Hold On Until Dawn Chapter 10

[jcrgirl]

Title: Hold On Until Dawn Chapter 10
Author: Insertcode11 with jcrgirl and imogen_lily
Banner: imogen_lily
Pairing: Dean/Sam, OMC/Sam
Rating: NC-17
Beta: glimmerella
Word Count: ~4500
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. Okay, we're clearing up the monster of the past(?) week and giving you a little insight into John. Poor Sammy, the past won't leave him alone. I promise the boys will be horizontal in the next chapter.



It was just after dawn broke that Sam decided to get up. He’d never made it back to sleep after his nightmare and had spent the rest of the night listening to Dean’s heartbeats and clinging to the older man like a human teddy bear.

He’d tried to rationalize with himself, arguing that he was six foot four and pushing 200 pounds, he should be able to handle a man twenty years his senior. There was no reason Schneider should be able to sneak up on him, affect him. He might have been in the armed forces, but John had ensured that his boys had the same military training the new recruits at Parris Island received on top of their instruction in staying alive while hunting the supernatural. Despite the gym teacher’s fit physique, Sam was younger, faster, stronger and better trained. That was his head’s vantage point and Sam had to admit it was a fairly good argument.

That was, until he heard his heart’s rebuttal. Yes, Schneider might be older and less toned than Sam, but he had an advantage - one that he was well aware of and could manipulate easily. Fear. Next to death it was the great equalizer, and applied correctly it could reduce the bravest man to the lowliest coward. It was the chink in everyone’s armor, a deadly weakness if discovered by the enemy, and Schneider knew Sam’s. Sam didn’t have any delusions about this man or what he was capable of. There were no ‘what-ifs’ that he could write off as an overactive imagination or paranoid fantasy, only the cold dread of experienced knowledge. When Sam was near the man his mind was too wrapped up in memories of what had happened and worries that it could again, leaving logic and reason by the wayside when they were needed most. That was how Schneider made it past his hard built defenses every time. Not because he was a spectacular physical specimen, but because, like a shark sensing the writhing vibrations of a distressed prey, Nathan had sensed Sam’s fear.

Finally calling the debate a tie, his head unwilling to concede defeat to his heart, Sam pulled himself from Dean’s embrace and made his way through the sunrise lit apartment. Coffee was the first order of the morning and, rubbing his knuckles into dry, tired eyes, he knew it would remain high on the list of priorities for the remainder of the day. Sitting at the table, steaming mug of caffeine next to him, Sam started his computer and pulled up the PDF version of his father’s journal. He glossed over the entries of the stuff preceding their arrival in Pike Creek - finding the hunt, the drive there and securing the apartment - and quickly found the notes on the hunt itself.

Sam’s research today did reveal a few possibilities

Below that in his father’s barely legible scrawl was a list of possible fire monsters- Destroyah and Basan - and their descriptions followed directly by the potential fire demons - Marbas and Moloch - and their mythologies. All copied meticulously from the notes that Sam remembered making in that empty computer lab almost a decade ago. He read further trying to decipher the partial sentences and often disjointed thoughts that comprised most of the entries.

Sam’s theory  - century  old church fire. Pike Creek Anglican, doubled as the local school. Current HS built on ruins. Deceased - Edna Reese, school board member, and unnamed children and teachers. Possibility of witch.

Dean and I are uncertain and think we should pursue the demon angle. Even if it’s a witch, we have to know which demon she allied herself to. Without proof, I can’t give up it’s the thing that killed Mary. Not with Sam so close. Not after what Mo said.

Mo? Sam bit his lip before comprehension dawned. Missouri. What could Missouri have said to his dad to make him worry so much? Did Missouri know, eight years ago, that Azazel had plans for him? Did she know what they were?

Dean and I are being hard on him and he’s lashing out, but I can’t run the risk something will happen to him. Someday I hope he’ll understand and forgive me.

There were several more entries, each detailing the lack of evidence and dead-ends they’d encountered. A few mentioned again John’s desperate need to keep Sam close and safe and that Sam was bristling under the intense scrutiny. He scrolled through the pages, reading words he’d wished his father had said back then. The first line of the next page made him pause.

Sam was right.

