Hold On Until Dawn Chapter 7
Author: Insertcode11 with jcrgirl and imogen_lily
Banner: imogen_lily
Pairing: Dean/Sam, OMC/Sam
Rating: NC-17
Beta: glimmerella
Word Count: ~3600
Warnings: Overall: Wincest, AU, bondage, non-con (not the boys), abuse, weecest (Sam is 16) in parts
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue. Just playing in Kripke's sandbox.
Summary: AU after the events of Devil's Trap (1x22). The Winchesters have unfinished business in the town of Pike Creek, Delaware. Will Dean find, just as Sam did when he was sixteen, that the supernatural isn’t the only horrifying things that stir in the coldest hours just before the dawn.
A/N & WARNING: Now, back to the story. Another co-written chapter, but with a little more of my influence so the writing will be different from previous parts. Much love as always to my beautiful beta glimmerella and my partner in literary crime imogen_lily. As always comments are love.
Sleep was pulling at Dean, too. A kangaroo chase and three orgasms in one day did that to man, he supposed. His stomach rumbled so he wandered to the kitchen in search of a snack. He was leaning against the counter, half-way through a bowl of cereal, thinking life couldn’t get much better than sex with Sam and Lucky Charms when Castiel appeared with a rush of air and the sound of fluttering wings.
Dean startled. “Holy shit, Cas!” he exclaimed, but not loud enough to wake Sam. “I’m gonna attach a bell around you or something!”
Castiel looked intrigued. “For what purpose?”
“Because you scare the hell out of me, just popping in like that! Can’t you knock? Or call before you come?” he groused around a mouthful of cereal.
“I can knock,” the angel said. “But I do not wish to. I find amusement in your reactions when I startle you.”
Dean stared open-mouthed at Castiel, milk dribbling down his chin. He swallowed. “Did you - did you just crack a joke?”
Castiel cocked his head to the side and gave Dean a puzzled expression. “You are without clothing,” the angel observed.
“Yes. Yes I am,” he agreed and poured more cereal in his bowl.
“I understood that it was proper to wear clothing at all times outside of bathing and copulation.” Castiel was curious at this new change of events. Maybe his information gathering had been faulty?
“It makes me feel free.”
Castiel was silent for a lengthy measure before frowning. “If humans feel confined and hindered by their clothing, then why do they wear clothes?”
Dean shrugged. “I don’t know, I’m not exactly a normal human so I can’t answer these things.” I mean, why’s the sky blue? No one can really answer weird questions like these.”
Castiel felt the need to clarify. “Actually, the sky is blue because shorter wave lengths of light are absorbed by-“
“Cas,” Dean interrupted, annoyed. “I don’t want to know,” He paused. “Did Sam tell you that?”
Castiel shook his head. “Discovery Channel.”
Dean rolled his eyes. “Sam gets you hooked on the Discovery Channel but I can’t get you into Oprah?”
Castiel looked around the area. “Where is Sam?”
Dean drained the milk from his bowl and placed it in the sink. He yawned as he put away the cereal and milk. “Asleep. Where I want to be. You here for a reason? Something wrong?”
Castiel nodded minutely. “Have you found anything, yet?”
Dean shook his head in the negative. “No. Nothing new, anyway. I didn’t get a chance to talk to Sam about what he found at the library though. Sam’s starting his job at the school tomorrow, so maybe we’ll get some new intel.”
Castiel frowned solemnly. “I would like to prevent the next death and solve this case. Something in the atmosphere is very troubling.”
Dean sighed. “We don’t want anyone else to die, either. We’ll tell you what we got so far tomorrow morning.”
Castiel nodded but lingered and Dean raised an impatient eyebrow at him. “Have you noticed that something is bothering your brother, Dean?”
Dean frowned, stunned. He hadn’t noticed anything other than his little brother’s new sexual appetite and the odd reaction when he found out they were returning to Pike Creek. Dean didn’t remember much about their first stay here outside the details of the hunt. Everyone had been tense with the possibility that it could be the thing that killed mom, but it was just another false lead. Some high school kid messing with things he didn’t understand. What Dean did recall with perfect clarity was Sam’s intense dislike of Dad’s Marine buddy, Nathan Schneider. Dean winced. He’d forgotten to tell Sam that they’re going to have Nathan over for a cookout and some beer later this week. He hoped Sam had gotten over whatever it was he had against the man.
Speaking of food, Dean suddenly remembered that Sam had picked at his dinner more than he ate it. “Now that you mention it, Sam hasn’t really been eating much. It’s usually a sign that something’s going on in that head of his. He’s been sleeping good, though. He has bad dreams when he’s upset about something.” He threw a suspicious and worried look at the angel. “Why do you ask?”
