Teacher's Pet Chapter 17B
Title: Teacher's Pet Chapter 17B
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: ~ 9900
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.
MasterPost
Author Notes: You can run from your past but it will always catch up with you. As always much love to my beta glimmerella and my cheerleader imogen_lily who I couldn't do this without.
Dean drove with no destination in mind other than away from Missouri’s house and the sympathetic glances, uselessness and barely contained bloodlust. Never in his life, until today, had he wanted to hurt a girl - a human girl - and he knew if he stayed in that house, it would only be a matter of time before he gave into the urge.
He pulled into the parking lot of an all-night liquor store but couldn’t muster the energy to go inside. No, he needed to be sharp for when they found Sam. He sat staring at the blinking neon sign for Del Sol Beer, the colors blurring across the hood of his car like spilled watercolors. His mind blanked out. Blink…Yellow…Blink…Blue…Blink…Pink
He jumped when his phone rang. Digging it from the inside pocket of his jacket, he glanced at the caller ID, surprised to see ASH in the display window. Running a hand down his face to clear the lingering weariness, he answered after taking quick note of the time.
“That was fast. I only called you two hours ago.”
“Your new provider’s firewall wasn’t as advanced as ArcMobile’s. I was able to access their database pretty easy, the hard part was triangulating Sam’s position.”
Dean sat up in his seat, heart speeding at the implication of Ash’s words. “You know where he is?”
“Like I said before, it’s not exact, but I have him pinpointed to somewhere on Lincoln Street.”
“Lincoln Street? Here in Lawrence?” Dean repeated numbly. Reece hadn’t taken Sam out of Lawrence?
“Yeah. Sorry, I can’t narrow it down more than that.”
“No, no. That’s great. Ash, I owe you big time. Anything you want, it’s yours man. I swear.” Dean’s heart no longer sped, but thundered in his chest. Ash had just turned Dean’s needle in a haystack search into a needle in a handful of hay search. Dean dug in the glovebox for the map of Lawrence, he and Sam had picked up to find their way to Dr. Evans’ office
“Find your boy then we’ll talk about it. Oh, one more thing. While I was waiting for the triangulation to compute, I hacked back into the FBI database to see if anything new had been posted on Reece.” Dean could hear keys clattering as Ash typed away on his laptop.
“And? Was there new information?” He traced the line for Lincoln Street on the map, the road twisting through the industrial district.
“Yes and no. There wasn’t anything new on Reece himself, but links had been added that directed you to other FBI files.”
Dean looked up from the map and squinted out the window to see the name of the street he was currently on. “What files were those?”
“The Winchester three. Yours, your Daddy’s and a newly created file on Sam.” There was a thunk and then pouring.
Dean paused, map and street sign forgotten. “Why would the FBI have us linked to Reece?”
“No lo creo, buddy, but,” Ash took a long drink from the tumbler, Dean wasn’t going to like this next part, “they have Sam marked as a possible victim.”
“What?! How could they possibly know?” A couple of taps on the driver’s side window had Dean staring at something pressed against the glass to his left.
“No clue. The last person to access the file was,” Ash clicked on a minimized box.
“Agent Dustin Brown,” Dean finished for him, reading the name from the badge.
Ash looked at the screen. “Yeah, how’d you know?”
“Lucky guess,” Dean sighed, rolling the window down. “I’ll have to call you back.”
Outside the door stood a large man in a nicely tailored dark suit, behind him was a shorter man in a similar outfit. “Dean Winchester?”
“Maybe?” Dean fixed his face in a smug smirk. If this man had accessed his FBI files then he knew damn well who Dean was without asking. “You guys are really rocking the Blues Brothers look.”
“Mr. Winchester, my name is Agent Dustin Brown and this is my partner, Agent Chase Bullard. Do you mind stepping out of the vehicle? We’d like to talk to you about your brother?” Stepping back from the door to give Dean room to exit, Brown flipped his badge shut and tucked it into the inner pocket of his suit jacket, Bullard mimicking the motion.
Dean leaned on the driver door, trying to keep his posture as casual as possible. “My brother? Not sure I know what you guys are talking about?” Dean smiled disarmingly, wiggling his back slightly to feel the hard metal of the gun tucked at the small of his back.
“Mr. Winchester, we believe that your brother is the latest victim of a suspected serial rapist and murderer. We also have reason to believe that this man is currently searching for your brother.” Brown regarded Dean with a look that said he knew their beliefs were true.
“Guys, I think there has been a mistake.” A hum of Lincoln Street and get Sammy moved over Dean’s skin like an electric current. He couldn’t afford to piss these guys off and give them a reason to keep him, but he also couldn’t afford to waste time when Sam needed him.