I was too focused on it being the demon that I was blind to other possibilities. It’s not the thing that killed my Mary. Sam found the diary of Rebekah Bainbridge at the local library. She was a witch and suspected her husband, William, of cheating with Edna Reese, local school board member and teacher at the school. Rebekah summoned a demon for revenge not realizing there is always a price. It attacked the next time William and Edna were together - when he dropped his son off at school. It set the building on fire, trapping everyone inside. Rebekah went to the school to stop the demon, but it had grown too strong for her to exorcise. She was able to bind it “to the object of its destructive wrath.” Five students survived after the demon was contained and Rebekah was severely burned. Edna Reese, William Bainbridge and Stephen Bainbridge perished. According to reports all bodies were burned to ash in the wreckage, only small part of the building remained untouched. Rebekah eventually went mad with grief over losing her husband and son. The city considered her unstable and the contents of her diary were written off as part of her delusions. We are researching the possibilities that someone released the demon or Rebekah as a vengeful spirit.

Sam recalled spending the next few days traveling the halls of the high school staring at the silent EMF detector in his hands, chasing the elusive shadow that still dogged his steps, and befriending Martha, the eighty-year- old keeper of the archive at the building department. Three visits and innumerable cheek pinches later, Sam had left the musty smelling building with the plans for the high school and numb dimples. On the bright side, Martha was a grandmother and had loved to bake cookies.

Sam doing EMF sweeps of the school during the day and Dean going in at night. Covering bases, the three of us dug up the grave of Rebekah Bainbridge and burned her body. No activity at the desecration or burning. Sam found building schematics and plans - ruins of old church used in construction of existing school. Bricks make up a memorial garden wall - possible binding object of demon “to the object of its destructive wrath?” Can’t leave until sure it was Rebekah.

Sam knew how this story ended and it wasn’t with the salt and burn of Rebekah Bainbridge. It turned out that someone had else had found Rebekah Bainbridge’s diary and was using it as a how-to guide for meting out vengeance. Only it was the last person anyone would have suspected.

“Sam!”

Sam ducked his head further into his locker trying to ignore the friendly voice calling his name. Yesterday he’d stopped that guy from beating up Mac, taking a solid right hook to the jaw for his troubles, and, as a reward for his charitable act, he and Dean’d fought.  Dean screaming at him he was sick still echoed in his ears, his brother’s disgusted face burned across the back of his eyelids. And then there was later. Sam shuddered. He wasn’t mad at Mac, his friend hadn’t caused the fight with Dean, but he wasn’t sure he would be able to handle talking to him right now.

“Sam!” A hand landed companionably on his shoulder and tugged until his resisting body turned. “Dude, I called you like five times.”

Reluctantly, Sam rotated to face Mac fully, eyes focused on the dingy linoleum floor. “Sorry, man, didn’t hear you. Have a lot on my mind.”

He heard Mac’s gasp and knew without raising his gaze that the other teenager had seen the bruise on his face. “Sam?” Mac reached out like he was going to touch his face, but refrained at the last moment.  “Did you have another fight with your brother?” Mac’s normally jovial voice was edged in steel and Sam lifted his eyes to meet his friend’s hard stare. “Did-Did he do that to you?” The last sentence came out a hissed whisper.

Mesmerized by the deadly coldness in the other boy’s eyes, Sam’s mind had trouble processing the questions. “Yes. No. Wait. What?” Sam’s thoughts stuttered. Did Dean do what to him?

“Did. Your. Brother. Do. That. To. You?” The harsh bite was back in Mac’s voice as he enunciated each word like the punch had somehow addled Sam’s brain.

Sam’s brows drew together in confusion.  “No,” he answered simply and firmly, elaborating at Mac’s disbelieving look, “Yes, we argued, but that’s it. I got this,” he gestured to his bruised jaw, “courtesy of your friend yesterday.”

“Oh,” Mac’s face flushed in embarrassment, “yeah. I’m really sorry about that. Don’t worry. That guy will get what’s coming to him. I promise.” The hard look was back again.

Scrutinizing his friend, Sam decided to change the subject. “Was there something you needed?”

Blinking, Mac’s vision cleared. “Nothing important,” he answered distractedly, “I, uh, I’ll catch you later.”

As the boy turned to leave, Sam reached out and snagged his backpack. “Mac, are you sure…” In Mac’s hurry to catch Sam, he must not have completely closed his bag and Sam’s staying tug forced the zipper to separate, dumping the contents on the ground. “Oh shit, man. Sorry.”

Sam crouched down to help Mac gather his scattered belongings. Rocking back on his heels to see if they’d missed anything, he felt something beneath the sole of his boot. It was a book, bound in aged leather, the cover decorated with runes embossed in black, with papers haphazardly shoved between the pages. Picking it up, Sam recognized it immediately. The library’s copy of Johann Wier’s Pseudomanarchia Daemonum, the book Sam had tried to check out several weeks ago. The pages overlapped the edges, curled from being shoved in the bookbag, and Sam could see familiar writing filling each sheet from margin to margin. They were photocopies of Rebekah Bainbridge’s diary. Sam stared at the book, eyes widened in surprise.