Castiel frowned. “I do not know. I am sensing an unusual amount of anxiety from Sam, but nothing alarming.” The angel remembered his promise to Sam earlier and gave Dean a small smile. “I am sure that your brother trusts us both enough to come to one of us if something is truly troubling him.”
Dean seemed reassured, pouring himself a half a glass of water to wash away the sticky sweet milk residue in his mouth. “You’re right,” Dean agreed. “We’re better at that whole ‘keeping secrets’ thing. I’ll keep an eye out.” He brought the glass to his lips. “See yah in the mornin’, Cas.” He started to drink.
Castiel nodded, his stoic face a picture of solemnity. “I will see you in the morning, idjit.”
Castiel disappeared and Dean choked and spluttered on his water.
***
Sam was skittish on his first day of work, jumping at shadows and sudden sounds. Nerves raw, he spent most of the day snapping at everyone with his door locked. He really hadn’t thought this through.
He passed the morning looking through the files of the juniors and seniors to familiarize himself with them and scheduling times when they could come to discuss their futures. There was a stack of college brochures and information on scholarships on his desk, as well as stacks of SAT and ACT prep books. Sam felt trapped in his cramped, windowless office, remembering it much larger eight years ago. The small room consisted of a massive desk, a bookcase full of college-related material, and two ugly chairs for the visiting students to sit in. It looked exactly the same as the last time he was in here.
“Sam, have a seat.” The guidance counselor, Ms. Hill the nameplate read, motioned to one of the vacant chairs, both showing their age with weathered wood and threadbare upholstery.
“Am I in trouble?” Sam sat on the sturdier of the two chairs, brows scrunched in confusion. Being called into the guidance counselor’s office never boded well and he wondered if they’d have time to pack before CPS was knocking on the door.
“No, of course not. I like to meet with all our transfer students during their first few weeks to see how they are adjusting to the new school and routines.” She smiled at him warmly. She was young, mid-twenties, and obviously new to her profession, the quality of her smile his biggest indication. It hadn’t taken on the saccharine sheen of those who’d spent too many years trying to reach today’s youth only to be perpetually disappointed.
“Oh! Uh, I’m fine. Was lost for a couple of days, but everyone’s been real nice and helped me out.” He eyed her diploma behind the desk, zeroing in on the graduation date - June 1999.
“That’s good to know,” she laughed, opening a thick folder on her desk, “I reviewed your transcripts. I must say I’m impressed. Straight As despite your erratic attendance is quite commendable.” She flipped through the pages before looking back up at him.
“Um, thanks?” He curled his fingers into the seam running down the outside of his jeans’ leg, fingernail of his index finger scratching over a spot where the stitching was coming loose.
“You’re welcome?” She tilted her head, lilting her voice at the end to mimic his unsure response. “I didn’t see anything in here from your previous counselors regarding college planning.”
“I-I’ve never,” Sam stammered then cleared his throat, palms breaking into a flash sweat. “I’m not going to college.”
“What do you mean?” Ms. Hill asked, face carefully blank, judgment being reserved for the moment. “If it’s about tuition, Sam, I can’t see scholarships being an issue.”
“No, it’s not about money. I’m supposed to take over the family business.” Sam ran his hands over his thighs to wick some of sweat slicking his skin.
“Supposed to?” She raised a perfectly waxed eyebrow. “Is that what you want to do, Sam?”
“I-I,” Sam bowed his head, shaking it slightly.
Ms. Hill blew out a long breath and leaned back in her office chair. She watched him carefully for a few minutes then sat forward, elbows braced on the desk and hands folded over his academic file. “Sam, each person has to decide what they want out of life for themselves. It’s honorable of you to want to please your family by continuing their legacy, but if it’s not what you want then you’re doing yourself a great disservice. I’m not trying to cause problems for you at home, I just want you to be sure that,” she looked down at the first page of his file, “auto repair is what you really want to do. The rest of your life is a long time to be miserable.”
Sam nodded, fingers gripping his knees. “I’ll think about it,” he placated. She didn’t understand the circumstances surrounding his lack of collegiate ambition and there was no way to explain that didn’t end up with him a ward of the state. “Thanks,” he stood, hefting his backpack over his shoulder.
“Here,” she called as he turned to leave. “At least take these.” She gathered a stack of brightly colored brochures, detailing everything from taking the SATs to picking the perfect school, and thrust them into his hands. “If you have any questions, feel free to come by and we’ll talk.”
