Terror Town, USA (R)
Terror Town, USA
by
Bayre
1993…
Of course he merely tolerated Sam’s snuggling to shut the younger boy up, it’d been Sam’s idea to watch this show to begin with, so Dean had only a small amount of sympathy when it scared the bejesus out of the kid. Dean thought it was a great show, Sam spent the majority of it with his face pressed to Dean’s side, squeaking every time he managed to pry his head around and watch the TV.
Dean made it perfectly clear to Sam on many such occasions, Sam dared breathed a single word, hinted at, thought of saying out loud to anyone Dean Winchester so much as considered letting his brother hide under his arm, he’d kill Sam.
Rubbing the top of Sam’s head, to wake him up of course, Dean grinned. The oh-so-suspenseful ending to the show was coming up, Sam would be angry if he’d missed it. “Hey, Tiger, come on, bedtime.”
“Wuuaa…?” Sam stirred, peered up at him from under messy bangs, eyes groggy and barely registering life was in there.
Dean nudged Sam’s shoulder getting the reflexive action he was looking for. Sam turned his head, looked around, eyes falling on the TV.
“Entire towns used as test sites for our government, or maybe others. Average citizens guinea pigs in a grand scheme to determine how we all would react in the face of ultimate disaster, ultimate take over, the ultimate end of all…Urban legend or truth? Is reality merely an illusion perpetrated for the masses? You decide…”
The rest of the broadcast was lost to Dean, covered by Sam’s groan and Dean’s laughter.
“You’re the one who wanted to watch this crap, not me. What do you even pay attention to this stuff for if it bothers you so much?” Dean couldn’t resist rubbing his knuckles over Sam’s shaggy head a few times.
Sam’s eloquent retort of, “Asshole,” brought more fits of laughter from Dean. Even Dean’s butt hitting the floor didn’t impede his laughter any.
“Dean, what if it’s true?” Sam finally asked, voice small and uncertain, eyes large and round.
That hit Dean’s middle like a sucker punch. Bracing against the couch to pull himself off the floor, Dean sighed heavily. “Aww Sammy, you’re way too gullible sometimes. They do that to make people watch the show.”
“But—”
“But nothing, Sammy.” Grabbing Sam’s arm, Dean gently pried him from the couch. “No big, bad evil cloud of nothing is going to get you, or me.”
“How do you know?”
“I know ‘cause I’m older. It’s just a TV show Sam. Besides, there’s nothing out there big enough or evil enough or bad enough to go through me and get you.” He turned Sam, giving the younger boy a gentle shove between his shoulder blades. “Now, go brush your teeth and go to bed.” Dean stretched and yawned.
Stopping at the bathroom door, Sam turned, looked back at Dean.
Tipping his chin toward the bathroom, wanting forward motion from Sam, Dean let his face and voice soften, “Don’t worry Tiger, I’m right here, go on. I’ll be right here, always.”
A desolate mountain road,
“We’re lost.”
“Are you listening to me?” Sam huffed, plainly annoyed.
“Not really Sammy, I’m trying to keep us from careening off the side of a cliff. It’s called concentration.”
“You’re admitting we’re lost?” Sam’s voice change at once to astonishment. The car slipped sideways on the road, making the younger brother’s hand move quick to brace against the dash.
“It doesn’t really matter right now.” Dean snapped out. “We’re on this road. The car is going sideways more than straight. The only location I’m concerned with at this moment is the pavement.”
Sam’s lips smacked shut, whatever reply he was going to toss out was cut short by another sideways slide. Dean righted the car, exhaling in a deliberately slow breath. His right hand left the wheel, pressed against Sam’s collarbone for a few seconds, pushing him farther back against the seat. Swallowing loud enough Dean heard it; Sam was watching him with eyes a bit too wide. The kid never once tried to remove Dean’s hand, testimony to his edginess at the road conditions.
Wriggling his fingers Dean pulled his hand away from his brother, back to the wheel, and the task at hand. Sam’s eyes shifted between Dean and the world outside the Impala. The dark, misty, wet, slippery world intent on claiming them for its own.
“No one drives better than you.” Sam’s voice was low and soft, his breathing a bit quicker than normal.
Dean smiled just a bit, leaned forward and gripped the wheel more firmly, wondering which one of them Sam was trying to convince. Maybe a bit of both he finally decided. Jerking his foot off the gas pedal, squinting into the dark, “What the hell? You see this?”
“Yeah, Dean, there’s a spot to pull over.”
Following the line of Sam’s extended arm Dean guided the big car to the side of the road, hoping no one came along and rear-ended them, or it would be good-bye Impala. Good-bye Winchesters too if they were in the car.
Pelting, frozen mist hit Dean’s face as he climbed from the car, “Sam, stay in here. No point in us both getting soaked and sick.”
Sam simply arched one eyebrow, smirked at him, and shook his head a bit as he swung out of the car, stretching, and trudging to meet Dean at the rear of the car. Handing Sam a tool box, Dean didn’t try very hard to hide the small smile playing his lips. Sam elbowed him when he wiped a hand over his face and ducked his head a fraction, grabbing a jack. Sam may not have been very mechanically inclined, but he made an excellent assistant. He’d paid attention over the years, mostly knew all the tools’ names and purposes, had them ready and at hand when Dean needed them. Repair time for anything was generally cut in half with his kid brother around. Dean suspected Sam’s natural curiosity revolving around how things work combined with his genuine desire to be helpful, especially to Dean, motivated him even further.
Stopped, Dean really wouldn’t consider how the car haphazardly sat at the roadside parked, a few yards from the Impala was a small, green car Dean immediately identified as an Accord. A woman, maybe in her mid-thirties stood outside the car. Dean saw three children, two boys and a girl inside the car. Who he took to be the oldest of them, one of the boys, watched Dean and Sam approach the car like a hawk watching field mice. He could only imagine what he and Sam must look like to strangers, especially after driving the fifteen or so hours they’d just driven. The damp almost at once plastered Sam’s hair down, so despite his height and the hole in one leg of his ragged hem jeans, he looked like an overgrown six year old. This wouldn’t be the first time either one of them put that look to good use, put others at ease.
“Hey, you okay?” Dean raised his voice only enough to be heard over the rain, put his friendliest rated G smile on his face.
The woman looked ready to bolt, or clobber him with a crowbar, Dean wasn’t sure which. Her pale skin and round brown eyes were accentuated by her hair also being plastered to her face. Maybe she and Sam could form a bad hair day support group.
She nodded once, “Yes, we almost…I t-think…t-ti-tire blew out.” She backed away, stopping next to the driver’s door, hand on the latch. “I’ll call a tow truck.” Her voice was edgy, she stood her ground there, cell phone in her other hand.
Dean sure knew how she felt, having come a bit too close to going off the cliff’s edge a few times in the last hour. He was certain she no more wanted to see her children plummet down, trapped in a car, anymore than he did Sam. “I’m Dean,” he dipped his head back at Sam, standing behind his right elbow, “my brother, Sam.” Leaning to the side so he could see the opposite side of the car, Dean spotted the offending defunct tire. “Ya know, this weather is crappy; you don’t want to have your kids sit out here waiting who knows how long for a tow truck. Gotta spare?”
She nodded mutely.
“Pop the trunk, we can get this changed and you on your way in no time.”
She looked from Dean to Sam to her children in the car then glanced down the road. “I should just call—”
“Mom, it’s freezing in here.” The oldest boy had the window cracked, face close so he could talk to her.
“Roll that up and make sure the doors are locked.” She hissed.
That made Dean smile to himself, he resisted an almost irresistible urge to glance back, check on Sam. “Honestly, it’ll take me ten minutes.”
Eyes again flitting between him and her car, she finally agreed, nodding slowly. Waving at her kids, “Come on, out for a few minutes.” She hit a button on the car’s remote, the unlatching of the trunk lid echoed through the air for a few seconds.
“They can wait in there.” Sam offered quickly.
“You betcha they can.” Dean added. “You too, if you want.”
“You don’t mind?”
“No.” There was no way Dean was leaving a car full of kids stranded at the roadside in a storm. Already moving to the far side of the car, not giving her much chance to argue, Dean took the tool box from Sam. “Why don’t you go back to the car? I think one of us might be less scary than two of us. It’s just a tire, not much help needed anyway.” Kneeling next to the car, he already had two lug nuts off.
Sam hunkered down beside him, gaze shifting up and over to the woman. “Dean just ‘cause they look innocent and afraid doesn’t mean…”
“They aren’t going to steal me.” Dean huffed and threw Sam an annoyed look before starting on lug nut number three. “Just keep your eyes open.” He took another few seconds to glance around at their surroundings. Sam was right. It was a great place for an ambush. Not that Dean was paranoid or anything.
“You’re way scarier than me anyway.” Sam grumbled, tapped Dean’s bicep and pushed up from the ground, wandering away a few yards, closer to the guard rail and turned so his angle let him look out at the scenery and see Dean all at the same time.
He would have preferred Sam to be safe and dry inside the Impala, but he wouldn’t be much longer. Besides, being completely honest Dean liked it better when Sam was within reaching distance, just in case. The hair on the back of his neck rose, causing him to stop and take a look around. Snorting softly in the next second, he turned back to the task of tire changing. Fine lookout Sam turned out to be, his attention now completely focused on the drop off and mountain countryside beyond the cliff. Someone could have come along and stolen Dean, the kids, the woman, both cars and Sam wouldn’t have known the difference.
Feeling the Accord shift slightly, Dean glanced up. The boy, he was maybe thirteen or fourteen, stood at the back fender, watching him. Hands in pockets, arms straight and pressed against his sides, shoulders scrunched under his coat, Dean recognized the expression the boy wore. He’d worn it enough himself since being handed his six month old brother and told to run from a burning house with him.
“Everything okay in there?” Dean stood, giving the jack a few more pumps to raise the car higher.
“Yeah.”
Old tire off, “I’m Dean,” new one on.
“Peter. You an axe murderer or anything?”
“Naaa...I prefer guns.”
Peter snickered. The kid’s chin jutted in Sam’s direction. “That your younger brother?”
Not even trying to suppress the smile Dean wondered, not for the first time, how siblings seemed to universally know the younger and older of another set. “Pain in my butt.”
“Yeah, mine are too.” Peter shrugged. “Guess I should go back in the car, Mom thought it would be easier for you to lift it up without her and me inside. But she told me not to bother you.”
“You’re not.”
“What’s he doing?”
The odd tone Peter’s voice took on, too suddenly and too sharply, made Dean stop and turn to look again at the area around them. Heart seizing painfully, Dean’s voice caught in his throat. Arms and legs scrambled to catch up to his brain screaming
What Sam was doing was taking a header straight off the cliff.
Sam suppressed a shudder, Lord knew Dean would hone in on that like some werewolf on steroids and trained as a medic. It was pretty boring watching Dean change a tire, and his brother was right. Not everything in the world was out to get them, even though it often seemed that way. Sometimes a nice lady stranded with a flat tire and some kids was nothing more than that.
Wandering closer to the guard rail, Sam caught sight of a parking pass on the car’s front windshield. It was bright neon orange, nothing special, but the numbers leapt off the pass and blazed into his brain, 02221112. Shaking off the odd feeling growing inside his chest, casting another glance at Dean, Sam moved closer to the guard rail. He saw the woman’s stance relax somewhat, having them both so close to the car and her kids made her nervous.
The sky, everything around them was mired in an odd, lifeless gray. It wasn’t so late in the day the sun should be setting, but the dingy cloud cover and chilly rain made this little section of the world dreary and colorless. Drawing in a deep breath, sighing softly, Sam turned his attention more to the valley beyond the rail, the mountains rising up beyond the valley.
He’d always found the
0 2 2 2 1 1 1 2
The numbers, large and white, flew from the base of the cliff. Sam’s voice failed completely. Frozen to that spot, he couldn’t move, couldn't call out to Dean. He was having some sort of breakdown for sure. Then it all disappeared, washed out in vast, gray nothing mist. The numbers swirled around his head, fluttering like bizarre birds before vanishing into the gray.
Fighting down nausea, choking on acrid, foul bile Sam reached for the guard rail but his fingers skimmed through nothing but air. Nothing. He was surrounded by nothing. The sounds of Dean changing the tire, even his brother’s deep voice, swallowed up by the nothing. Unable to breathe, yell, move, anything, Sam was completely paralyzed in a world turned to a void of gray.
Without warning, the world dropped out from under his feet—like a plane dropping out of the sky—sending Sam tumbling off to nothing. Gray nothing. His mouth opened to scream for help, to warn Dean to run from the encroaching nothing, but no sound came out.
Sam was swallowed by the nothing.
+++++
Fingers grabbing Sam’s jacket, not being able to remember for sure, and hoping with everything in him, that Sam’s jacket wasn’t open. Digging in farther with his fingers, trying to make sure he grasped shirts, skin and muscle if need be, Dean gripped with enough force to cause his arms to cramp. Throwing his weight back, feet sliding on the gravel roadside, Dean scrabbled back, yanking Sam toward him at the same time.