“Thanks,” Mac murmured, snatching the book from Sam’s stunned slackened grip and shoving it back into his bag. Standing, the boy zipped the bag shut and tugged on the pull to make sure it was firmly closed.

Rising, Sam nodded, his hand automatically fingering the knife in his pocket.

“I - I have to go,” Mac shifted his weight nervously from one foot to the other, panicked eyes searching Sam’s face.

Sam nodded again very slowly, the motion exaggerated as he stared unblinkingly at his friend. Mac turned on his heel and quickly walked away, looking over his shoulder once at Sam.

Shouldering his bag, Sam slammed his locker shut and retrieved his cell phone from his pocket. Spinning toward the door, he barely glanced at April when he passed her. Sam walked out the front of the school, phone pressed to his ear as it rang.

“Sam?”

“Come get me, Dean. I know who’s behind it and he knows that I know.”

The next entry was the last from this hunt, the ending to the story of the burned bodies of Pike Creek. It was dated two days after Sam discovered that his friend Mac, his normal friend, was the one responsible for the body count.

Mackenzie Pierson found Rebekah Bainbridge’s diary doing a school project on the history of Pike Creek. He researched her ramblings about binding a demon and discovered a way to unbind it from the bricks and tie it to him. He used it to seek revenge on those he felt responsible for his hard life. Vic #1  - Edmund Staver - boss who laid off his dad, Vic #2 - Garrison Howard - landlord threatening to evict, Vic #3 - Matthew Escher - had affair with mom, Vic #4 - Trent Milford - bully at school, Vic #5 - David Marshall - bully at school. Sam was supposed to be #6. We found Mac in basement of home performing a ritual to force it after Sam - he had Sam’s gym shirt. Scared, Mac summoned it to protect him. Unleashed and angry at its forced servitude, the demon killed Mac. We exorcised it using Sumerian Exorcism #2 (see back). Minor injuries - Dean dislocated shoulder, Sam bruised ribs. Need to tell Bobby Sam found miscopied words in exorcism when reciting it. Thankfully or we’d all probably be dead. Correction made to copy here.

To be safe, Dean and I knocked down the Memorial Wall and sunk the bricks in Needham Lake. N 39.735119 W 75.696896. Sam attended the school sponsored memorial for Mac to avoid suspicion.

Sam shuddered, head dropping back to look at the ceiling. If his Dad only knew what had happened that night.

*****

Dean groaned and stretched like a cat, muscles elongating in a pleasant pull and skin sliding deliciously across the satin material of their sheets. Sighing happily, he slid his hand over the space beside him and frowned when his palm encountered cold linens. Slipping on a pair of sweatpants and a long sleeve t-shirt, he padded his way out of the bedroom.

Sam was at the small dining room table, laptop open and folders strewn around him on both sides. His head rested heavily in the palm of his hand and a cup of cold coffee sat at the ready next to his left hand. Circling behind him on his way to the kitchen, Dean dropped a kiss on the crown of his head and squeezed his shoulder. “Good morning, baby boy.”

“Morning,” Sam returned distractedly, shifting some of the folders to find the one he wanted, “I, uh, drank all the coffee so you’ll have to make more.” Finding the right file, he flipped it open and glanced between its contents and the laptop screen.

Holding the empty decanter to the side, Dean raised his eyebrows. “I noticed.” Rinsing the pot, he filled it with water and set the coffeemaker up to brew another pot. “Find anything?”

Sam blew out a long breath and let the folder fall back on the keyboard. He pressed the butt of his palms into his eyes then slid his hands around the sides of his head to lace his fingers at the back of his skull. “This isn’t adding up. The last time the causes of death were the same for each victim. Now, we’ve got,” he picked up the folders and looked at the victim names before detailing the death and tossing them in a pile, “a burning, a hanging, slit writs, a car accident, a fall and a stabbing. The only one that matches the last time we were here is Ms. Hill and she was the second victim.”

Dean walked into the dining room and picked up Sam’s coffee cup from the table, fingers lightly tracing up his brother’s muscled forearm. Back in the kitchen, he dumped the cold dredges in the sink and rinsed the mug quickly then opened a cabinet to find one on his own. “So, you don’t think we’re after the same thing?” he asked, hands moving automatically to fix both his and Sam’s coffees.

Sam’s immediate response was ‘no’ and if it hadn’t been for Ms. Hill he probably would have said it. “I don’t know.” He sat forward and slid the file off the keyboard, tapping the space bar to pull the laptop from sleep mode. His father’s words sat before him in the man’s serial killer scratch.  I was too focused on it being the demon that I was blind to other possibilities.