Ducking his head in acknowledgement, Sam left the small office, shoving the glossy pamphlets deep in his bag.
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, pressing the heels of his hands hard against his eyes.
Sam swallowed, his leg bouncing nervously as he continued his perusal of the files he’d pulled on the victims. Four students - one sophomore, two juniors, and one senior. Three male, one female. Victims one, three, four and five.
Peter Blackman, a junior, was the first victim and brother of the third. He was on the basketball team with scouts from three recent National Champion colleges watching him with serious interest. He had good grades, the promise of a full athletic ride on the horizon, and supportive parents. He’d slit his wrists.
Michael Blackman, the senior, was slated to be this year’s valedictorian. Student Body President, member of the National Honor Society and editor of the school paper. He’d already been offered full scholarships to Yale and Harvard and was waiting on answers from Duke and Stanford before he decided where to attend. He’d hung himself.
Sarah Astor, the one female and only sophomore, was the fourth victim. She was a mediocre student academically, but excelled in her art classes. Several of her paintings and charcoal sketches had won awards at local and state show. She was being raised by a single father, but whether he was divorced or her mother passed away Sam couldn’t be sure. She’d just accepted a summer internship to study in Rome. She’d stepped out in front of a car on her way home from school.
Scott Bradford, the other junior and the fifth victim, was the quintessential class clown and school troublemaker. His disciplinary record was impressive and dated back to elementary school. Stink bombs in assemblies, streaking at the homecoming game, coating all the doorknobs in Vaseline - no prank deemed too small or too outlandish. He’d fallen out of his second story bedroom window, breaking his neck.
A jock, a scholar, an artist and a goof.
He let out an explosive sigh, blowing his bangs out of his eyes. Biting his bottom lip, he swiveled toward the computer perched on the corner of his desk and logged onto the school’s website. The mouse cursor hovered over the “Meet the Faculty” link. Clicking the button, he scrolled past pictures of the core curriculum instructors, followed by the elective teachers, until he reached the images of the coaches. His stomach plummeted; Nathan Schneider stared out at him from the screen. The bell rang signaling lunch and the hall outside his door filled with the voices and movement of students hurrying to the cafeteria. Sam’s eyes flicked to the locked deadbolt, suddenly not hungry anymore.
*****
On Thursday, students started to trickle in. The principal had asked Sam to try to gauge their emotional response to the recent deaths which provided him with the opportunity to ask questions about the hunt. Of the five students he’d seen that morning, only one personally knew any of the victims, Peter Blackman. Joshua and Peter hadn’t been very close friends, but they had been friends.
“What about the days leading up to his death? Did Peter act differently?” Sam asked.
Sam easily recognized the emotions flickering over Joshua’s face, having seen them hundreds of times on people he interrogated - reticence to speak of the dead, reluctance to voice his feelings, remorse at the loss of a friend. He saw the moment Joshua realized this was his opportunity to talk to someone and get things off his chest - someone who’d just sit and listen.
Joshua fiddled with the hem of his shirt. “I didn’t notice anything really. Greg-him and Pete were real close- he said something about Pete being on edge a few days before he died. I didn’t notice it, but me and Pete weren’t that close,” he shrugged again. “Greg didn’t say why.”
Sam nodded and made a note to look up this Greg on the basketball roster. It looked like he could be a good lead. “Do you remember anything else?”
Joshua frowned, eyes narrowing in thought. “Well, for about a week before it happened, Pete missed P.E. class. He went to the nurse’s office a couple of times, I know because I took him there once. One time he had to make up a test. That one was legit because I remember Ms. Hill-she’s, uhm, she was the guidance counselor then-came down with him and handed Coach Schneider an excuse.”
Sam flinched and Joshua shot him a confused look. Sam put on a weak smile. “So he missed gym class. You don’t think he was actually sick?” Joshua shook his head. “You said Ms. Hill? Were they close? She died a few days after your friend.”
“Well, they spent a lot of time together at the beginning of the year, but that’s because Pete was trying to get his applications together. Pete’s really smart, probably the smartest guy on our team. He had to write all these essays and Ms. Hill would help edit them. For a couple of weeks I think he swung by her office for something at least once a day, but once he got accepted he didn’t even visit her, just said hey to her if he saw her around.” Joshua bit the ragged edge of a cut, expression unsure. “Is it true what they say? That it was spontaneous combustion?”
“That’s the theory the police are going on.” He paused, considering the young man in front of him. “How are you doing, Joshua?”