Flipping Sam around to face him, Dean’s hands darted under Sam’s shoulders, fingers now clutching the muscles of Sam’s sides. Dean backpedaled, taking his stunned brother with him. Hands falling onto Dean’s shoulders, eyes wide, face pale and shiny from mist and sweat, Sam gulped in a shuddering breath, held it and gulped again as if he’d been unable to breathe then his airway cleared so suddenly, it took time before he knew he could again.
“Deeeeaannn.” Sam’s voice trembled and slithered out. His head jerked from side to side, eyes not really focusing well.
Dean shook him harder than he intended, shouting, “Sam.” Another shake. “Sammy! What the hell are you doing?”
There was no vacant stare, no pain-lined features on Sam’s face. No vision. At least not like he’d ever had before, that Dean saw immediately, knowing the signs without giving them much thought. Sam might be the guy having the visions, but Dean was the guy who dealt with them on more than one level.
Releasing his brother long enough to shove him back, away from the cliff edge, Dean hit Sam’s shoulders, forcing him back more steps when he stopped, eyes wide, arms hanging limply at his sides, staring at Dean. “Get your ass in the car. Now!”
“Dean…I…” Water dripped off Sam’s bangs, sliding over the material of his jacket, the length of his arms.
“In the car, Sam.” Dean snarled, turned Sam and shoved him at the Impala.
Stumbling, Sam stopped two feet from Dean, eyes darting around, head turning to look back at the drop off, then at Dean. He looked beyond confused and disoriented.
“Sam, car, now!”
Sam got himself to the car, fumbled at the door handle for a minute before disappearing inside. Turning back to the woman, she watched them, eyes wider than before if that was even possible. Pulling air deep inside his chest, Dean pinched his nose between thumb and forefinger for a minute, stood there doing nothing but concentrating on inhaling and exhaling.
“Is he okay?” Her voice was breathless, barely getting to him through the rain.
“Y-yeah.” Dean forced a small laugh. “Too many hours in a car, and not enough food. Low blood sugar.” He mumbled, sprinting back to her car. In record time he finished changing the tire. Wiping hands on his thighs, straightening, “There you go.” Quick look to the Impala, to Sam sitting in the front seat, “You know where I can get my brother…” His voice cracked, betrayed him—get it together. “He just needs a hot meal, somewhere to spend the night around here?” He was talking too fast, knew it, didn’t care. He wanted away from this patch of road, now.
Suddenly she smiled at him, apparently deciding neither of them were axe murders. “Thank you so much. I couldn’t really afford the tow truck.” A small shrug and nervous laugh. “I’m Kathy Irvine. You can follow me to town if you’d like. There’s a diner there, food is actually pretty good. I work there.”
Dean collected his tools, his nerves and his thoughts, nodding, one hand wiping over his face. “Thanks, that’d be great. We need a break.” Throwing another look at his car, trying to appear casual, lighten the mood, “Obviously.”
After depositing everything into his trunk, Dean slid gratefully into the front seat of the Impala. The instant his weight caused the car to dip it also caused Sam’s mouth to start running.
“I’m sorry, Dean. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what…I’m sorry.”
Dean stared at him for a second, caught off guard. Sam flinched away from the sound of the car door shutting as if he’d been hit.
“I didn’t, I’m so sorry. Dean?”
Reaching out, hand resting on his brother’s shoulder, he was sure to keep his voice calm. “Sam, stop. It’s okay. Just stop.” Pulling in a ragged breath, his heart rate finally normal, and the trembling of his hands quiet, he started the car, pulling back onto the road, following Kathy’s car. “What did you see? What was it? Some kind of vision?” And I know damn well it was no vision Sam.
Sam shook his head, “I don’t know what it was. No vision. Nothing, saw nothing.”
That pissed Dean off. He’d put up with most anything from Sam, except being lied to. Hitting the steering wheel with one hand, lips curling to a snarl, “Dammit, don’t hand me that bullshit Sammy! You goddamn tried walking off the edge of a goddamn cliff. Don’t sit there and tell me it was goddamn nothing. It goddamn was sure as hell not NOTHING.” He shouted the final word so loudly he wondered if Kathy and her children heard him too.
“I didn’t see anything, Dean. Everything around me turned to nothing…fell away, vanished. I didn’t move, the world just stopped existing and went away, right out from under my feet.” Sam’s fingers wound in his hair, his words came out in such a rush it took Dean a few seconds to process what was being said.
Eyes sliding to Sam then back to the road, what he saw frightened him right down to the core. Sam was rocking slightly, and shaking so badly his teeth clattered together. His breathing nothing more than desperate, ragged pants. Dean loosened his grip on the wheel, moving his right hand to rest on Sam’s wrist, pulled his hand out of his hair.
“Sammy.” He made sure to keep his voice soft and low, but firm. “Look at me.” When Sam’s eyes flickered to him, then out the window, then down to his knees, Dean tightened his grip. “Sam.” That time Sam’s gaze settled obediently on Dean and held. “A few deep breaths there, dude.”
Sam nodded, swallowed harshly and bit his lower lip. Dean was driving the still slick road, trying to follow Kathy’s car without flying off the road’s edge, all while making sure one freaked out little brother didn’t try jumping out the window. Maybe I needed just a few more challenges. When Sam relaxed enough to sit back against the seat, Dean let go of his wrist, patted his chest a few times, and resumed driving with two hands.
“Just take it slow and tell me what happened.”
“I…um…I was just looking at the mountains and everything, and Dean I do mean everything went gray. Except some numbers, I saw numbers. But it wasn’t a vision, nothing hurt. I wasn’t watching it; I was part of it, living it. It was like the whole universe disappeared, turned to gray nothing.”
“Except for some numbers?”
“Yeah.”
“What numbers?”
“The same ones as on the parking pass of that lady’s car.”
“Kathy.”
“Huh?”
“Her name is Kathy. So you saw numbers on her car, then in your vision too?”
“It wasn’t a vision, Dean.” Sam’s voice rose, “I don’t know what it was, but not a vision.”
“Okay, call it what then?”
“The world didn’t exist.”
“So you decided to step off?”
“No! I never moved, Dean, I swear. The ground…it just…left. The ground left.”
Dean was surprised by the amount of relief he felt when the town’s lights came through the thin fog. “How’s this for a plan? We get some eats, a place to stay, get warm, dry and hole up until this storm passes and we’re out of here.” We’ve got things to do.
“Sounds good.” Much to Dean’s delight Sam relaxed further.
“And you stay away from anything with a drop off until we figure this out. Seriously, you don’t even go near a street curb.”
Sam smiled weakly at him. “That sounds good too.”
Dean’s eye roll at some of the songs drifting across the diner and to them earned him a very patient smile from Sam. By the time food arrived Sam seemed completely himself again, other than a bit more quiet, maybe a touch paler than normal. Further questioning produced no further details, and provoked Sam to annoyance, so Dean dropped it. Near the end of the meal Dean could see his brother was totally drained, having a hard time keeping his eyelids from drooping, himself from falling asleep right there in the booth.
Sam jerked straighter when the jukebox suddenly cranked to a high enough volume the noise of the diner, the general murmur of a crowd of talking people was washed out. We could sell it out together, seems tomorrow's overdue…They both turned in time to see someone scurry from the kitchen, hit the out of control jukebox, adjust some dial, bringing the rebellious machine under control and back down to background music. Dean rubbed the back of his neck, stifled a chuckle when Sam rested his chin in his palm, elbow propped on the table.
“Time to go find a room, I think Kathy said there was—”
…Midnight at the lost and found, lost souls in the hunting ground…again the jukebox blared loud enough to drown out everyone, including Dean. He sighed, shook his head a bit. Sam at least was kind enough to offer him a sympathetic smile, dimples and all. Downing the rest of his coffee, Dean leaned back, watched with barely concealed amusement as someone again chastised the jukebox, dampening the volume all the while watching Sam try to put together enough brain cells to eat and not fall asleep.
No sooner had the jukebox been left to its own devices when it blasted them once more…Belly up and bury, boy, all the hurt you feel today. Hangin' on barely, hitch a ride away…Another chuckle got past Dean’s lips when the thing was finally unplugged.
“Think he’s writing them for the other side.” He grumbled, but the joke was lost on Sam, who was having serious issues staying awake. Dean turned, searching out their waitress, he smiled at her.
Sam coming to life when the check arrived threw Dean for a loop. Snatching the paper from Dean’s fingers, Sam gaped at it.
“Dude, either pay it, or give it back so I can.”
“The same numbers.” Sam held the paper out to Dean.
Dean shook his head, “Twenty-one bucks for dinner, so what?”
“Twenty-one dollars and twenty-two cents. Receipt number one two zero one.”
“Twenty-one twenty-two and twelve zero one.” Dean nodded wisely. “Heavy. So what?”
Sam sighed, “When I had my...whatever it was, the numbers I saw, same numbers just in a different order.”
“You gonna go pay that?”
Sly grin spreading over Sam’s face, he pushed the paper back toward Dean. “You touched it first.”
Rolling his eyes, Dean headed off to pay the bill, watching Sam wait by the door, watching him. Sam, Dean knew, had been slapped in the face one too many times the past few months with the prospect, real or imagined, of losing Dean. He’d repressed too many recent events; it was making him edgy, maybe overly susceptible to his imagination. He considered maybe the abyss Sam nearly jumped into was in his head.
Smokey Mountain Inn…
Twenty minutes later they were checked into the town’s one small motel, Smokey Mountain Inn, and Dean stood blissfully under the spray of hot water. Leaving the bathroom warm, refreshed and drowsy Dean padded across the room. The only light came from Sam’s laptop, open on the table. Sam left it on, probably so Dean could see whatever was on the screen. Stopping by Sam’s bed, Dean pulled the blankets over his sibling’s shoulders. Sam mumbled something sounding like an exorcism, rolled on his side, burrowed under the blankets and settled back to sleep.
Halting next to the table, Dean stood with towel hooked around his neck, fingers twined in its ends, reading the page loaded on the computer. Shaking his head after a minute, “Why do you read this crap, Sammy?” No wonder the kid had nightmares.
It wasn’t bad enough Sam had to research every freaky thing they came across; he had to read through this sort of junk to do it. Snorting softly, he shook his head, computers predicting the end of the world, how was that even vaguely credible, even in their world? Dean couldn’t imagine how this was important in any way, but still diligently saved the page to Sam’s favorites before shutting down the laptop. Wonder if demons even own computers…naaa too hot in Hell, one would melt.
Dark descended; Dean still heard the wet blobs falling from the sky hit the window and motel room door. Switching on the radio…
The next sensations to filter into Dean’s brain was grumbling sounding considerably like Sam’s voice, a thunk of something against the table, then the clink of glass touching down almost gently onto some surface. Sam muttered something else right before Dean heard the distinct sound of a duffel smacking the floor. Cracking one eye open, Dean moved the blankets far enough from his face to peer into the room. Hazy light filtered through the window, turning to the clock on the nightstand between their beds Dean saw the numbers were gone, the digital face black. He blinked at it stupidly for a few seconds before turning his head to look around the room. Other than there were no lights, everything seemed fine.
“Power is out.” Sam grouched; scooping Dean’s discarded towel off the floor and flipping it over his shoulder. “Shower.”
“Hmm.” Rolling over, readjusting his blankets, “Hope Malcolm uses gas to cook with, ‘cause damn you need some coffee, kiddo.” Scratching at his chest, “Me too.”
Normally they would have walked the few blocks to the diner, just to check out the town. But this morning the air was still damp and cool, a fine mist wetting everything down. The radio fired to life right along with the engine, first scratchy static, then it blasted them without warning…it’s the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine…Dean’s hand beat Sam’s by a mere hairsbreadth to the dial.
“Dean, you turned the radio off yesterday when we were following Kathy here.” Sam pulled his fingers away as if stung by the dials.
Not really having a response or explanation as to why a turned off radio played music, and bad music at that, Dean swallowed the niggling feeling he was getting, put the car in gear and pulled out of the parking lot to the street. He was somewhat amazed his car even allowed reception of whatever radio tower broadcast such stuff.
“These people need a decent mechanic.” Sam turned to look out the window as they drove by yet another car with its hood up. “Looks like the power outage is pretty widespread. No lights anywhere.”
“You’d think a town this close to the Tennessee Valley Authority wouldn’t have blackouts.” Dean shrugged, “At least the jukebox at the diner has been cut off too.”
Happily they discovered Malcolm’s Kitchen did indeed have gas stoves. Savoring warm coffee, waiting for their breakfast, they took a look around. There were more people than the evening before, but Dean supposed that was expected with most of the citizens having no power.
“Thanks again so much for helping me yesterday.” Kathy appeared at their table. “It’s a zoo in here today, no one has power. I needed a break.” She set two glasses of juice down for them. “I asked your waitress to not give you a check, but she’s a bitch and will, so make sure I ring you out.”
“You don’t have to do that.” Sam said.
“Yes, I do.” Reaching out, her fingers tapped Sam’s shoulder softly, “You feeling better? You didn’t look so good yesterday and scared the daylights out of me.”
Dean was inclined to agree with her.
Sam flushed, his eyes dropped to the table. “I do. Thanks.”
Taking pity on his shy little brother, Dean figured the least he could do was flirt a bit with the pretty lady offering them a free meal. “How’s your kids, okay? Peter’s a great boy.”