“Dean,” Brown sighed, his features softening as he used Dean’s name, “Reece has been spotted in the area. We think Sam’s in danger.”
“If I knew what you were talking about, which I’m not saying I do,” Dean glanced back through the window at the map on the seat. LincolnStreetgetSammyLincolnStreetgetSammy, “how do you know he’s in the area and why do you think Sam’s in danger?”
“Dustin, you need to tell him.” Agent Bullard spoke for the first time and Dean’s head snapped forward.
“Tell me what?”
“Mr. Winchester, I…”
“What happened to Dean? Tell me what?” Dean pushed off the side of the car and folded his arms over his chest. Standing upright he was eye to eye with the agent and inches above his partner and he hoped this fact gained him some intimidation points.
“It’s a long story.”
“Then give me the abridged version.” Dean growled, tired of having to force people to tell him things.
Brown looked hesitant then relayed the entire story. His military history with Reece, the AD assigning him the case, Reece contacting him to find Sam, everything. At the end, he fell silent and awaited Dean’s judgment.
Dean rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “Look, fellas, Sam’s safe,” Dean choked slightly on the word, “I appreciate you wanting to help, but you have nothing to worry about.”
“Would it be possible for us to talk to him? We’d like to ask him a few questions.” Brown prodded gently.
An odd look crossed Dean’s face and he fought to school his features back into their neutral position. “Sorry, that’s not possible right now.”
Bullard’s blue eyes narrowed. “Dean, where’s Sam?”
“I told you, he’s safe. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have somewhere to be.” Dean yanked the door open, pausing when a hand prevented him from closing it.
“Dean we can help. We want to help.” Brown looked so earnest, like he really meant it.
“If you wanted to help, you should have arrested the bastard before he got his hands on my brother.” Dean slammed the door, barely giving Brown time to remove his fingers before they could be smashed. A flick of his wrist and the Impala roared to life, leaving the two agents in the dust of the parking lot.
John’s phone lit up a second before it started to ring. “Hello.”
“How far out are you?” Dean’s voice sounded hard and brittle all at the same time, a weird combination that shouldn’t be possible.
“Just passing the first exit for Lawrence,” he answered, reading a green highway sign as they passed. “We should be at Missouri’s in less than fifteen minutes.”
“Change of plans. Ash has narrowed Sam’s location down to somewhere on Lincoln Street. Can you meet me there?” Dean turned left on Washington and watched the residential neighborhoods give way to more commercial buildings.
“Lincoln Street? Down in the warehouse district?” John changed lanes, turning on his blinker to get off at the next exit.
“Yeah.”
“We’ll be there in ten minutes.” John snapped his phone shut and pressed harder on the pedal.
Sam woke to the sound of metal clinking together softly. The clinking gave way to a running metallic rush and Sam felt his body fall. He landed with a jarring thud, his sore body screaming at the impact. He shook from head to toe, overworked muscles jittery and unsteady. His hands tingled as the tension on the ropes around his arms lessened and blood flow returned. The tingle morphed into a slow burn that built until he felt his hands were on fire. Sharp tendrils of pain zinged through his chest with each breath, his broken ribs making themselves known in a way they hadn’t for weeks. He rolled to his stomach, his right leg shifting and making him retch in pain.
A hand smoothed his bangs back from his head and he flinched away from the touch. “Ssshh, Samuel. Your punishment is all over. Now it’s time to play.”
Sam tucked his good leg beneath his body to try and crawl away, but was stopped by a heavy hand in the middle of his back, forcing him flat to the ground. The palm was a warm presence against his cold, bare skin and raised gooseflesh down his back. A heavy weight pressed him harder into the unforgiving concrete and warm breath ghosted over his ear.
“Ah, ah, ah, Samuel. I’m not in the mood for tag. How about hide and seek?” Reece punctuated his words by running a dry finger around Sam’s whole, teasing the newly healed tissue with a reminder of its torment.
“No!” Sam screamed as a vicious laugh sounded in his ears.
Dean drove down Lincoln Street, the road lit sparingly by streetlights leaving most of the building fronts shadowed. He’d counted four warehouses on the dead end street, one hardly indistinguishable from the next except for the faded painted letters that labeled the business - a carpet mill, a lumber mill, a tile manufacturer, and a metal works shop. He slowed in front of the metal works building, the only one with lights on inside and surveyed the small adjacent parking lot. A sign sunk deep in the concrete warned that it was a private lot for the employees of Lawrence Metal Works and trespassers would be towed. A black Chevy Suburban was parked near the back of the lot, away from the portion illuminated by the security lights attached to the building.
