers.”

Bullard picked up the Missing posters and looked at them carefully. “Random much? I mean, it’s tragic, but I don’t see the relevance.”

Brown ignored him, setting a photograph of a trio of boys in gym clothes, laughing and oblivious of the photographer. He tapped the boy on the left and leveled a hard gaze at his partner. “This is Samuel Winchester from Bedford, Indiana, sixteen, moved ahead a grade and scored a 1550 on his PSAT. No one has seen him since last Friday.”

“O-kay? Still needing help connecting the dots, man.” Bullard looked at the picture. Kid was cute, shining eyes and a bright smile that showcased deep dimples.

Squeezing his eyes shut and rubbing his head where a headache was forming, Brown sighed. He moved the MISSING papers so they lay side by side and set the picture of Sam above them. “All four boys were between 15 and 17 and exceptionally bright with above average athletic ability. They all disappeared on a Friday. These three,” he tapped the print outs, “were missing for around three months and their bodies were dumped after midnight. They were sexually and physically abused for months prior to being killed. The cause of death for each was massive internal hemorrhage resulting from blunt force trauma. Basically, they were beaten to death. “

“All right, I’m starting to see a pattern, but you can probably find one randomly pulling any three of our cold cases. What made you look at these?” Bullard could see the stress lines creasing his partner’s face, the crow’s feet deepened from lack of sleep. It was unlike Brown to get obsessed over cases.

“Reece,” Brown said grimly, gathering the pages and picture when the waitress brought their breakfast.  He thanked her and looked over at Bullard. “He taught at the high school all four boys attended at the time of their disappearance.  The AD brought these to my attention after the second boy, Thomas, was found. He knew that I served with Reece and thought I might have some insights. I have been chasing this bastard for two years with nothing to pin him to the missing kids. Guy’s wicked smart and cunning, the sneakiest SOB in our regiment and he’s good at covering his tracks. He’s like fucking Teflon, nothing sticks.”

“He can’t stay perfect all the time. He’ll screw up eventually. They always do.” Bullard speared a piece of sausage and pointed it at his partner for emphasis.

“I think he just did,” Brown cut his pancakes, swirling a bite in syrup, “He called me in a panic on Monday night saying his boyfriend had gone missing.” He chewed for a moment then continued, “His sixteen year old boyfriend.”

“Samuel Winchester,” Bullard murmured, glancing at the file Brown had stuffed the photo and computer pages in.

“Yep. Apparently the young Mr. Winchester was pretty resourceful and escaped.” Brown dropped his fork and shifted through a file, retrieving the security camera images from the gas station. “It looks like Samuel dragged his way through the forest and found help.”

Bullard took in the picture of the older gentlemen crowded around a boy on the ground then the one of them helping him into the car. “He looks in bad shape, Dustin.”

“I know. I’ve checked all the hospitals and clinics in a fifty mile radius of this gas station and no one fitting Samuel’s description has been admitted.”

“So if Reece is a person of interest in this kid’s disappearance then why are you working with the guy,” Bullard asked around a mouthful of eggs.

“Reece has a serious hard on for this kid. He’s cooked up some story about the kid’s brother and father being abusive.” Brown pulled a wanted poster from the file and set it on the table.

Bullard studied the mugshots as he took a sip of his coffee. “You believe him?” He looked up. “What are the booking photos from?”

“Petty shit. John was charged with assault and battery, but it was dropped. Dean was underage drinking and hustling pool. I think Reece knows that when we find Samuel he’ll be in rough shape and is being proactive with his alibi. This is some fucked up shit man. He keeps telling me that Samuel was ‘the one’ and is determine to find him. I just want to find the kid first.”

“So you’re keeping Reece close to keep an eye on him. Smart. What’s up with the wanted poster?” Bullard pushed his plate to the center of the table and picked up sheet with the mugshots.

“The Dad is an ex-Marine, too. He lost his wife, the kids’ mother, when Samuel was a baby and the authorities never found her killer. If my son was missing with that past and his training, I’d go searching myself. I’m using the poster to see if he and the brother have been to any of the places I’m looking without alerting Reece.” Brown threw his napkin down on his plate and pushed it next to Bullard’s.

“That’s why I always say you’re the brains of this operation. I’m just the beauty.” Bullard winked at waitress when she came to clear the dishes.

Brown opened his mouth to reply, but the waitress interrupted him. “You looking for those men?” She nodded her head towards the wanted poster in front of Bullard.

“Uh, yeah.” Brown’s forehead creased in confusion. “Have you seen them?”

“Um, well, yeah. They were in here over the weekend.” She was nervous, shifting her weight from foot to foot. “They do something?”

“No, no. We just want to talk to them about an ongoing investigation. You sure it was them?”

“Yeah, it was them. This one,” she tapped Dean’s smirking picture, “he looked heart-broken. I remember thinking that he was too pretty to be so sad.” Her expression was pitying as she remembered the two men.

“You said they were in over the weekend. Do you remember if it was Saturday or Sunday?” Bullard pulled a small notebook from the inner pocket of his jacket and jotted down the waitresses name, Emily.

She pursed her lips and her eyes narrowed. “Sunday. Definitely Sunday. The Lattimer twins were running around pretending to be Indians with their suit ties around their heads.”