“Thanks. He is.”
“Car running okay now? ‘Cause if you need anything else handled…” Dean grinned mischievously, ignoring how Sam’s boot jammed into his shin.
“It’s the most bizarre thing, it wouldn’t start this morning. Lots of people are coming in saying the same thing.”
“Our car is fine, but I can stop by on our way out of town, take a look, check under the hood, wiggle some wires. Give her a good going over.”
Kathy laughed softly, “I bet you could.” Another tap to Sam’s arm, “I hope you feel better.”
“Thanks.” Sam smiled up at her. Arching an eyebrow and shaking his head at Dean after she’d gone.
“What?”
“Looks like you’re losing your touch.”
“She didn’t say no, Sam.”
“Didn’t say yes either, Dean.” Sam always seemed to find it important to point these things out. Time to change the subject.
“Whatever.” Dean scanned the small diner once more. “Wonder what’s up with the cars.” He took a good look out the window to his right, eyes scanning the mostly empty parking lot. “Sam, all the cars parked out there, I’m guessing someone drove them here?”
“Yeah, so?”
“None of them are newer. In fact all of them, cars, trucks, just like ours, pretty old.”
Sam stopped eating, shoved two fingers between the blinds; thrust his face closer to the glass, head turning to see as far as possible in either direction. “You’d think a place like this would have a generator, at least for the coolers.” He mumbled more to the window than to Dean.
“We do, it’s not working either.” Their waitress slapped a piece of paper onto the table. “Need anything else?”
“No thanks.” Dean watched her go before turning the small slip over, glancing at the total, then the receipt number. Feeling totally stupid when he released a bigger than necessary breath of relief, the total read fifteen, forty-four. The receipt number three-four-nine-eight-eight. He felt Sam’s eyes on him, watching, waiting. Dean watched Sam’s fingers wind in his napkin for a few seconds, watched as his brother shredded it to bits.
He felt more than saw Sam straighten in his seat, eyes riveted to Dean, hands suddenly too still when Dean’s jaw clenched tight. A muscle along his neck jerked and tightened uncomfortably, Sam sucked in a harsh breath. The diner was overwhelmingly too small, too hot. Dean wanted out of this town.
Holding the paper between two fingers, Dean flipped it around so Sam could read it. Having handwritten their bill, the waitress scrawled a series of prices haphazardly over the paper, it had to be a coincidence she’d lined them up just so.
“No such thing as coincidence.” Sam whispered, voicing Dean’s thoughts. His gaze met Dean’s steadily; his hands now rested on the table, clasped too tightly together, fingers threaded through one another, his knuckles were white.
Has to be.
Two point twenty-one times two. Off to the side was the total, four-forty-two. Directly under the first set was eleven point zero two, off to the side she’d written five-fifty one times two.
22121102
Same numbers, different order. Dean wanted to run, run like he’d never wanted to in his life.
“We have to check this out.” Sam croaked at him.
Dean nodded, he meant to say no way, grab Sam, drag him to the car and speed out of there doing about ninety. Instead he mutely nodded his agreement.
“Still think I’m crazy?”
Eyes popping to Sam’s face, “I never once said that.”
“You thought it.”
“No, Sam, I didn’t. Not for real.”
“Maybe you should.” His brother’s voice was so soft, so laced with pain and fear and things Dean couldn’t even identify made his heart ache, his stomach turn. “Four two’s, three one’s and a zero, same numbers, different order.” Sam sat quietly, watching Dean for another minute before speaking again. “Think it is related to cars and generators not working?”
Run, run, now, get out
The door to the diner slamming open so fast it bounced off the wall behind it jolted Dean back to the here and now. A man shouting followed immediately on the heels of the door banging around. He and Sam both looked in the direction of the shouting man.
“Nutjob.” Sam grumbled.
“Now, Sammy, not very compassionate, I thought it was—”
“Gone! All gone, it’s gone!” The man shouted. In one hand he carried a rifle though it pointed at the ceiling. “No one left but us!”
A rumble of voices coursed through the diner, most eyes turned on this man.
“Nutjob.” Dean agreed.
“Ernie Adaey, what are you talking about, it’s just a power outage.” A heavy man in white, wearing a cap and apron, the cook Dean surmised, came out of the kitchen, confronted the new arrival.
“I’m talking about war, or invasion, I don’t know what. I’m talking about the rest of the world.”
“What about it?”
“Gone.” Ernie waved his free hand in one large sweep. “It’s gone, all gone. No one left but us. The world is gone.”
“Oh look, Dad’s long lost brother.” Dean snorted.
Sam grinned, “Our uncle is Burt Gummer, greaaaat.” He drew out the final word until he had to inhale again. “Maybe if we run away now he won’t notice us?”
Dean grinned back, loosening the hard knots in Sam’s chest a bit. The irrational, abject terror he’d felt the day before on the roadside lingered still. Though he tried to cover it, he knew Dean sensed or saw it was still there, lurking beneath Sam’s surface. Sam didn’t mind Dean saw these things, in a way it made him feel better, he didn’t have to explain much to Dean. Yet they’d been through so much recently, he struggled to not add one more worry to Dean’s list of things to worry over.
Casually laying one arm over the back of his booth, Dean twisted, propping one bent leg on the seat, he watched as the man paced the diner, every few seconds glancing back at Sam. Sam knew it wasn’t the man that had Dean’s rapt attention. It was the rifle in his hand.
A second, smaller figure slipped through the door just before it swung shut. Peter. Sam watched Dean’s eyes shift to the boy, follow his progress through the diner to a stool at the counter, near Ernie.
“Dammit, Ernie, you’re scarin’ ma customers. Now stop yer yelling, put that gun down and explain yerself.”
“Everything is gone.” Ernie repeated.
Sam smiled when Dean snorted softly. “Skeptic.”
Dean rolled his eyes, shook his head slightly and turned his attention back to the conversation going on with Ernie and the cook.
“Mal, listen to me. There’s no communications from the outside, from anywhere outside this town. My generators don’t work, other than the old one I kept, those new ones I got last month are nothing but stupid pieces of crap. I got the old one cranked up. There’s nothing on my Collins wireless radio, it just gives me static. I can’t raise anyone, anywhere.”
“Don’t make ‘em like they used to.” Dean chuckled, just loud enough for Sam to hear. Sam grinned, but still shoved at Dean’s foot with his.
“Do you think it’s the aliens?” Peter asked.
Sam bit down on his lip to keep from laughing out loud. Dean turned to face him completely, ducked his head and stared into his coffee cup to hide the foolish grin spreading across his face.
“Aliens, Peter, despite what Mr. Adaey says, there’s no such thing. The power is out.” The cook, Mal, poked at Ernie’s shoulder. “You stupid fool, it’s just a power outage, now stop scaring the kid.”
“If it’s just a power outage explain to me why cars aren’t running, generators aren’t working. Those things don’t depend on power lines and electricity.” Ernie swept the diner with a meaningful, and Sam thought somewhat smug, gaze.
“Pulse bombs can cause that sort of disruption.” Someone said from the counter.
“Those are urban legends, you know that.” Ernie countered.
Someone else called out, “Or
Dean’s toe jabbed at Sam’s leg and he mouthed
Bomb. Sam’s got a bomb. Sam glanced around half expecting to see Ruby hiding amongst the diner’s patrons, or the flash of solid black eyes.
“Terrorist attack, the TVA would be a primary target, and most the technical staff lives in this town.” A woman a few booths over raised her voice to be heard, others nodded in agreement.
Sam is a bomb. There was no source Sam could identify for the words popping through his head.
“Possibly some sort of germ warfare, and we’ve been isolated?” Counter guy piped up.
Ernie shook his head. “You people refuse to see the truth. None of that is going to cut us off completely, not like this. This is something much bigger.”
I’ve got a plan for you, Sammy, and all the children like you.
“Like what, Ernie, the aliens?” Mal asked.
“You got a better explanation?”
Collateral damage. You’ll have to go against that gentle nature of yours.
Sam started when Dean reached across the table, fingers skimmed over his wrist, pulled his arm from the back of his head and down to the table. “Sammy.” It was Dean’s ‘do what you’re told, stop drawing attention’ tone of voice, though Sam had done nothing he was aware of.
Two men staggered through the door. The older of the two was panting, trying to talk and catch his breath, sounding panicked. “There’s an abandoned county utility truck just outside of town, on
“Disintegrated.” The other man finished for him.
A low murmur traveled the diner, heads nodded, some turned to gaze out the windows.
What happens to bombs, Sammy?
“In any kind of war or attack, TVA is a prime target. We’ve know this for years, been prepared.” Mal raised his voice, tried to rein in the unrest Sam felt starting to course through everyone there. “We have protocols.”
“Not for something of this magnitude.” Ernie said.
Smile sliding off Dean’s face, his eyes met Sam’s.
Bombs go boom!
Again Sam turned a bit, looking for the source of the voice. His stomach knotted, his breath caught in his chest, squeezing his eyes shut for a few beats he tried quieting the whirlwind in his head. Opening his eyes, he took a quick look around again. No one other than Dean seemed to be paying attention to him.
“Sam?” Dean’s voice was low, quiet, an anchor and warning all at once.
Pulling a stack of the paper napkins close, Sam twisted and twined them in his fingers. “Look at the booths along this part of the diner.” He was barely able to get his voice above a whisper.
Dean reached with both hands this time, placing them over Sam’s to still his fingers, stop his shredding the paper napkin. Ducking his head, he tried getting Sam to look at him. When Sam refused to do anything other than stare at the table top and his hands under Dean’s, his brother sighed deeply, leaned back and looked around.
Sam watched the realization spread across Dean’s face, completely sobering his expression. Dean’s eyes took on the flat, calculating appearance of him working out details in his head, putting together a pattern, sizing up an adversary.
They sat along the long side of an ‘L’ shaped section of the diner. Booths lined the two walls. Farthest from them on the short part of the ‘L’ was a booth with two people seated in it, the next two booths also two people, the booth at the corner had one person, next was an empty booth, then theirs, with he and Dean, two people. The two booths beyond theirs had one occupant a piece.
Dean quietly pulled a pen from his jacket pocket, took one of the napkins Sam hadn’t managed to shred yet and wrote 2 2 2 1 0 2 1 1. “Four two’s, three one’s and a zero.” He turned the napkin for Sam to see, but Sam didn’t bother to look at it, choosing instead to keep his eyes fixed on his brother.
“Do you think it’s related?” Sam whispered, leaning across the table to be sure only Dean heard him, still wondering who here was projecting voices at him. He wasn’t sure how to bring that up to Dean, knew he should but was inexplicably frightened to his core to do so.
What would Dean think if he knew? That you’re nothing but a freak?
Dean sighed, “I really don’t know. I want to get a look at the road. We need to check some things out, do a little digging.”
“No internet.”
“Then I guess we spend some library time before the daylight gives out.”
Freak, freak, freak. Put down the knife. Useless freak.
“What do we look for?” Sam rubbed his forehead, he couldn’t think straight.
“You okay? You haven’t asked what to look for since you were like twelve.”
“Yeah, I’m…I just…I can’t concentrate…I think there’s someone possessed here.”
Turned on your own kind.
Dean blew out a breath. “Of course someone is, Sammy, we just have to find out who. No way this is aliens, or
“Uh, Dean, do you know how crazy that’ll sound to them? Maybe we should just, ya know, keep that to ourselves?”
“Yeah,” Dean tipped his head side to side, “You’re probably right. Never worked out so well for us before anyway, telling people.”
Opened the Gates of Hell so they could all get out.
Sam looked up, meeting Dean’s eyes, not caring if he looked desperate and too young. “Can we get out of here? Please? I need some air.”
“Sure.” Dean slid from the booth, eyeing Sam suspiciously. As soon as Sam had pushed to his feet, Dean laid a hand on his shoulder, peering more closely at him. “Go on, wait in the car, I’m going to pay this, no matter what Kathy says.” This time Dean spoke with the tone that said he’d watch out for them, take care of everything. The tone Sam alternately hated and loved.
Today he was appreciating it, and grateful beyond words.
The Impala was a welcome haven, safe refuge from his racing thoughts and too many voices assaulting him. He relaxed into the seat, leaned his head against the passenger window and felt the pain and tension from his headache slither away.
Dean opened the door, climbed behind the wheel, holding out one hand to Sam. The two receipts and the napkin he’d written the order of the numbers on earlier. Sam nodded his thanks, stuffed the papers into his pocket. He flinched, startled when Dean’s fingers wrapped around his wrist, pulling his hand out of his hair.
“Sammy, quit doing that.”
Sam looked at his hands, now in his lap. His eyes were hot and stung with tears. “I’m sorry. I didn’t even realize I was doing it.” When he turned his head enough to face Dean, his brother’s face and voice softened.
Dean let out a deep breath, rubbed the back of Sam’s head a few times, then curled his fingers around Sam’s neck and squeezed. “It’s okay.” His voice was kind, patient in the way only Sam was permitted to hear.
+++++
Ridge Road…
Driving to the edge of town, to another road than the one they’d come in the night before, Dean followed the directions he’d gotten from Ernie just before leaving the diner.