Dean stopped the Impala on the street and opened the creaky door as quietly as possible, staring up at the aging warehouse. The building consisted of corrugated metal on all four sides and the roof, a leftover of the industrial heyday this region had seen in the early 1970s. At one point the sides had been stark white, but years exposed to the elements had dimmed the color and created large orange-red rust spots. The only windows were set high up in the walls and the entrance was off to one end of the building close to the corner. Reaching into the back of his pants, he pulled his gun out and chambered the first round. He took one step toward the building when lights at the end of the street blinded him, a car turning the corner.
The unmistakable growl of Bobby’s Pinto rumbled down the narrow street right before another familiar car made the same turn. Rolling his eyes, Dean reached in the Impala and flashed his lights to let them know where he was. John pulled Bobby’s car up next to Dean’s and Ellen positioned her Mustang on the other side, the three cars effectively blocking the road. If Reece wanted to get out, he’d have to go through 4 tons of Detroit steel to do it. Doors slammed and Dean found himself flanked by his fathers, both biological and honorary, and Ellen.
“You sure this is the place?” John asked, a wary eye scanning the front.
The floodlight nearest the black SUV flickered, shining brighter before dimming. Dean watched the bulb fade back to its 60-watt luminescence. “Pretty sure.”
“God I hope you’re right.” Bobby checked his gun and nodded to John he was ready.
“Ellen, just so you know, I’m not sorry about Jo.” Dean kept his gaze at the high mounted windows were a muted light shone through.
“Just so you know, I am.” She answered, closing the cylinder on her pistol and nodding her readiness as well.
“Bobby, you and Ellen go in the back door.” John pointed toward the side alley. “Dean and I’ll take the front. Find a good angle and wait for my signal. And above all, don’t miss.”
“And don’t hit Sam,” Dean added.
The group parted ways unsure of what they’d find inside. Everyone approached cautiously until Sam’s scream rent the night air.
Sam’s body moved on pure instinct. As the finger pushed through the outer layer of muscle, he reared back with his elbow, connecting with the side of Reece’s head. Stunned, Reece fell to the side, allowing Sam a chance to scramble away. His exhausted body only made it a few feet before a strong hand gripped his ankle and forced him down again. Reece crouched over him, one foot on each side of his back, and fisted a hand in his hair, pulling his head back painfully. “You’re going to pay for that, you little whore.”
“Get the fuck off my brother!”
For a hysterical moment Sam thought he’d imagined Dean’s voice until Reece growled, “Dean.” He opened his eyes and looked around, relief flooding him at the sight of Dean and Dad standing by the warehouse door with their guns trained on the man above him.
“You heard him. Get away from my son.”
Reece laughed manically, tugging Sam up from the ground by his hair. When Sam’s legs threatened to buckle again, Reece’s knife came up to his throat and provided the proper motivation.
“Look, Samuel. We have guests. You didn’t tell me you were expecting company.” Movement at the back of the warehouse had him spinning to the side. “Tut, tut. No sneaking up from behind. I’d hate to startle and have my hand jerk.” He created a small cut in Sam’s skin just above the scab he’d made earlier, fresh blood cascading down over the dried flakes, causing Sam to whimper.
“Give it up, Reece. You gotta’ know that there is no way you’re making it out of here alive.” Dean reasoned, finger steady on the trigger. He looked into Sam’s eyes, trying to reassure him with a look.
“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong, Dean. I will make it out of here and with Samuel to boot. See, I’m not ready to give him up yet,” Reece nuzzled into the hair at Sam’s temple. “He makes the sweetest sounds, but you already know that, don’t you Dean? Tell me, does your Daddy know what you do to your little brother in the dark?”
Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Shut your mouth about me and Sam. You let him go and I promise to kill you quick.”
“Oh, you want me to stop talking about you and Samuel. Okay, how about I tell you about my time with Samuel. Hmmm? Would you like to hear about it, Dean? How I tied him down and shoved my dick into his warm, tight hole? I rode him like the bitch he is and he screamed so beautifully for me. Does he scream for you, Dean?” He licked a path up Sam’s jaw stopping at the corner to bite down hard. Sam cried out, trying to twist his face away from the assault. “Does it make you hard like it does me?”
“You sick fuck.” Dean made to step forward, but Reece dragged Sam back, his knife twitching against Sam’s throat.
“Careful, Dean. We wouldn’t want to damage the merchandise, now would we? You didn’t like that story? What about when I whipped him? His back was a work of art when my flogger was done with it. Or how about when I carved my claim into his skin and fucked him with his own blood?” Reece bit down over the shiny pink scars of his initials. “Do you like those stories, Dean?”