Joshua licked his lips and sighed, like he knew the question had been coming but still didn’t know how to answer it. “I’m okay. I mean, it makes you think about things like how you can go any minute. I just get scared sometimes.” He paused for a few seconds and then looked up at Sam with eyes that were suspiciously wet. Sam was kind of amazed. He knew it was easy for victims to talk to him for some reason, but in his experience it was harder to get teens to open up.
“With Pete…we were friends, but we didn’t talk about anything personal. I don’t even really remember what college he got in to. But he had a good life, you know? His Mom and Dad were really cool-they would cook meals for us or host parties at their house. He had really good grades, you know? Most of us don’t really get good grades.” He gave Sam a diluted smile. “He’d been dating this girl for, like, two years. He got into a really good school and he had to work so hard with Ms. Hill to get into it because it was the school Megan got in. It’s like, really girly, man. He busted his ass to follow her.”
Sam made a note of Megan’s name. “And how did she feel about it?”
“Megan didn’t pressure him or anything. It’s kind of sick, really. She was trying to get him to choose a college first, saying she would follow him. When she got in he did all that to surprise her.” Joshua picked at the rip in the knee of his jeans. “We’re pretty sure he was gonna marry her sometime soon.” He sighed before going on. “I don’t know, man. Guy like that with everything going for him killing himself?” He waved his hand helplessly. “I mean, if he loses hope, what do the rest of us have?”
That evening at five o’clock Sam gathered the copies he’d made of the student files on the victims along with pictures he’d found on a memorial page on the school’s website. Sam’s stomach turned with nausea as he looks at the faces of the victims. God, he hated it when kids were killed.
He’d turned off the desk light when he heard the doorknob jiggle. Sam froze, his heart leaping in his throat. Waiting silently, his eyes focused on the brass circle. When nothing happened, he shook his head at his own ridiculousness. Locking his desk, Sam jolted as whoever was at the door started tugging hard at it.
Silently and swiftly, Sam removed the wickedly curved knife from his waistband and crouched down. Quietly, he scuttled forward until he was squatting against the wall next to the door. The tugging stopped abruptly and Sam let out a slow breath of relief. It was probably the janitor trying to get in to get the trash or the principal searching for a file. Sam frowned. Wouldn’t either of those people have a key?
He heard something rustle against the door-heard breathing and he realized whoever it was had put their mouth against the small crack at the casing. He swallowed and gripped his knife harder, the hunter in him absently noting that there were no cold spots or scent of sulfur. He reached for his cell phone and realized it was in the pocket of his coat, hanging on the back of his desk chair.
“Hey, pretty boy.”
Goosebumps flared across the back of his neck and his forearms. Oh God! Terror impaled him through his throat, heart, and stomach. That voice opening the floodgates on memories he’d worked hard to forget.
Oh God, it hurts, please, please it hurts can’t breathe
“I know you’re in there, pretty boy. I know you haven’t left yet.”
Sam swallowed the incredibly ridiculous urge to say ‘yes I have.’ Echoes of the past haunted his mind.
You’re a filthy liar, pretty.
“Haven’t seen you around much. I’m thinking it’s because you’re avoiding me. That’s rude.” The voice admonished.
Gonna make you mind your manners, pretty boy.
Sam stared into the darkness of his office, never so glad for it.
“You hurt my feelings, pretty boy. You haven’t even come to see me.” A slow, dark chuckle seeped through the crack in the door, the drum beat in his dreams for the past seven years.
“But I’ve seen you.” Sam held his breath. “Not much, though. You’re making it a challenge. You remember how much I love a challenge don’t you, Sam?”
You’re such a perfect challenge, pretty boy.
“You’re still so pretty.” Sam shook his head violently and froze abruptly, fearing that the motion was overheard.
God, you’re perfect.
“Let me in, Sam,” Nathan tried the door again, twisting and pulling on it hard, making Sam flinch and shudder. “I know you’re in there.”
The movements stopped again and Sam counted the minutes in his head, hoping Nathan gave up. Then Sam’s phone rang. The low chuckle wafted through the door again, strangling Sam.
“That’s what I thought, pretty boy.” He tried the knob slow and soft this time, just to let Sam know that he was there and he’d get in eventually. “I’ve got you again, Sam, and I’m not letting you. I’ll see you around, pretty boy.
The knob stilled and Sam heard footsteps fading in the distance. Sam dropped his hunting knife and fell out of his squat onto the floor. He curled in on himself, hugging his torso and failing to calm his hyperventilating.
He needed to calm down. He had to get up and gather himself so he could call Castiel to take him home. The angel may have respected his wishes and not questioned Sam about his behavior the other day, but if he came now…Sam knew Cas wouldn’t let the matter rest, or worse, tell Dean.
For now, though, he let the darkness swallow him.