Just as the man had said, there was an access road to his home, a solitary bunker, which made Dean snicker with amusement. He got a glimpse of the low building from the road. Ernie was definitely colorful. It was a half mile or so beyond Ernie’s private road the other men said the utility truck had been abandoned. The truck, an orange pickup sat at the roadside, flashers blinking, doors standing open.
There was no sign of anyone.
Without looking at Sam, or giving it much thought, Dean reached over for the second time since they’d left town, pressed against his young brother’s shoulder to still the slight rocking, then pulled Sam’s hand out of his hair. The kid was going to be bald before they got this figured out if he kept this up, and he’d for sure blame Dean.
The men in the diner said there was no reason for anyone to stop, for the car to disintegrate as they’d described what happened. Dean, however, could see a very tangible reason. He could see exactly where the road, and the world, ended.
Taking his foot off the gas pedal, Dean let the car coast gently to a stop before shifting into park then finally shutting down the engine. He let his gaze travel to Sam, who leaned forward, staring out the front window, one hand touching the dash, his lower jaw dropped slightly down. Maybe sensing Dean watching him, Sam turned to him, eyes a bit too round, skin a bit too pale.
There wasn’t much to say, so Dean said nothing. He eased from the car, keeping one eye on the end of the road, the other on Sam still sitting in the car, watching him intently. As soon as Dean stepped clear of the Impala’s front, the passenger door creaked open, Sam was out, moving fast to his side.
They stopped a few yards from it, necks craned back for a complete look. Dean took a step back, turned to follow the gray mist from horizon to opposite horizon.
“Do you see it?” Sam’s whisper was barely croaked out of his throat.
Nodding, turning back to his brother, “Yeah. I do.” He drew in an unsteady breath, “It’s gotta be some weird weather front, fog or something.”
Sam tossed him a yeah right look and took a few steps beyond him, moving closer to the gray. It rippled ever so slightly, shimmering from light refracted off its surface, though Dean could see it wasn’t from light coming through. This was what Sam had seen the day before? No wonder it’d shaken the kid to his very roots.
“It’s like we’re inside a bubble.” Sam’s voice shook, he moved forward, though seemed hesitant with each step taken.
Dean watched, unable to move, speak, or do much of anything other than watch Sam waltz right up to the gray wall. It’ll take him, take him, take him.
As Sam neared the phenomenon, Dean felt something similar to a low level electrical charge course through his torso. Staring down at his feet, he tried to work out where the sensation came from. A thunderbolt slammed through his brain when his eyes landed on his amulet. It was tingling, tingling! The thing had never tingled before. Ever.
Sam’s arm moved slowly up, fingers extended until his hand was level with his shoulder.
Tingling, freaking goddamn tingling.
Sam was within touching distance of the thing, leaning in toward it, fingers out. Too close, too close. He’s going to touch it. Sam’s going to touch the gray cloud. It’ll take him.
Terror as Dean hadn’t felt since he’d watched Hellhounds bolt through an opened door at him and grab him. Terror he hadn’t felt since Hell. A clear, vivid memory flashed through his mind, then was gone, leaving in its wake paralyzing fear. Something I should know. Drops of cold sweat oozed down his neck, between his shoulder blades. Heat. Alone.
It was going to take Sam, take him and swallow him whole. Take him to a place Dean would never reach him, no lifeline to Sam as had been provided by Sam to Dean. No rescue, no second chance, no nothing. Nothing. Alone. Gone.
The tingle escalated to a buzz that worked itself from his chest to poke into his ears.
Stop him!
It was going to take Sam, take him and never give him back. He’d be lost in the gray forever. Lost. Lost without me. Lost. Two not one. Sam would be lost.
Stop him!
A sharp jolt coursed from the point on Dean’s chest where his amulet rested, coursed a path along his ribs, then straight back to his spine. “Sam!” Closing the distance in a few strides, Dean’s fingers wound around Sam’s arm and yanked him back.
“Huh?” Sam turned wide, panic-filled eyes on him. Color dropped from his face as he looked between Dean and the gray barrier between them and the rest of the world.
Moving backwards, Dean tugged Sam with him. They stopped just in front of the car. He pulled Sam back until his arm was tucked against Dean’s chest.
“Do you think it’s from me?” Sam rasped, so softly that if he’d been a foot farther from Dean he’d have never been heard.
A weapon is only as good as the man who wields it.
“What the hell makes you think and say something stupid like that?” He didn’t mean for the question to come barked out so harshly it made Sam cringe.
“I just…maybe it’s that…the thing Ruby said I have…am…”
Dean’s fingers clamped down on Sam’s arm. Can’t have him, not this one, not Sam. Can’t have Sam. “No!” Dean snarled out.
Sam turned wide eyes on him, his face crumpled. It wasn’t Sam’s normal childlike expression he’d wear, it wasn’t childlike at all. Dean suddenly realized Sam’s expression was more like he was a child. Glancing away, at the gray nothing, Dean’s attention snapped back when Sam squirmed, didn’t try to pull away, but jostled his shoulder up and down and twisted his arm slightly, hissing an inhaled, “Dean.”
Dean’s eyes dropped to his hand on Sam’s arm. His fingers were colorless he gripped Sam so tightly. There were going to be bruises on the kid’s arm in a few hours. “Sor-sorry.” Softening his grip, though Sam still hadn’t tried to pull free. Dean drew in a deep, shaking breath, gazing again at the gray completely surrounding them. “We gotta figure this out. We gotta get out of here.”
“I’m scared.” It was Sam’s voice, Dean was sure, but not like he’d ever heard.
Yes you have.
The tone, inflection, Dean had heard it all before, lived with it every day of his life. It was Sam, more to the point a prepubescent Sam, before his voice deepened, before Dean had to teach him to shave, and he’d shot up in height nineteen feet.
Sam stood quietly shaking in Dean’s grasp. Staring at Dean with round, desperate eyes, the right half of his lower lip dragged between his teeth didn’t stop it from quivering every so slightly.
Fear swirled around him, around them, washing over and between them, invisible waves that dampened Dean’s skin, ones he could almost feel as if they were water dropping down on them. Sam felt it too, the waves radiated off him to roll between them. Every nerve in Dean’s body ramped up, prickling to life, creating almost a hum beneath his skin.
Sam never moved, stood stalwart and defiant against the onslaught despite his fright, unwilling to leave Dean’s side, even if Dean did let him go. That part of Sam was familiar as he’d always been. The rest of him was a brother Dean hadn’t seen in fifteen years at least. The little brother who’d face anything, no matter how terrifying, for nothing more than the glimmer of hope for approval from his older brother.
Another twist of his arm, “Dean, ow, come on man, that hurts.”
As fast as that, Sam’s voice, his entire demeanor was back to Sam. Twenty-five and very much himself.
Unbending his fingers, feeling how they popped and pulled from his efforts to hang on, and the return of circulation, Dean’s hand fell from Sam’s arm. Definitely poor Sam was going to have bruises to show for their encounter.
Dean’s hand dropped to his side. They both stood there, watching the grayness, feeling it. He heard Sam swallow, felt his body jerk ever so slightly. The back of Sam’s hand nudged Dean’s shoulder. “Dean. Look.”
Following Sam’s finger as he pointed to the scene around them, Dean’s mouth dried. He tried swallowing, but his throat was too tight, too dry. The utility truck’s flashers still clicked on and off, but that wasn’t what drew Sam’s attention, or Dean’s. The vehicle had been parked so it appeared to sit between twin sets of trees, two pines near the front, two flanking its rear. Next to the front set of trees were two rocks; near the back tires of the truck, on the road’s edge was a single rock. Dean’s eyes came to rest on the side of the truck, in large, block letters was the number one-zero-two.
12221102
“Four twos, three ones and a zero.” Dean wasn’t sure he’d actually spoke out loud until he felt Sam’s nod.
“Just like the other times.” Sam shifted his weight, stepped closer to Dean, surprising him. Sam stepped into Dean in a way he hadn’t done since he was a small child.
Dean stole a glance at Sam, expecting to see again the child inside the man. Sam’s eyes met his, clear, lucid, normal, adult. What the hell, just what the freaking hell? He considered the possibility maybe he was starting to hallucinate. What wasn’t hallucination was the gray blob of nothing surrounding them, things lined up in numbers they both saw, or Sam’s weight pressed against his side.
“Let’s get back.” Dean pushed the words out of his mouth with more effort than it should have been.
“Yeah, good idea.”
Once back in the Impala, Dean pulled deep breaths into his lungs, trying mostly unsuccessfully to settle his stomach and nerves. Without taking his eyes off the scene in front of them, he reached over, grasped Sam’s wrist and pulled his hand from his hair. At the same time he flattened the rest of his arm against Sam’s chest, ceasing his brother’s slight rocking motion. “Sam, stop it.” He’d kept his voice low and calm, but still a shudder ran through Sam.
“It’s me.”
“It’s not you.” Dean twisted far enough to look at his brother.
“How do you know? How do you know it’s not me, that it’s not the…bomb? That I’m not doing this somehow, or making all this happen?”
A weapon is only as good as the man who wields it.
“Because if it was you, I wouldn’t be afraid of it, I’d have no reason to be.”
Sam swallowed, pulled his eyes up to meet Dean’s, looking relieved and grateful and scared all at the same time.
“Sammy,” Dean returned to staring out the front windshield. “What did you do? How did you bring me back?”
“I didn’t let go.”
Dean studied him for a few seconds before pulling his hand away, cranking up the car’s engine. It wasn’t the complete truth but wasn’t a lie either. There was more to it, whether Sam remembered the specifics or not was irrelevant, Sam knew far more than he was telling. It was obvious Bobby had some clues considering the way Sam acted around him. Ever since Dean ‘came back’, Sam avoided looking Bobby in the eye as if the man could shoot him down with the plague using nothing more than a mere glance.
Easing the car into gear, turning back toward the town, Dean pulled Sam’s hand from his hair a second time, this time pressing Sam’s hand to the seat, and holding it there for a few seconds to make his point. He was quite certain that somehow this concerned Sam and he, they were involved in it, and probably far more deeply than either suspected. He was equally certain Sam hadn’t caused this, whatever this was. Dean knew Sam wasn’t the cause.
He worried the effect, however, might be something they’d never encountered and had no experience with.
Smokey Mountain Inn…
“Will you stop pacing.” Sam rested his forehead against the fingers of one hand; the other held a pen he tapped on a pad of paper. He sat on his bed, trying his damnedest to ignore his brother striding back and forth across the room. Every time Sam brushed his bangs away, Dean stopped moving and watched him like a hawk watches its upcoming dinner.
It was unnerving.
He couldn’t blame Dean, not one bit.
“Okay, what do we know?” Dean decided to stop his roaming back and forth and stood next to Sam’s knee.
Sam looked up, turned the paper so Dean could read too. “Not a whole lot. None of these numbers make sense, I can’t find any pattern, other than four two’s, three one’s and a zero. At least it’s not just me, you see them too.”
“Sammy,” Dean perched on the edge of the bed, took a deep breath. He looked bothered, upset by something. “Yesterday, when I was changing the tire for Kathy, is that what you saw? That gray…cloud?”
Nodding, Sam picked at the edges of the pad. “I didn’t know how to explain it.”
“Ya know Sammy, for a guy who never shuts up, you sure haven’t told me much lately.”
“Everything just,” he shrugged, groped for the right words, “went away. I was surrounded by it, by this empty nothing. I tried to warn you, tell you to get away, but when I tried to talk, nothing came out.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
Sam smiled sadly. “I don’t have to be psychic to know you thought I made it up.”
“I didn’t think you made it up. What I do think is we’ve had a lot of stuff happen, and we’ve got nobody but each other to talk to about it, and you…” Sam shifted sideways, smiling in earnest when Dean poked at his ribs. “…have a tendency to shut things up, mostly when you shouldn’t. I did give some thought to the idea maybe you—“
“Snapped.”
Dean sighed that noise that told Sam his patience was wearing thin. “No. I thought maybe you let your imagination get the better of you. That your vision was…”
“It wasn’t a vision,” Sam cut in quickly. “It was worse than any vision I’ve ever had. I wasn’t watching it, I was part of it. I could see you, I couldn’t hear anything, and I never moved. Like I said the ground just…went away. I don’t have any other way of describing it.” He moved his hand up, rubbing at the back of his head. Dean’s arched eyebrow was a warning, another few seconds and he’d be pulling Sam’s hand away. Sam saved him the trouble this time, letting his hand drop to his lap, resting it on the pad.
Dean glanced down at the paper. “So what do we have here, the same numbers popping up in all sorts of ways in seemingly random order. So far no two alike.”
“I have no idea how many combinations there’d be, so don’t even ask. I can’t even think of how to figure something like that out.”
“They add up to eleven, which is prime, which becomes two if you add one and one, so according to numerology, two means what? Eleven means what? We’ve got to have a list of that shit somewhere.”
“We do.” Sam looked pointedly at his laptop, sitting idly on the table across the room. Damn, didn’t he feel like one big failure just then. Dean depended on him for these bits of information. Not that Dean wasn’t perfectly capable of gathering bits of information himself, but Sam liked to research while Dean did not. Dean could put together patterns, see things others never saw like no one else Sam ever knew, but he needed information to help him, or to make sense of the patterns. It was Sam’s job to get the information.