Reece smirked at the horrified faces on the people surrounding him. “You know what the best part was? It wasn’t the cries or the screams or the whimpers. It wasn’t even fucking him raw and listening to him call out for you. It was seeing the moment he realized that you weren’t coming to save him.”
Dean’s body shook in impotent rage. They couldn’t take a shot on Reece without running the risk of Sam getting hurt. The bastard was holding all the cards and he knew it. Reece’s hand let go of its grip on Sam’s hair and smoothed a path down the younger man’s naked body. Dean watched as Reece nosed at Sam’s ear then whispered something that made Sam’s eyes go wide. Then all hell broke loose.
Sam stood on his good leg, body leaning heavily against Reece’s chest for support, and witnessed Dean and their Dad’s heartbreak at Reece’s taunting words. The things that Sam had tried to spare his family from hearing, laid bare for everyone to see. The knife at his throat was sharp and each breath created tiny knicks to the skin until one hurt bled into the next. He felt the pain as Reece bit him, first the jaw then the shoulder, but kept his focus on the four hunters. His eyes flit to each person begging them to take the shot, but he could see the reluctance in their stances. Finally, he gave up pleading and trained his eyes on Dean’s, drawing strength from the gaze.
Reece nuzzled his ear, nose tracing the whirls and contours. “Watch, Sam,” he whispered, “I’m going to show you true power. I’m going to kill Dean and no one will do a thing to stop me. They won’t risk losing you, too.”
The hand on his hip disappeared, the knife pressing harder to compensate for the loss of the hold. Sam saw a brief flash of metal, his mind registering gun before he actually saw the weapon. Sam grit his teeth and planted both legs on the floor and thrust his bound arms up to force Reece’s gun hand off target. The shot went wild, metal bouncing off metal as the bullet ricocheted off of the metal roof trusses. With a grunted cry, Sam pushed back with his legs, throwing his entire body into the man behind him. They stumbled backwards into one of the metal racks, hitting the beams with a bone crushing force that rattled the shears on their hooks. Pain erupted across Sam’s neck, warmth spreading like a waterfall down his chest, and he saw Reece’s knife clatter to the floor, the blade painted red. Spasms rocked the body behind him and he could hear was a harsh gurgling. Sam’s hit his knees, body giving up the fight to stand.
He couldn’t breathe!
Sam closed his eyes trying to calm the panic and coax his breathing back into an in and out rhythm. As the adrenaline faded, pain erupted all over his body. Focusing his energy on breathing, he felt as if each lungful brought in water and not air. He could still hear gurgling along with an erratic hissing, like air leaking out of a tire. Footsteps came toward him and his eyes flew open, his only thought that Reece was back to finish him. A shape loomed over him and he tried to put his arms over his face in defense, but his limbs were sluggish to respond.
“Sam,” said a male voice full of anguish, fear and worry. “Call 911!”
Amid his rapidly hazing thoughts, Sam recognized the voice. Despite his efforts he was hyperventilating but managed a weak “D--” between pants.
“Oh God. Sam, oh God,” was his reply. He felt pressure at his throat and the drowning feeling intensified. The pain that had been a bonfire raged into a wildfire that made him cry out, the sound more of a rush of anguished air than actual sound. His vision blurred as unbidden tears obscured this eyes.
“I’m sorry.” The hissing had died down, but the gurgling was still loud, making it hard to hear his brother’s words. Sam wanted Dean to make it stop. He focused his eyes and saw Dean’s face hardened by worry and longed to comfort him.
He mouthed soothing words, but couldn’t make his voice work. The breath wasn’t there and his lungs ached, desperate in their need for oxygen. His fingers flew to his throat, frantically scratching the restricting hand there. Tears leaked down his face and his numb lips moved silently. ”Can’t….breathe.”
Dean cupped a hand to the side of his face. “Don’t worry. I’m here and I’ve got you. We’ll get you patched up good as new. Gotta’ take care of my little brother, right? It’s my job, right? Looking out for you.”
“I…love…you.” The words were a hiss, but the look in Dean’s eyes said he understood.
They say when you die, your life flashes before your eyes.
Lying on the floor of a run-down warehouse, Sam knew they were wrong. He was dying. He felt the life leave his limbs like an ebbing tide, replaced by a coldness that had him shivering. His heart was beating rabbit fast, not understanding its beats were numbered and it was rapidly using them up. Sam was dying and all he could see was his green-eyed angel.