“Did you happen to overhear anything they might have said?” Brown tried to school his features into the open, inviting expression the Bureau taught them to use on witnesses, but a quick glance at his watch had him edgy to finish the interview. Reece would be here any minute.

“I don’t know,” the woman bit her lower lip, “it was so noisy that day. I mean, we had twin six year olds running around whooping and hollering.”

“Maybe you heard their conversation when you delivered or picked up their dishes?” Bullard prodded.

“Um, well, maybe,” she blushed guiltily, “they might have mentioned someone named Sam. Something about getting Sam back.”

“Anything else?” Brown saw Reece’s black SUV pull into a space in front of the diner. He rapped his knuckle on the table and tilted his head toward it when his partner looked over.

“Not that I can think of. Just Sam, getting Sam back. Look, I’m not in any trouble am I?” The dishes in her hand were rattling slightly with the tremors coursing through her arms.

“Of course not,” Bullard answered with a blinding smile. He wasn’t lying he was the beauty of their partnership. “You can’t help what you hear. Thanks for the information, Emily.”

A relieved smile passed over her lips and she turned to take the dishes to the kitchen. As she disappeared through the swinging door, a bell over the diner door signaled Reece’s entrance.

Reece made his way toward them, sliding in the booth next to his friend. “Morning, Dustin.”

“Good Morning, Jim. Jim, this is my partner, Chase Bullard. Chase, this is my friend, Jim Reece.” Brown quickly shoved the file containing the Missing posters in his briefcase while the other men exchanged pleasantries.

Reece picked up Brown’s discarded knife, holding it vertically by the handle with the tip down on the table. “So gentlemen,” he began to twirl the knife on its axis, “what news do you have for me on the search for my boyfriend?”

Dean woke to a beam of sunlight shining in his eyes and an empty bed. The sheets on Sam’s half were cold, little brother absent for a while. He stumbled out of bed and made his way to the bathroom. Refreshed and relieved he went to the kitchen. Sam was on the computer at the table, fingers flying over the keyboard and screens opening and closing.

“Don’t let Dad catch you looking at porn on that thing, Sammy. He’ll take it away.” Dean zeroed in on the coffee pot, the promise of caffeine as strong as a siren’s song.

“I think I found something.” Sam looked up at his brother. “The property appraiser for Miami County, Kansas shows property registered to Jean Biche. That means…”

“John Doe in French. I’m aware. Sam, you shouldn’t be in here working on this. You need to rest, Sammy.” Dean walked over to where Sam was sitting and knelt between his legs. “We gotta’ get you all healed up. You gotta’ just take it easy until then.” He curled his hand around the back of Sam’s neck and tugged him forward until their foreheads touched. “Please.”

Sam sighed, “I can’t, Dean. He’s still out there. We have to find him.”

“We will Sammy, I promise, but I almost lost you. I just…you have to…” Dean cut off.

A throat cleared gruffly and the brothers snapped apart. Bobby walked past them, followed by Ellen. He went to the sink and dumped the dredges of his coffee down the drain before rinsing his cup and setting it in the basin. “We’re headed out. Going to check the cabins off of 169.”

“I think you should check out this property.” Sam turned the computer to show Bobby and Ellen what he found.

“Jean Biche?” Bobby looked at Dean. “Isn’t that the name he used for his cell phone?”

“Yeah.” Dean sat in the chair next to his brother and ignored the raised eyebrow that Sam directed his way.

“Well, I say we head there first,” Ellen checked the battery on her phone and nodded at Bobby. She leaned over and kissed Sam on the head. “Rest today,” she ordered before turning to Dean. “Missouri has clients so try to help keep an eye on Jo for me.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He suppressed a groan at the thought of babysitting Jo. He needed to take care of Sam not dodge the amorous advances of a confused teenager.

He watched them leave, the curtains on the back door window still swaying when a gasp drew his attention to Sam. “What’s the matter? You hurt?”

Sam flicked wide eyes to Dean then back to the computer. The article Dean was reading yesterday about Ms. Goss’ disappearance filled the screen. “He killed her.”

“We don’t know that for sure, Sammy.”  He reached over and placed a comforting hand on Sam’s knee.

“She and Reece were…dating I guess. She kept staring at me with these looks like she wanted to say something to me. What if she figured out what Reece was going to do and was trying to warn me? What if he killed her so she couldn’t tell me?” Sam’s breaths were coming fast and erratic.

“Sammy, calm down.” Dean dropped to his knees again and cupped Sam’s face between his hands. “Calm down and breathe. This wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known. If he killed this Goss woman, it’s not your fault. Just like the delivery boy wasn’t. It’s Reece’s fault. He’s the one that’s caused all this death and pain, not you. Him, Sammy,” he shook Sam’s face gently, “not you.”

Sam sat very still for a moment, eyes staring at the picture of the beautiful teacher. He knew Reece killed her, knew it in his soul. Just like he knew that sooner or later Reece would have killed him. “We have to find him, Dean. He has to pay for everything he’s done.”

Pressing his lips to Sam’s in a lightning fast kiss, Dean smiled when Sam didn’t flinch away. Looking straight into hazel eyes, he vowed again. “We will, Sammy. We will.”