He felt he was sorely lacking lately in holding up his end of the job, starting with not stopping the Hellhounds.
Rubbing his forehead, Sam kept his eyes on the pad, he didn’t want to see Dean, see the disappointment. “I’m having a hard time concentrating since I saw that yesterday.”
Dean snorted a short laugh. “I’d be worried if it didn’t have some affect. Hell, I can’t stop thinking about it either, and I wasn’t standing in the middle of it. Anyway, we depend on that thing,” he waved one hand in the direction of their computer, “way too much. Bobby’s got the right idea, books.”
“Bobby’s got a house,” Sam reminded him.
“And this town has a library. I want to know what some of the things people were talking about are,
Sam shook his head.
“Well what tipped you off? I didn’t see anything, or smell sulfur.”
“I heard them.”
“Them? That close you heard? Sam, I was right there with you, I didn’t see, or hear anything, so how could—”
“In my head.”
“In your…” Dean’s voice trailed off. He blinked at Sam, stared at him until Sam started to squirm.
Touching his temple with two fingers, moving them in small circles, Sam drew in a deep breath; he had to tell Dean everything, the truth. He couldn’t hold this in. It’d kill him if he tried. “In here, they were talking to me, in my head.”
Dean swallowed, wiped one hand slowly across his mouth, nodding. “Alright Sam, it’ll be alright. It’s all tied together, I’m sure of it. We’ll get to the bottom of whatever this is, we’ll figure it out. We always do.” This time Dean’s fingers rested against Sam’s knee, squeezing gently. “It’ll be alright.”
Standing, Dean started to move away, toward the door. Halfway there he stopped, turning to face Sam again, this time gaze boring so far into Sam he felt impaled by it.
“You think,” Dean began slowly, and Sam didn’t miss the slight tremor in his brother’s deep voice. “I don’t understand, I don’t know how it feels? Everyday, Sam, everyday I remember, I relive watching my brother die, feeling him slip away in my arms, and helpless to do nothing but watch. Sam, I know exactly how you feel.”
“It wasn’t your fault.” Sam said softly, staring at the bed on which he sat. “You didn’t turn your back on a man trying to kill you, leave him with a weapon to finish the job. You weren’t pinned to a wall—”
“I might as well have been.” Dean cut in quickly.
Anger, grief and guilt surged through him, pushing Sam off the bed. “You would have killed Jake, not left him to hurt anyone. You’re the one who gave up everything for me, and I’m the one who promised to keep you from dying, from going to Hell,” he was shouting now.
“I’m here!” Dean shouted back, standing his ground, not backing down. “And honestly, I’m damn glad you’ve got enough courage and compassion to do things like not kill people like Jake!”
“I’m the one who didn’t carry through, who didn’t make good on my promise to you.”
Dean sucked in a quick breath, paled a bit. His voice dropped, softened to nearly a whisper. “I’m here, Sam. Right here. I’m here and don’t think I don’t know the only reason I’m here, however it happened, is because you’re here too. My dying, it wasn’t your fault.”
“It wasn’t yours either.”
“Beating yourself up over this isn’t doing either of us any good. You’re not alone here, Sam. I know, know, what it felt like, what you went through. Why the hell do you think I made the damn deal in the first place?” Dean’s voice escalated again, until he shouted the last few words at Sam. He backed up a few paces, not for distance Sam understood, but to tone down any hint of threat, voice softening Dean’s eyes never wavered from his. “I’m sorry for everything you went through the whole year beforehand, I am, Sammy I really am. But it’s over, we’re both here, and it’s time to let that go. We need to move on.”
Dean was right, it was exactly what they both needed to do, let go and move ahead. Problem was Sam didn’t seem to be able to. He’d wake up more nights than not, having relived watching Dean die, his body slashed and bloody. The time between then and when he’d woken up in the caretaker’s shack in
There were times he caught Dean watching him, just looking at him when he thought Sam couldn’t see or might not notice, but Sam did. He knew Dean wondered, would always wonder, what had Sam done? Maybe the bigger question was what had Sam become?
Dad said I might have to kill you Sammy.
Now, trapped in this town, Sam wasn’t able to grab onto a single thought long enough to do much good. Ideas slipped through his mind, elusive and fleeting. There was something, he was certain. Something connected to hundreds of demons being released, to his brother dying and reappearing, alive and well a week later. If only he could grab it, hold it, maybe he could make some sense of it.
If I couldn’t save you I’d have to kill you.
Dean was there, with him, at his side, just as always, his big brother, best friend and protector. Sure and competent, the same warrior he’d always been, maybe even more so now. The same island of safety Sam had known since he was a baby. Dean had been given back to him, a gift. Sam was no fool. He had no delusions, the reason rested with himself. He’d been given the gift of his brother’s life because what he had—bombs go ka-boom—what he was, he strongly suspected, was no gift at all.
Remember what I taught you.
Sam remembered alright, he’d learned one lesson above all others exceptionally well. Nothing, repeat nothing came before family, and there was nothing he wouldn’t do for Dean. No matter what Dean’s opinion on the subject was.
“Sam?” Dean snapped his fingers near Sam’s nose. “Sammy? You in there?” He wasn’t being a smart ass; there was genuine concern all over his face, in his eyes.
Eyes darting to Dean, Sam nodded spasmodically. “Yeah. Sorry.”
“Are you okay? You completely zoned out on me for like two or three minutes.”
“Sorry.”
“So what was it going through your head, what were you thinking?”
Sam bit his lower lip, hand slipping up so his fingers could wind in the ends of his hair. “I don’t really remember.”
“You sure you’re okay?”
“Yes,” Sam snapped. “Quit asking.”
“Sam, your eyes didn’t focus, you just glazed right over.”
“I—” He had no idea what to say, what to do, just that he suddenly felt small and uncertain under Dean’s scrutiny. Gaping at the floor between his feet, Sam fought to still his bouncing upper lip, angry and scared and frustrated with himself all at once.
Dean didn’t seem to notice Sam was flying through emotions faster than he could identify what he was feeling. Reaching out, Dean’s hand rested on his bicep, fingers tightening just enough to be reassuring. “Sammy.” Flattening his hand, Dean rubbed up and down Sam’s arm a few times. “Take it easy, kiddo. Breathe deep.”
He hadn’t even realized he was inhaling, exhaling in such rapid succession. The edges of his vision were starting to haze to black, he felt lightheaded. Licking his lips, wondering if he looked as spooked and nervous as he felt, Sam tried desperately to collect his scattered thoughts, pull them in and put them where they belonged. A few deep breaths, as Dean suggested, did make him feel a bit better, clearer. He concentrated on Dean’s fingers on his arm, focused on Dean’s voice.
“Stick with me, okay?”
Sam knew Dean wasn’t really speaking in the physical sense. Jerking his chin up and down a few times, “Yeah, that’s the plan.”
+++++
Cutter’s Landing Public Library…
Eyeing Sam, seated at one of the tables in a room off the main part of the library floor dedicated to resource materials, assured he was fine, Dean stepped farther along a row of books, letting Sam out of his sight for a few minutes while he scanned the books. At the same time, he was trying to eavesdrop a bit on the several groups of people huddled around tables and scattered throughout the main section.
He made a mental list of the words he heard flung around between these people, many of them upper level scientists, researchers, and executives of Tennessee Valley Authority. He was learning more than he’d ever wanted to know about the operation of the place providing the eastern half of the
Pulling a few books off the shelves, he headed back to where he’d left Sam.
Glancing up when Dean set a small stack of books at the corner of the table, Sam flipped a book around so it faced Dean. “Coronal Mass Ejection.”
Dean stood blinking at Sam; half shrugged with one shoulder and leaned over the table to see the book. “I knew that.”
Sam rolled his eyes, “
“Oh.”
“Yeah.” Sam chuckled softly. “And people think what we do is weird.”
“The people in the far corner are favoring some sort of nuclear war, but we didn’t see or hear any blast.”
“If the TVA was targeted, we wouldn’t be here talking about it, we’d be vaporized.”
“That’s what I thought too. People at the table in the center,” Dean shifted his weight to one side while Sam leaned around him to see. “They’re thinking some sort of terrorist attack, maybe biological warfare, and we’ve been cut off. The two other groups are going over protocols and scenarios for disaster preparedness.”
“This stuff is pretty technical, honestly, I don’t even understand a lot of it. I’ve spent as much time looking up words as I have reading.”
“Hmmm.” Dean skimmed the pages of the book in front of him. Picked up another, thumbed through it, and repeated the same thing with a Scientific American magazine. The books, reference materials Sam had spread out were nothing above what any high school, heck middle school would have in their student libraries. There wasn’t a single concept, word, or phrase he didn’t understand, or couldn’t decipher.
Glancing at Sam, Dean literally felt his brother watch him with an intensity Sam rarely did. What he saw in Sam’s eyes sent shivers through Dean’s stomach and icy spikes down his neck. Confusion, fear, embarrassment.
“Yeah, this is all just techno babble if you ask me. These guys like to use four big words when one small one will do just fine.”
Some of the tension rolled out of Sam’s shoulders, appreciation replaced other emotions on Sam’s face, in his eyes. Neither one of them was fooling anyone, especially not each other. “Bet none of them can rebuild a car.”
That made Dean smile.
“Nothing I’ve read, that I can make sense of anyway, in any of this,” Sam waved one hand expansively over the table cluttered with books and journals, “Can account for what we saw on the road today, or what I saw yesterday.”
“No one else seems to have seen it, though there are a few who are saying they saw people, or vehicles disintegrate when reaching a certain spot in the roads, all the roads going out of town. What about the numbers?”
Sam tossed one hand in the air, let it drop onto another group of books, shaking his head. “Depending on what you want to read, and who wrote it, two mostly stands for Yin, relationships, balance. Eleven isn’t much other than its prime and adds up to two. One represents the individual, aggressor, Yang.”
“So, nada?”
“Pretty much.” He picked at the edges of one of the books. “I’m sorry.”
“For what, Sammy?”
“I’m not being very helpful.” He rubbed at his neck. “We’re trapped here.”
“Hey, we’ll figure it out, we always do. Some just take more effort than others is all.” Dean glanced around their part of the library again. “Did you find anything that might relate to the gray…shit I don’t even know what to call it, and maybe electrical fields?”
Sam shook his head. “No. Why?”
“When we were there today and you walked up to it, got close, I felt something.”
“What?”
“Like an electric current, tingling.”
“From the…cloud?”
It was Dean’s turn to shake his head. Hooking one thumb through the leather cord holding his amulet to his neck, he pulled it silently away from his chest.
Sam’s mouth opened, closed, he frowned then blinked at Dean. “From that?”
Nodding, Dean perched on the edge of the table. “It tingled, buzzed like someone plugged it in to a socket. It stopped when you backed away from…IT.”
“It tingled?” Sam sat back in his chair, hand moving to his head, fingers winding in his hair.
“Sammy, the most this thing’s ever done is bounce around between random sets of tits.” Dean reached across the table and pulled Sam’s hand down.
“Thank you, Dean, for that picture I could’ve lived my life without.” Sam snorted. “Maybe…I don’t know, maybe that cloud has some sort of charge? Your amulet is metal.”
“So is the car, and my belt buckle and my ring, and your watch. Did any of those things tingle?”
“No.” Sam’s voice was soft, shaky.
“Okay, you keep looking. I’m going to mingle a bit,” Dean jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the groups of people, “See what I can find out.”
Wandering from table to table, Dean didn’t say much to the others, just listened in, every few minutes casting a glance in Sam’s direction. His brother seemed himself again, as if some switch had been flipped. Sitting, forehead resting against his fingers, Sam was completely engrossed in whatever he was reading, making the occasional notes on a pad resting under his free arm. Curiously, Ernie was also a prime topic of discussion, making Dean smile a bit.
Another glance at Sam, and Dean froze. Sam was no longer reading, no longer sitting relaxed and half slouched over his table. Now he was rigid in his chair, pale, breathing rapidly, eyes rabbiting between Dean and a group of people in the farthest corner. Moving nothing but his eyes, not wanting to draw attention to either of them, Dean followed Sam’s gaze.
He studied the group of people at the farthest table. There were three chairs. Clustered around the closest chair were three people, standing a few feet from one another. The second chair had no one near it. The third had eight people, each standing in pairs. The hair on the back of Dean’s neck rose, he felt as if tiny feet danced a pattern along his arms and back, raising gooseflesh.
11102222
When Dean turned back to the group he stood near, he sucked in a quick breath and shoved his hands in his pockets to steady their sudden trembling. The people he’d been standing right beside were gone. Their books, purses, pens, other possessions sat scattered on the table just as they’d been a minute before. Turning a circle, Dean took in the rest of the people in the library, still where they’d been. He’d heard nothing, no rustle of clothing when someone moved, no scraping of a chair leg as someone stood up, nothing. He’d been close enough to some of them to touch without taking a step, yet they’d all just left without him hearing or seeing any of them move.
They’d vanished.
Panic rocketed through him as he spun on his heels again, seeking out Sam. His mouth dried, his breath caught and held in his chest until Sam came into his line of sight.
His eyes met Sam’s.