Dean came back carrying the two steaming mugs of coffee, setting Sam’s next to his arm on the table. Taking a seat, he was finally able to get a good, long look at his brother. The circles that had become a constant presence under Sam’s eyes seemed darker and the pallor of his face was increasing daily. His posture, his appearance, it all screamed exhaustion.

“Dude, did you even go back to sleep last night?”

Sam made a non-committal noise and flipped through the stack of folders again. “Maybe this isn’t our kind of thing. It all seems so…random.”

“That’s a lot of body bags in a town this small for it to be random, Sam. I checked the police database. The last suicide in this town was in 1995, a terminal cancer patient who took his own life. Before that was 1928 when the stock market fell. As for unexplained deaths? Not counting those in 2000, the last was a homicide in 1982. This place is like Mayberry.”

Nodding in agreement, Sam took a swallow of his coffee. “We really need that file on Sheriff Jones. Is Dan working today?”

“Yes, Dan is working today, but I bet you could distract him long enough for me to get it.” Dean leered over the rim of his coffee cup, taking a sip and trying to swallow the pinch of jealousy with the dark liquid.

Sam quirked an eyebrow at him over the lid of the laptop.

Clearing his throat - damn jealousy still lodged somewhere half-way down - he set the cup down. “Seriously. The guy has the hots for you. If you could just strike up a conversation, I think I could get it.”

Sam closed the windows he’d pulled up and shut down the computer. “All right. Let’s head down there and get it over with. I still need to look over Michael Blackman’s diary and scan all this stuff in to send to Dad.” He stood and stretched, muscles tight from too many hours bent over the computer.

Dean’s eyes were drawn to the strip of skin above Sam’s waistband that the stretching exposed. He was just imagining running his tongue over it when he noticed the way Sam’s hipbones were protruding more than normal. Sam was losing weight, his lithe frame showing even minimal losses more prominently than most people’s would. “We’ll stop and get breakfast on the way,” he said definitively, looking at his brother’s face when the shirt obscured his view again.

“Not hungry,” Sam mumbled, moving toward the bedroom to change.

“Didn’t ask,” Dean returned, big brother voice in full force. Trying to lighten the authoritative tone, he added, “Most important meal of the day. We gotta’ make sure you have enough strength to keep Deputy Dan on the leash long enough for me to get the goods.”

He smirked at Sam’s eye roll and followed his brother into the bedroom. “Hey,” he grinned, pulling his t-shirt over his head, “if this is Mayberry, does that make Deputy Dan my Barney Fife?”

*****

Sam sat in the booth at the restaurant perusing the menu in an attempt to find something that appealed to him. He was serious when he told Dean he wasn’t hungry. His nerves were too raw and on edge, leaving him with a constant low-level nausea. He looked over the choices. Not eggs. Definitely not eggs. Those were horrible when they came back up. He’d learned that valuable lesson at the tender age of fifteen. A ghoul had thrown him through a window and Dean and Dad had given him painkillers with whisky to wash them down so they could stitch the gash on his thigh. The next morning his breakfast - eggs and toast - joined forces with the liquor and medication to wage war on his stomach. A détente was reached several hours later after his body had suffered severe losses on the bathroom battlefield. He wouldn’t eat eggs for a year. Skipping over the egg offerings, he glanced at the long list of pancakes when he saw the waitress approach out of the corner of his eye.

“Morning, guys. What can I getcha’?”

Dean’s menu slapped against the table, a clear sign he knew what he wanted, and Sam renewed his search for something appetizing.

“Morning, sweetheart,” Dean chirped, “I’ll have three eggs, scrambled, a side of sausage and black coffee.”

“Links or patties?”

“Surprise me.” Dean winked then kicked Sam’s ankle gently when his brother continued to stare at the menu with a look of utmost concentration.

Sam startled and kicked back instinctively. No matter how their relationship had changed, Sam was still a little brother. Pointing at an item on the laminated menu, Sam ordered blueberry pancakes.

“Anything to drink?” The waitress took the menu from him.

“Coffee, please,” he answered, looking up at her for the first time. A car pulled into the parking lot and sunlight reflected off the bumper forcing him to squint.

“Sam?”

Blinking furiously to clear the starbursts dancing across his eyes, Sam smiled at the waitress. “Yeah?”

“Sam Winchester?” The girl’s voice was pitching higher with each consecutive word and was bordering dangerously on squealing.

Sam’s brow creased as he looked at the girl, finally allowing his eyes to drift down to her nametag. April. “April?!”