The gun raised and fired, all four hunters ducking for cover as the bullet pinged off the metal trusses above. At Sam’s grunt of pain, Dean stood and saw Sam propel himself backward, forcing Reece into the metal rack behind them. Large scissors, dangling from rebar posts, swung wildly under the force of the impact. Reece’s eyes went wide in surprise and a bubble of blood burst between his lips, staining them in a macabre lipstick. The man had been impaled on one of the iron posts. The knife fell to the floor and bounced once, splattering blood on the cold concrete.
Blood?
Dean’s eyes whipped back to Sam, tucking his gun into the back of his pants while his feet moved. His mind focused on the long strip of red across the front of Sam’s throat, red liquid flowing like a waterfall over his neck and chest. Dean slid the last few feet on his knees, catching his little brother as he collapsed on the floor. He cradled Sam’s head in his lap and swallowed when Sam clumsily brought his arms up to protect his face. Air bubbles percolated from the wound at his neck, popping on a hiss with each breath. A deep gurgling emanated from Sam’s mouth and blood tinged his lips.
“Sam,” his voice came out a choked sob, moving Sam’s hands from his face. Lifting his head to the others, he called out. “Call 911!” He was vaguely aware of the warehouse door opening again, the heavy metal banging against the corrugated side, and the sound of stampeding footsteps and hurried voices.
“D--” He looked down at the dull hazel staring back at him.
“Oh God. Sam, oh God.” More bubbles appeared at Sam’s attempt to speak and Dean clamped his hand over the leak. Several sets of shiny shoes came into view and he spared a glance up to see Agent Brown and Bullard surrounded by other people in black jackets with FBI emblazoned on the back in thick, yellow letters.
“Get an ambulance down here now!” He heard the barked order followed by the squeak of rubber on cement.
Sam cried out and tears seeped from the corners of his eyes.
“I’m sorry.” Dean blinked his own tears away. The gurgling was getting worse and Sam’s mouth moved to form words that wouldn’t come.
Cold fingers scrambled over the hand covering the wound. Sam’s eyes were blown with panic as he fought against the hold Dean had on him. Lips he loved, bluing around the edges, mouthed…can’t breathe.
Dean cupped a shaking hand to the side of his face. “Don’t worry. I’m here and I’ve got you. We’ll get you patched up good as new. Gotta’ take care of my little brother, right? It’s my job, right? Looking out for you.”
“I…love…you.” There was no sound, just the movement of flesh, but Dean understood.
“I love you too, Sammy.” He pressed his lips to Sam’s and pulled back when he felt their iciness. Sam’s whole body shivered, a deep convulsing that rattled Dean as well, before his eyes slipped closed. “Sam?” No response. “Sammy? No, no, no, no. Sam?” He shook the boy in his arms.
Strong hands pulled him away and he fought them, elbows and fists flying without thought. Another set grabbed him and drug him a few feet from Sam’s supine body. He pulled his gun from his pants, but a hand encircled the barrel before he could aim.
“Dean, stop. You have to let the paramedics look at him.” His father’s red-rimmed eyes bored into him. Bobby’s wet blue and Ellen’s streaming hazel ones pleaded with him to understand.
Dean looked back over to Sam, surrounded by four men working frantically. Behind them, three additional men were lowering Reece to the ground. FBI agents were swarming around the scene like bees.
“Is that occlusive dressing in place and secure?” The paramedics working on Sam were whispering, but to Dean it felt like they were yelling, the words echoing over the expanse. “Chris, how’s that bag compliance?” The guy at Sam’s head answered, “I’m losing it and he’s developing subcutaneous emphysema.” Gloved fingers pressed to the side of Sam’s neck. “Heart rate is dropping,” the man owning them looked at the monitor beside him, “and his BP is low. He’s decomping.”The men exchanged a look. “We have to get this kid out of here, Kyle.” One of the paramedics moved the stretcher closer and they loaded Sam’s limp body. Dean yanked away from his father’s hold and rushed to Sam’s side, hold firm on the rail of the stretcher.
“Sir, please step back. We have to go.” The paramedic, Johnson his badge read, commanded gently.
“He-he’s my brother. Is he…” Dean stammered, tears closing his throat on the rest of the sentence. Sam was so still and his normally tanned skin was gray.
“We’re going to do the best we can, sir, but we have to go right now.”
Warm hands pulled his shoulders and Ellen’s soothing voice was loud in his ear. “You have to let go, Dean. You have to let go of him.”
Dean swallowed and released the stretcher, slumping to the ground as it was wheeled out the door. How do you let go of the love of your life?
Epilogue http://jcrgirl.livejournal.com/21208.html
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