One final glance at the table behind him, Dean turned back to Sam, sudden relief flooding him that Sam sat where Dean left him. Moving fast, he closed the distance between him and his brother in seconds.
“Did you see anyone leave?” Dean hissed, pointing behind him without turning away from Sam.
“No,” Sam barely whispered. “Those people over there,” he nodded at the group still standing around the three chairs.
“I saw.”
“One, one, one, zero, two, two, two, two.”
“Yeah. Sam, the other table?”
Sam shook his head. “When I looked back every one was gone.” He looked up at Dean, eyes wide. “Just gone.”
“Sit tight, I’m going to check outside, see if I can find them.” Dean tapped the table top lightly, took two steps and stopped. Sticking one hand in his jeans pocket, Dean’s fingers skimmed his cell phone. Pulling it out slowly, he held it as he pivoted back toward Sam, who held his own phone in his hand.
They split up plenty on hunts; it wasn’t anything unusual for them. However, what was unusual was having no communication between them when they were separated. Out of sight did not mean out of mind or out of touch. Again, his eyes met Sam’s.
Back to the table, close enough he leaned his hips into the side opposite his brother. “Not a good idea.” Dean started gathering up the books, closing them and stacking them to make carrying them easier. “We’ll take it on the road.”
“I can’t make copies, and I don’t know if we can take all this.” Sam was already on his feet, moving around to Dean’s side of the table.
“Then we’ll come back.”
Sam nodded. Dean did a quick look around their floor of the library. Everything else was as it had been ten minutes before. They headed down the steps. Sam twice brushed Dean’s elbow with his fingertips, letting him know he was right behind him. Dean was grateful for the silent communication. They searched the first floor quickly, still not seeing any of the missing people. Sam ducked out the front door, hanging onto it as he swung his upper body one way, then the other to see who was on the street. Looking back at Dean, he shook his head.
Dean snagged Sam’s jacket between two fingers, pulling him back inside. They stood there for a few minutes, just looking around. Everything seemed fine, peaceful, quiet.
“Let’s just grab a few things to go through at the motel. We can come back for more.”
Sprinting up the steps and across the room, they were both confronted with the fact that yet a second group of people was gone. “Back door?” Sam suggested weakly.
“Uh huh.” Dean helped Sam gather his notes and pack up his bag, stuffing a few of the books inside. “We’ll return them later.” The urge to get out of the building flooded him, he could feel it building behind his eyes like a pressurized pot ready to blow.
They headed back to the main entrance, stopping to listen to two women, words about their friends just vanishing rushing out of their mouths. Dean stepped forward, about to question them, when one turned to him, grabbed his wrist, nails digging into his flesh. Her wide eyes focused on a spot just behind him. He was about to swivel around to see what had her so freaked when he heard a thud against the floor.
“What’s wrong with him? What’s he doing?” She nearly shrieked at him.
Sam was on his knees, eyes scrunched shut, hands clutching at his head, incoherent words babbling out of his mouth, and damn wasn’t Dean getting tired of people in this town asking what was his brother doing?
“Dean, coming, it’s coming! It’s going to take me, don’t let it, don’t let it feed on me.” Sam’s voice was high pitched, childish, from the time before he even knew what hunting was. “Feeds on kids, sucks their souls. Man with yellow eyes, he’s following us.”
Luck was not with him today. Not really surprising.
“Seizures don’t cause that!”
Dean ignored her. Sam was scrambling across the floor, away from him. Dean dove after him. “Sam! Sammy!” Grabbing Sam’s shoulders elicited the immediate response of Sam’s hands latching onto Dean’s arms.
“In my head, he’s in my head, says shoot, shoot, don’t want to shoot…Dean! I shot you. Jessica’s burning, everyone burns.” Sam’s words rushed out of his mouth so fast Dean was having a hard time piecing them together, making sense of Sam’s nonsense.
“What sort of freak is he?” The woman shouted.
It was a good thing for her Dean was so preoccupied hanging onto Sam, or else he’d have punched her right in the mouth.
“He’s not a freak!”
Dean jerked around to face Sam again when Sam’s fingers clamped on his biceps, shaking him, eyes so wide Dean thought they’d pop right out of Sam’s head. Sam shook him again, shouting at him. “It’s nothing, there’s nothing, just nothing, it’s gonna swallow us up. World is ending, ending…yellow-eyed demon, he’s coming for me. Jake killed me, you’re dead…Dean’s dead, don’t die, don’t leave me.”
Hands firmly gripping the sides of Sam’s head, Dean forced his brother to face him. “Sammy, I’m here. We’re here. It’s okay.”
Tears streamed down Sam’s face, his breathing such rapid pants Dean thought he’d hyperventilate and pass out. “The world is gone, nothing left, just gray, gray everywhere. It’s inside me; she’s inside me, taking over. I didn’t want to kill him…where’s Dean? I want to go home, I can’t find Dean.” His voice slipped disturbingly between that of a child, and his normal adult timbre.
Getting away from him, Sam half ran, half fell across the floor, knocked into a stand, sending it and the books stored on it flying in all directions.
“Sam, shut up.” Dean hissed. Darting after Sam, he managed to get a hold of him an instant before another spinning book stand was sent crashing down. Kicking Sam’s legs out from under him, stopping him, Dean pulled him up to his knees, shaking him so hard Sam’s head whipped back and forth a few times.
The woman screamed, drawing both his and Sam’s attention to her. She stared at the floor next to her. “She’s gone. Just gone. She was here one minute then when I looked again…she was gone.”
Dean stared at her, then it registered, there had been two women standing there. He’d wanted to ask them questions when Sam decided to have his…whatever it was Sam was having. If this was a vision, then it was the mother of all visions, like no vision Sam had ever had. He shifted his weight so he could watch her and Sam, at the same time keeping himself firmly between them both.
“It’s coming, the end, everyone gone. Gone! I can hear them,” Sam’s fingers twined in his hair, pulling his own head one way then the other. “She’s
“What did he do?” She shrieked.
“I’m sorry. I’msorryI’msorryI’msorry.” Sam chanted, rocking faster. “Bomb, I’m a bomb, I didn’t mean it, I’msorrysorrysorry. Two, two, zero one, one, two, two, one…same numbers…same…same…bomb went off, bombs go off, didn’t mean to.”
Sam’s arms slid around Dean’s shoulders, his forehead pressed against Dean’s shoulder blade. Reaching back, Dean wrapped one arm around Sam, trying to quiet him. The eyes that met Dean’s were wide, frightened, childish.
The woman backed away, eyes round, face white. “He set off a bomb? He caused this?”
Dean grabbed his panic, shoved it down hard and fast to somewhere deep in his chest, shoved Sam farther from the woman, standing in the same movement. Squarely between her and Sam, he shouted his frustration and fear. “NO! Seizures you dumb bitch, he has seizures and repeats what he sees on TV, which he is NEVER watching again!”
“Get back.” She screeched, throwing a book at them.
Twisting his shoulders, one arm over his head, Dean ducked away, using his upper body to cover Sam. The book deflected off his back, bouncing harmlessly to the floor. The woman ran from the building.
Turning back to Sam, who was tugging at his hair again, rocking, muttering things from their childhood, from when Sam was maybe four or five, things Dean barely remembered. Pulling him up, Dean searched out Sam’s eyes for something, anything of his brother, his adult, sane brother. Sam bit his lip, eyes dropping to the floor when Dean gently took hold of his wrists, pushing his hands down and away from his hair.
Sam’s knees buckled, starting his slide to the floor. One arm securely around his brother’s back, Dean eased Sam to the floor and settled on his heels next to him. Voices from the stairs to the second floor, where most the groups of people had gathered, had Dean’s head snapping in that direction. Swiveling on his heels, hands firmly on Sam, Dean scanned the area.
He doubted he could get Sam back to the motel just yet. They’d walked here, not wanting to waste gas, which might become difficult to get soon with no power. They needed somewhere out of sight. Now.
There was a room off the main room, it was small, had a door and no window, so no natural light. Three of its walls were lined with magazine racks filled with tax forms. Pulling Sam with him, Dean scooted through the doorway, pushed Sam against a far wall and kicked the door closed behind them before settling next to his brother, one arm wrapped around Sam’s shoulders, bracing him close.
Tears welled in Sam’s eyes, “You mad at me?”
“No.” Dean said softly, shaking his head. “Of course not.” Pressing the palm of one hand against the side of Sam’s head so his face pressed into Dean’s neck, Dean whispered, “I want you to be very quiet for me, can you do that?”
A jerky nod was his response.
Dean couldn’t help the smile twitching at his lips. “That’s my boy.”
Watching the silhouettes and shadows from people moving about the outer room, they scrunched farther into a corner, deeper into the darkest part of the small room. Sam pulled his knees up to his chest, rolling into nearly a ball, fingers clutching Dean’s clothing. He didn’t make a sound, but Dean felt how Sam’s breath hitched every few seconds.
“Demons coming, they’re coming to take us. Everything is gone.” Sam whimpered the words out against Dean’s side.
Bracketing Sam with his arms and legs, Dean leant down, breathing words into Sam’s ear. “I’ll kill the demons, Sammy. You’re going to help me.”
Those seemed to be the magic words. Sam immediately relaxed, his breathing evened out and he slumped unconscious against Dean. Leaning back, taking a few deep breaths, Dean squeezed his eyes shut for a few minutes. When he opened them there were people outside the room. He watched them mill around, some picking up the books Sam had knocked down. No one seemed to be searching for them.
Their words floated at Dean. Generators, old ones, the few that did work proved there was no TV reception, or radio, internet, phone lines, no communication in or out. Nothing but static was given up by any device used to reach the outside world. No proof one way or the other the outside world still existed. He found his breath coming easier, his muscles stopped trembling and he relaxed as the groups left that part of the library.
It wasn’t until Sam shuddered awake Dean realized he’d dozed off too, adrenaline crash.
Pulling away far enough to sit straight, Sam looked around, the confusion in his expression grew as his eyes flitted from one thing to the next, barely landing on anything for more than a split second. The fingers of one hand gripped the fringe of Dean’s jeans.
“Sam?” Dean kept his voice low, even. The last thing he wanted to do was set off another—hell Dean wasn’t even sure what to call it—and send his brother spiraling down to wherever he’d just emerged from.
Sam’s eyes lifted to his, focused on him for a few seconds before he drew in a shuddering breath. “What happened?”
“Do you remember anything?”
Eyebrows scrunching together, Sam rubbed his forehead. Pressing his eyes shut, shaking his head, “I don’t know, it was…Jess, and Meg, a shtriga…but I was little…and…I hurt…hurt you…didn’t want to…”
“Hey, hey.” Dean leaned forward, taking Sam’s arm, “Look at me, Sammy.” He gave the arm a shake. “Sam.” This time his tone was firm, leaving room for nothing but obedience.
Sam looked at him, eyes too bright, too glassy. “What’s happening to me?”
Dean could only shake his head slowly. “I don’t know Sammy.”
“There’s voices.” Sam rubbed his temple.
Leaning forward until he could catch Sam, rest both hands firmly on either side of his brother’s neck, Dean squeezed. “The only voice you listen to is mine, you got that? Ignore the rest.”
Dean could only hope he’d be able to ignore the icy rock of fear building in his middle. Sam mentally unstable was something that sent spikes of terror through Dean, ones he had no idea how to control or even cope with. His head whirred with what ifs and scenarios he had no ability to stop, but at the same time had no desire to even consider. Would Dean be able to keep control if Sam couldn’t? Was the influence he exerted going to be enough, and if not would he be able to keep Sam hidden away well enough to keep him from threats, from being a threat?
“The numbers, they were in my head too, with the voices.”
Dean’s hand wiped over his mouth. “It’s here, all this, it’s intertwined somehow.” It had to be, before they’d driven into this crap town Sam had been fine, perfectly fine. People don’t just go crazy overnight, do they? Dean had no clue.
“Maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m causing this.” Sam whispered, voice raw and rough.
“NO!” Anger swelled to replace the fear. Sam was not at fault, he wasn’t, not in the least. Dean shoved away from Sam, to his feet. He stood over his brother, glaring down, shaking a finger at him. “No. You aren’t in anyway responsible for this, so just stop that crap right now.”
Sam flinched, but didn’t move away. Dean didn’t give a damn right then if he scared the kid or not.
“Something is doing this, screwing with us, with these people. You’re getting caught in the crossfire. But you sure as hell are not responsible. Do you understand me?” He snapped out the last few words in a voice barely above an exhale, but harsh and determined nonetheless.
Sam nodded. “That woman might not agree with you.” He pulled up on the hand Dean offered him. They both glanced out the glass partition, the people had cleared out of the library, or at least that portion of it.
“Sam, they’re not going to…I won’t—”
Eyes softening, Sam ducked his head, the corners of his mouth turned up. “I know. That’s the one thing I always know, can count on.” He drew a deep breath, met Dean’s gaze once again. “It wasn’t a vision, it was like before, I was part of it, participating, but everything happened so fast, I couldn’t keep up. What I told you is all I remember.”
“That’s all right.” Dean patted Sam’s shoulder, “I think I got the gist of it. Anyone asks, you have seizures.”
Rolling his eyes, Sam huffed, “Great.”
“It was the best I could do under the circumstances. You okay to walk now?”