“Yeah! Holy crap, Sam. You just, like, disappeared the night after Mac’s memorial and no one knew where you went. What are you doing here?” She shifted closer to his side of the booth and curled her fingers over his forearm.

“Um,” Sam tossed back in his repertoire of lies to find one that would cover this situation, “Dad got a job offer in another town, but they wanted him to start immediately. It was a sudden thing,” he shrugged. Technically it wasn’t a lie. John had found a werewolf hunt in Indiana and the full moon was the next week. “I’m the new guidance counselor over at the high school.”

Dean watched the two old friends talk back and forth and couldn’t help but wonder how far their friendship had progressed before they’d been forced to move on. After a few more minutes of being ignored, he cleared his throat to remind Sam of his presence. “Forgive my brother, never could get manners to stick. I’m Dean, the new sheriff.”

“Oh, sorry,” April squeaked, turning her attention to the other man at the table, “I’m April. Sam and I went to high school together.” She glanced at Sam again, a warm smile on her face. “It’s so good to see you.” She looked over her shoulder when a man poked his head out the pass-through window and called her name. “Coming. I’ll  go put your orders in and get your coffees.”

Dean watched her disappear past the swinging door into the kitchen. “Friend, huh? She try to convince you to leave your family for college, too?”

“Dean,” Sam whined, fingers moving to his forehead to rub over the skin there. He’d really hoped they were past this.

“Sorry.” Dean raised his hands in an apologetic surrender. It had been a low blow and he really wasn’t angry about Ms. Hill anymore. It had been more of a shock yesterday to find out that Sam had discussed college with a stranger when he kept the entire notion from his family until the day he packed his bags to leave. He picked up his napkin wrapped silverware and twirled it on end. “So, Sammy, you hit that?” He jerked his chin in the direction of the counter where April was filling mugs with coffee.

“Yes. I mean no. I guess it depends on your definition of ‘hit that.’ We kissed once, but that was it.” Sam looked out the window at an elderly man helping his wife out of the car and smiled at the picture they painted.

“Only once? What? She not good?” Dean nudged Sam’s foot under the table bringing Sam’s focus back to him.

“Just,” Sam paused remembering her lips against his, his hands fitting to the curves that his teenage mind had been imagining, “just wasn’t what I wanted, I guess.”  He flashed to another set of lips, hands fisting in his hair, and flushed.

Dean opened his mouth to tease his brother about the healthy blush creeping down his neck when April reappeared with their coffees. “Here you go, guys,” she smiled, setting the mugs down on the table. She looked at Sam again, chuckling softly and shaking her head. “You know, it’s odd that you’re here. Mason and I were just talking about you right before…” her eyes grew distant.

“About me,” Sam asked surprised then frowned at how she’d trailed off. “Right before…?” he prompted, gaze dropping to Dean who merely shrugged.

“Oh, um,” she seemed to regain her composure, but her face was paler, “right before he died.”

“Mason’s dead?” Somehow that knowledge hit Sam like a punch to the gut. Mason was a good guy and had helped Sam figure out some things while they were here.

“Well, yeah,” April flicked a gaze to Dean before looking at Sam again, “I figured you heard since your brother is the new sheriff. He was stabbed to death a few weeks back.”

Stabbed to death? Mason was the sheriff? Of course, Mason Jones. The one newspaper article regarding the death had referred to him by his professional title, never including the late sheriff’s first name, and Sam hadn’t made the connection.

Realization hit Dean at the same time. “This Mason was the sheriff?”

“Yeah,” April smiled uncertainly, “he was going to be marine biologist then one day he came to school and said he wanted to be a police officer.” Her brow furrowed in thought. “Come to think of it, it was right after you left.” Plates appeared in the pass-through window and a small bell dinged. “That’ll be your breakfast. Look, I’m really sorry to drop the news on you like that.” When Sam didn’t respond, she moved away.

“Hey,” Dean captured Sam’s ankles between his own, “you okay?

Sam nodded, eyes still a little far away. “M’fine,” he answered after a beat, picking up the sugar and pouring some in his coffee, “was just a surprise, you know?”

“Yeah,” Dean eyed Sam carefully, thinking.

“What?” Sam stirred milk into the sweet black liquid, raising his eyes at his brother’s thoughtful tone.

“Nothing,” Dean shook his head, lifting his mug to his lips and breathing in the warm aroma.

“No, it’s something,” Sam tapped his spoon on the rim of his cup and laid it on the paper coaster.

Setting his mug down, Dean leaned forward. “In a town this size, what exactly are the odds that you would know the only adult victims?”

They stared at each other in silence, only breaking eye contact when April brought their plates over. Sam looked at his stack of pancakes and wanted to throw up.