Sam nodded, seeming no worse for the wear. Leading the way out of the tiny room, Dean stooped and plucked Sam’s bag off the floor, slinging it over his own shoulder. Sam gave him a bit of an odd look, then shrugged and trailed along beside Dean. “What else do you remember?” He glanced sideways at Sam as they stepped out of the library, into the early afternoon.
“Not much. I don’t even know where some of it came from.”
“You were talking about things from when you were pretty young, stuff I barely remember.”
Sam chuckled. “Yeah, cause you’re sooo much older than me.”
Pushing his elbow into Sam’s side hard enough to make his young brother sidestep a few paces to keep from tripping over his feet and ending on the pavement, “Smart ass.” Dean smirked. In reality, the past few hours he’d felt more like he was twenty years older than Sam not four and a half. “Did you have any warning, feel different, even in some small way?”
“No.” Sam gave him a quick glance then watched his feet hitting the sidewalk.
Reaching out, Dean laid one hand on Sam’s closest shoulder, he knew that tone of voice. A gentle pat and squeeze rewarded him with a relieved look and small, quick smile from Sam. “Don’t sweat it Sammy. That was a long shot anyway. Your other visions never had warning either.”
“These weren’t visions.” Sam’s voice was soft and low.
“Yeah, I know, but what else do you want to call them?”
Sam huffed a breath but didn’t comment.
“We need to keep an eye on Ernie, he could be useful. No one seems to know what he does, but he’s got plenty of money, has his bunker set up for the next world war…well actually the alien invasion.”
“Alien invasion?”
“You betcha. Interesting thing about aliens—” Dean’s words were cut off as he and Sam rounded the corner to the street their motel was on. There was a plaza across the street from the motel. “Hey!”
Two men, maybe in their late forties, ran from one of the shops in the plaza, arms laden with cardboard cases and bags of fruit. A third man chased after them, stopping when one of the thieves swung around, punching the third man hard enough to send him sprawling back through the doorway of his store.
“Shit.” Sam darted around Dean, chasing after the two men.
“Sam, where…get back here.” Dean stopped long enough to haul the stunned man to his feet. “You okay?”
The man looked him up and down, nodding and looking plenty dazed. “You’re not from around here.”
“No.”
“Thanks.”
“You’d better sit down for a few.” Dean pushed the man back, propped him against the counter, peering closely at him. “You are okay?”
“Yeah.”
Without waiting for more conversation he sprinted after Sam. Catching a glimpse of Sam slipping around the end of the plaza Dean headed that way, rounding the corner in time to see Sam pull up fast, hands high in the air he back pedaled a few steps before stopping.
“Wait, come on, you don’t need that.” Sam’s voice dipped up and down, covering a few octaves.
Without much thought Dean ducked in front of his brother, immediately drawing the attention of the pistol aimed at Sam to himself. “Whoa. Calm down.” He held one hand out, pushed against Sam with the other one.
“Get back. We’re not going to starve.” The man not holding a gun on them shouted.
“You’ve got beer and oranges. That’s hardly going to sustain you.” Dean shot back.
“Dean.” Sam hissed in his ear, using his arm under Dean’s to nudge his brother’s hands up.
The man fired, hitting the wall behind them and just to their right, causing both brothers to duck away.
“It’s beer and oranges. Put the damn gun down and think about it.” Dean quelled his shaking insides and put as much authority into his voice as he could.
“Come on.” The other man tugged on his buddy’s arm.
The distinctive click of a pistol being cocked and a cleared throat had all four turning. “I’ve seen you at the shooting range, you couldn’t hit the broad side of this mountain so put that down before someone gets hurt. Keep the damn beer and oranges.”
Dean immediately recognized the newcomer as Ernie.
“These boys,” Ernie tipped his head at Dean and Sam, “don’t want any trouble, and I’m sure you don’t either. I sure as hell don’t want to waste my ammo on you. We might need it for more important things.”
Backing away, the other man’s weapon leveled directly at Sam’s head. His eyes, however, never wavered from Dean’s. “Move and he gets it.”
“Not moving.” Dean shot Ernie a glare that clearly read he didn’t care about either gun, anyone moved and Dean would stop them with his bare hands if necessary. “None of us.” Dean’s threat might have been wordless, but it wasn’t empty.
Ernie seemed to understand. Nodding once, he lowered his pistol.
The two men stared at them for another few seconds before the armed one tucked his gun away, and backed up, pushing his friend behind him. When they reached the back of the building they both turned and ran, out of sight in seconds.
“Are you all right?” Dean barely had the words finished when Sam was echoing them.
“This has been happening all morning. People, friends, just turning on one another, acting like insolent children.” Ernie slid his pistol into a shoulder holster. “Acting like they’ve forgotten how to be civilized folk.”
Taking in a few deep breaths, Dean rubbed the back of his neck. “This is nuts.”
“What they said earlier, about not being able to leave this area, it’s true. I checked it out, saw it for myself.”
“Yeah, us too. Did you see anything unusual?” Dean ventured.
Ernie shook his head. “No, just when anything reaches a certain spot in the road it vanishes, disintegrates. Seems some people have gone missing with no sign from inside the town too.” He turned to face Dean. “What about you?”
“No, we didn’t see anything.” Dean met Sam’s gaze for a beat.
“You really hunt aliens?” Sam blurted out. Dean immediately caught the change in his voice. It was awestruck, full of childish wonder and curiosity. Just like when Sam had been a small child.
Ernie caught the slight change in Sam’s demeanor too. He was bouncing a bit in place, fingers twitching at his sides, eyes flitting from Dean to Ernie, waiting Dean’s approval to speak to a stranger as if he were five again.
Dean watched as the other man slid his gaze over Sam, assessing, then his expression softened. He nodded. “I do.” He turned back to Dean, holding out one hand. “Ernie.”
“Dean.” He shook the offered hand. “This is my brother, Sam.”
“Hi, Sam.” Ernie shook Sam’s hand then stepped away from him. “You need to stay with your brother, not wander off.”
“Yeah, I’ll try and remember that.” Sam replied cynically.
Dean bit back a smile, hearing the sarcasm dripping out of Sam’s mouth with his words. Ernie’s eyes narrowed for a second, studying Sam. He’d seen it too, the shift between child and adult.
“Not too many folks being rational right about now. I’m glad there are a few left.”
While Ernie talked to them both, Dean had the distinct feeling he was being singled out as the rational one. The desire to run, get away, flee, crawled under Dean’s skin, trying to claw its way out. Problem was there was nowhere for them to go and no way out.
“Aliens.” Sam shook his head.
Dean snorted, glanced back at Sam, walking close to his elbow. “Interesting thing, from what I can gather, Ernie uses guns he’s modified and shoots saltwater bullets of some kind and he’s supposedly got saltwater grenades.”
Sam grinned. “High powered squirt guns.”
“It gets better. He’s got an underground bunker at his house, the walls are line with lead, salt and silver, and saltwater is piped through and around the property. The bunker walls are six inches of concrete, and from what I heard, he’s got enough food stocks to last a decade.”
“Wow.” Sam stopped, swiveled on his heels to face Dean. “That would be sorta funny if it wasn’t sorta—”
“So damn familiar?”
Sam nodded. “Yeah. We need to stay in contact with Ernie, he could be helpful.”
“I was thinking the same thing. It sounds as if what Ernie calls aliens are really demons.”
“Or maybe demons are aliens.”
“Whichever, it doesn’t matter, the result is the same. He’s got useful weapons, and has a better chance of not freaking out if he sees one for real.”
“Has he seen any?”
Dean shrugged. “I got all this information listening in on the people in the library.”
They started walking toward the motel again.
“Dean,” Sam’s voice over his shoulder was soft, quiet. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but we have to talk about it. How do we know I’m not responsible? I’m not the cause or the conduit?”
“You’re not. Stop it, Sam. You’re just not.”
“Why? Because you say so?”
“Yes, Sam, because I say so. Because it doesn’t make sense. Why would this happen now, and what purpose would it serve? As far as I can see, you’ve been affected more than anyone else, so how is that even remotely useful?”
Shaking both hands at him, Sam’s voice was thick and deep. “I’m hearing voices in my head, Dean. I see the same numbers in everything and people disappear. How can I not be involved?” When one hand lifted to his head, Dean intercepted, moving it away.
Dean pulled Sam from the middle of the sidewalk and into a doorway. He glanced into the overcast sky and wiped drizzle out of his eyes. “I saw the same numbers Sammy. You and I are, so far, the only people who have seen…” His voice dropped and he turned his back to the sidewalk and the people walking by when several of them cast suspicious, quick stares at them. Pushing against Sam’s arm, he moved his brother closer to the building they stood in front of. “We’re the only ones who’ve seen that barrier. Ernie didn’t see it, none of the others in the diner or library saw it. They saw the affects, that’s all. So tell me, since I’ve been with you each time, how do we know it’s not me?” Dean snapped the last few words out from between clenched teeth.
“You would never do anything like that, how could you?” Sam stared at him, challenging Dean to deny it was even a possibility.
“I guess you just answered your own question then, huh? The thing that really worries me is why us? Why are we the only two?”
“Either something, or someone wants us to know, or—”
“Or can’t prevent us from seeing it.”
Sam nodded. “What about the voices?” He pressed against the sides of his head with the heels of both hands, grimacing. “Dean, they won’t stop.” Sam’s eyes tracked another small group of people passing by. “And these people think it’s me. I can see it in their faces.”
“Yeah, well, if you hadn’t been yelling ‘I’m a bomb’ they might not.”
Sam flinched, eyes dropping to the pavement.
Dean scratched at the back of his head, sighing. “Sam, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
“I know.”
“I’m betting that whatever this is; whatever or whoever is causing it, it can’t stop us from seeing these things, or parts of them. I’m also betting that’s the source of the voices.”
“Like we’re being given clues?”
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“Or they’re not being blocked out. I’m not sure which. Whatever it is, we can’t do much while we’re trapped here.”
“Dean, these people—”
“Don’t worry about them, I got it covered. Those voices, you ignore them. I told you before, the only voice you listen to is mine. Okay?”
Sam nodded, looking unsure, but Dean knew one thing as fact, Sam did trust him.
He gave Sam a jab to the ribs, reached up and pulled Sam’s hand from his hair, “Get this. Ernie has a cannon.”
Sam rolled his eyes and stepped back onto the sidewalk. “We need to go back to the motel, go through what we took from the library, see if we can find anything. We need to find out why us?”
“We not only believe these things can happen, we’ve seen them, so we can’t be snowed?”
“Ernie believes in aliens. He didn’t see the barrier.”
“Maybe Ernie has no proof, he believes but doesn’t know.” Dean shrugged. “We’ve both died. I’m willing to bet we’re the only people here who have.”
“People die and are resuscitated.”
“I don’t think it’s the same thing, Sam.” Dean stopped long enough to unlock their motel room door and dump their bags on his bed. “We were both pretty significantly dead. Neither of us was resuscitated, we were resurrected.”
“You think demons are doing this?”
“You got any better ideas? I mean what else can possibly do something like this? We got two choices, demons or something else.”
Sam looked at the floor, then up at Dean. “End of days is God’s design, not demonic.”
“Oh for the love of…Sam, this isn’t the end of anything. It’s not God, we’re not reliving Revelations.” Dean yelled. “And it’s not you.”
“We’ve never seen a demon who can do something like this!”
“Maybe a few of them together then. I don’t know, Sam, I don’t. But divine anything, not buying that. What I will buy is if they can possess people, make you have visions, make people disappear and steal them away somewhere, then I can buy they are capable of this. Either way, Sam, we need to get out!” Throwing both hands in the air, Dean paced the room.
Sam nodded. It was plain, he wanted away from here as much or maybe more than did Dean. Sam’s face, his entire body language radiated guilt and sheer anxiety. Dean stopped and watched him for a few seconds. The fact Sam was so unsure of everything right then twisted Dean’s stomach to knots; he’d never seen his brother like this, even as a child.
“Look, we’ve got a few hours yet till it’ll be too dark to do anything. Let’s go grab something to eat and spend the afternoon going through this stuff. If we need to we can make another trip to the library before nightfall and we lose light. Whatever we do, we stick together, close together.”
“Okay.”
The fact Sam was willingly following along with Dean, no questions, no alternative ideas was as frightening to Dean as their current situation.
Malcolm’s Kitchen…
It wasn’t the fact the place was crowded that bothered Dean so much, it was the fact that when they walked in the general noise level lowered and more than one head turned to watch them. He heard the words bomb, responsible, taller one whispered among some of the people seated closer to the doorway.
Tensing, Dean shifted to give a quick glance back at Sam. Lower lip pulled between his teeth, Sam’s eyes darted around the diner before coming to rest on Dean. They didn’t have a choice, if they wanted food, this was the only place around able to provide it. Dipping his chin slightly, eyes meeting Sam’s steadily, Dean resisted the impulse to take Sam’s hand and physically hold him close. He wasn’t sure anyone could see the subtle shift Dean saw at once. Sam might have been the size of a full grown man, but in the blink of an eye, his mental and emotional state was anything but adult.
“Hi there sugar, just the two of you tonight?” The waitress Kathy identified as a bitch greeted them cheerfully. She winked at Sam. She wasn’t flirting and the act put Dean immediately at ease somehow. Leading them to a booth, she smiled, dropping menus in front of them. “Give me two shakes, I’ll be right back.”
Sliding into the booth across from Dean, Sam looked around the diner, suddenly looking small and defenseless. Turning back to Dean, he asked, “Did I do something wrong?”
“No, Sam, of course not. Everyone is just edgy because the power is out.”
Looking down at the table, Sam fidgeted. The discomfort in the room was settling over him. It was obvious by the way Sam avoided eye contact with anyone. Dean caught a few glares sent their way; he was practically assaulted by the tension aimed at the two of them.
A huge fountain type glass overflowing with chocolate milkshake topped with a small mountain of whipped cream was planted in front of Sam. He looked up, smiled brightly, eyes shifting to Dean, asking a long forgotten silent permission. Dean couldn’t help grinning himself. He gave Sam a nod, then turned to look up at the waitress.
“Thank you.” Sam slurped a huge amount of shake from the straw. “I’m Sam.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Sam. I’m
“My big brother, Dean.”
She turned to Dean, sizing him up and down, making Sam grin more. It was Dean’s turn to fidget. “How about you, big brother Dean, coffee?”
“Um…actually…” Dean pointed to Sam’s glass, “Can I have one of those too?”
“Sugar, a man as decent and caring as you can have anything on the menu. Never a charge for someone like you in here.”
Dean blinked at her, surprised. It was all he could do to keep himself from looking down, make sure he was completely dressed and hadn’t sprouted something.
Recognizing the woman from the library a few booths away with some other people, she cast a glance over her shoulder at Sam. Dean caught some of what she said, claimed it was seizures…said he knew about a bomb…never saw seizures do that…boy is just plain crazy, maybe dangerous, maybe it’s a ploy…was there when Mandy just vanished…
“Ya know,
Library woman withered in her seat and much to Dean’s relief shut her mouth.
Not knowing what else to say, even though he didn’t want any of these people thinking something was wrong with Sam, and grateful for the offered cover, Dean barely managed words around the lump in his throat. “Thank you.” Without much thought, he reached over and pushed his fingertips against Sam’s shoulder to stop his rocking motion.
“Whatcha drawing there, Sam?”
Sam’s hand stilled, dropping to his lap when
Catching her wrist, Dean gave it a squeeze. “Thank you. Very much, thank you.”
This woman’s kindness and misunderstanding might have very well saved them a lot of grief, might have saved Sam from something worse than bad gossip.
“I’m sorry, Dean.” Sam stared at the table after
Turning the paper around to see what Sam had drawn; Dean closed his eyes for a few beats and drew in a deep breath. “It’s okay this time, but you know the rules, Sam. You can’t draw this stuff unless we’re in the car, or our room.”
Gray mist filled the paper. Red eyes were scattered across the paper. In one corner was what could only be taken as a daeva, though Dean doubted the woman knew what it was. He was sure, however, she pegged it as monster, probably thought he let Sam watch too many scary movies. A ghostly outline graced the opposite side of the page. None of that truly bothered Dean much, it was the numbers scrawled across the entire page, larger than everything else.
0 1 2 1 2 2 1 2
“Don’t worry about it.” He quietly folded the paper and shoved it in his pocket.
Sam’s face morphing into something cold and hard, gaze trained on the diner door had Dean turning in his seat to see what was up.
Peter stood in the door way, his eyes were red and puffy, dried stain trails streaked his cheeks. The minute the boy made eye contact with Dean, he darted through the diner, straight at them.
“Have you seen my mom? My brother and sister?”
Shaking his head, ignoring how Sam snapped the crayons into small pieces, Dean kept his voice low, calm. “No. I haven’t.”
“I-I—” The boy hiccupped and wiped one shirtsleeve across his nose. “We heard about people just vanishing. I went to my room to get my sleeping bag; we were all going to camp out in the living room, stick together. W-wh-when I came back out—” Peter’s face crumbled, tears slipped from his eyes. He glanced at Sam and took a step back.
At once, Dean reached out, took Peter’s arm, and tugged him into the booth, scooting over to give the boy room. “Hey, it’ll be okay.”
“They were gone. I looked everywhere. Their stuff was right where they’d been standing. I never heard the door open, nothing.”
“Hey, hey, slow down.” Dean pointed around Peter to where
Peter nodded, wiped his nose on a napkin Dean offered, and slid free of the booth.
“I don’t like him. Don’t want him staying with us.” Sam hissed out.
“We can’t leave a little kid alone here.” Dean realized he was speaking to a littler kid. “It’s just for a night or two, till his mom gets back. I promise.”
Sam glared, eyes following Peter as he made his way back to the booth, slipped in beside Dean again. He looked between the two, tentative, as unsure as Sam. Dean worked to calm his insides when a few less charming aspects about Sam as a small child came back. Barely having to share Dean’s attention with anyone, other than John…yeah that worked out so well…Sam had never been friendly with anyone who in his view took Dean from him. Once in school that trait had eased off, though never really gone away. The only difference was an adult; Sam dealt easily with those feelings, wasn’t prone to jealousy, knew he was number one in Dean’s world, and didn’t often pose a threat to some stranger catching Dean’s attention for a short time.
Dean leveled a sharp look at his brother, held up one finger and lifted an eyebrow. You will behave and be polite. Sam scowled, shoved his shoulders against the back of the seat, crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the table until their food arrived. Bossy. Good thing for Dean, what Sam hadn’t lost or forgotten was the fact that as a child Dean was his caretaker. When Dean doled out authority Sam complied.
Peter’s face was open and readable. Sam scared him. Which made him shift even closer to Dean, which angered Sam even more. Dean needed to find this kid’s mother, and find her fast. One petulant, stubborn, jealous, smart-assed brother was enough for any lifetime, he sure didn’t need two.
It was going to be a pleasant afternoon.
Street Outside Malcolm’s Kitchen…
Sam shook off the feeling of wanting to throttle Peter, as well as the guilt washing over him every time Dean slid a glance in his direction. He struggled to keep Dean’s voice in the forefront of his mind. It seemed every unseen thing demanded his attention. It was disorienting to say the least. Dean alternated between looking like he was afraid Sam might break, and wanting to beat him into pieces with his bare hands.
Not that Sam blamed him. Frightening small children wasn’t usually on Sam’s list of things to do, but he’d sure managed to do a fine job of scaring the shit out of poor Peter. The emotions broiling through him were almost uncontrollable. He’d wanted to kill the kid for no other reason than Dean paid attention to him for five minutes.
The boy made him uncomfortable and jumpy in ways Sam was barely accustom to. He couldn’t put his finger on it, his thoughts were too scattered, but there was something just under the boy’s surface that set off dozens of unpleasant reactions. It was as if thousands of invisible thistles prickled along his skin at once.
Dean’s fingers winding around Peter’s arm, moving him between he and Sam sent another few thousand thistles spearing Sam’s skin, anger and hate welled up, pooled in his chest and threatened to asphyxiate him.
Sam shoved his hands into his pockets and clamped his lips shut. Dad said I might have to kill you, Sammy.
“I’d like to look around your house.” Dean was talking to Peter, but giving Sam a nearly continuous stream of glances, silently demanding Sam pay attention, focus on Dean, and stick close.
It was something about his brother Sam was well acquainted with. He could comply in his sleep. In fact, he was sure he had in more than one instance. So, Sam moved along the sidewalk, trying to stay focused on the sound of Dean’s voice.
“Okay.”
Sam caught a glimpse of Peter’s gaze shifting to him, along with Dean’s. Swallowing hard, Sam nodded and tried desperately to appear in control, sucking deep gulps of air into his lungs. Tiny spears prickled his skin unrelenting now, shards of pain lanced across every part of him.
Like flipping a switch, it’s so easy. Put down the knife, turned your back. Dad said I might have to kill you, Sammy. Seri, take your brother outside, run as fast as you can. Max shot Dean. Dean’s too still in the car—Dean!
Can you at least tell me if they’re alive? You were always my favorite, Sammy.
SAMMY!
I don’t want to hurt you. Shoot, shoot me, don’t want to hurt you, Dean shoot me, you’re the only one who can. Watch out…watch out…
“
Back connecting with a thud against the closest building, Dean’s fingers gripped his arms with enough force to hurt. Pulled away, he was shook, and again shoved into the wall. “Sammy!”
Bracing against Dean’s hands, Sam pulled his gaze up from the blurred sidewalk and looked around.
“Sam?” This time Dean’s voice was softer. He put one hand on the side of Sam’s head, forcing him to look directly at Dean.
“I-I’m s-s-oo-rry. Sorry.” A few hitched breaths, and Sam managed a look around.
Dean had him pinned to the side of a building. Peter stood a few feet away, ashen and shaking. Over Dean’s shoulder Sam saw a few people. A man, maybe in his forties, with dirty red hair and holding a butcher knife glared at him.
“You with me?”
Jerking a nod, Sam croaked, “Yeah.”
Hand sliding down to his arm, squeezing gentle and reassuring, Dean stepped back, cleared his throat and offered Sam a small, anemic smile. “You sure?”
Another quick jerk of his head. “What’s happening?”
Dean twisted to look around behind him, then turned back to Sam. “We have to get out of here, make ourselves scarce for a while.”
“Seizure?” Sam faltered and leaned against the wall.
“Yeah.” Another soft squeeze and Dean’s hands were gone. Turning to Peter, he patted the boy’s shoulder, “It’s okay, he’s not as scary as he looks, I promise.”
“Hey! You! We need to ask you a few things!” The guy with the butcher knife started across the street, heading toward them.
Dean herded Sam and Peter away from the man, putting himself between them. Sam grabbed at his arm, but Dean shook him off, advancing on the oncoming man.
One arm held out in front of him, the other behind his back on his gun, “Look, buddy, we don’t want any trouble. My brother has seizures. That’s it, nothing more.”
“Then he won’t mind explaining what the hell he was babbling about.”
“He doesn’t remember. It’s nothing.” Dean backed away from the man, used his shoulder to push Sam and Peter back more.
“All this started when you two got here.”
Dean drew up, stepped directly in front of the man, then shoved against this shoulders. “Then talk to
“Fine!” A second man darted forward, baseball bat in hand and swung at Dean.
“NO!” Sam shouted. Grabbing Peter’s shoulders he shoved the boy behind him while at the same time launched at his brother.
The bat hit Dean’s shoulder, but it was a glancing blow. Sam saw Dean jump nearly clear, his reflexes much faster than the man’s. The man with the knife darted around them.
“I’m stopping this!” Knife up, the man ran at Sam and Peter, screaming.
It was sheer reflex that had Sam turning his back to the man. He grabbed Peter, and despite the anger coursing through him when he made contact with the boy, Sam curled around him, and ducked. Holding the boy close caused nearly enough pain to make him let go. He gritted his teeth against the impulse to release him and shove Peter away and at the attacking men.
Pressing his eyes shut, Sam knew he’d hear it again, the ripping of his clothing sliced by the blade. He’d feel it, the white hot shooting pain as honed metal ripped through his flesh, tore muscle, shrieking apart nerves and shattering bone.
Sam was about to die, stabbed in the back. Again.
This time Dean wasn’t too far away. This time he wasn’t too slow. This time he wasn’t a minute too late.
This time he was right there. This time Sam wasn’t going to bleed out slumped in his arms, blood drooling from his mouth, the spark and light leaving Sam’s eyes, and at the same time Dean’s life and heart.
This time neither one of them were going to die.
Shouting, Dean swung around, fist plowing into Mr. Baseball Bat’s face, knocking him back. The man stumbled backwards, lost his balance, and hit the pavement with a meaty thud.
Not waiting to see what Mr. Baseball Bat was going to do, Dean spun, going from standstill to a full spurt in two long, powerful strides. With speed born of desperation, terror, and sheer need, Dean slammed his shoulder into Knifeman. The two of them hit the concrete, sliding a few feet.
Sam’s yelled plea of, “DEAN!” reached him in time. Rolling away from Knifeman, Dean reared back, kneeled on the arm holding the knife and punched the man repeatedly in the face. Knifeman got his hand free and swung wildly at Dean. A line of red followed as the knife sliced through his forearm. Ignoring the searing pain, Dean pounded his fist against the man, not caring where he hit, only knowing this lunatic wasn’t killing his brother.
He wasn’t watching Sam die again.
“Dean. Stop. You’ll kill him.” Sam’s voice, deep and desperate, got through the haze of anger. Sam’s hands grabbed at him, latching on and pulling Dean away.
Sam’s best efforts went south. As soon as Sam yanked Dean back and he was able to stagger to his feet, he was hit with a boot to his middle. Doubling over, harsh grunt pushed out between clenched teeth, Dean nearly fell over when Sam darted around him, pistol up he planted himself between Dean and his attacker.
“I mean it.” Sam snarled out.
The two men stopped, and for a few seconds seemed to think better of challenging Sam.
“You can’t shoot us both.” Mr. Baseball Bat had recovered his footing, and was coming at Sam, swinging.
Gripping Sam’s shoulder for support, Dean straightened, wincing away the pull against his ribs from the bruising and pain blossoming out to circle his torso. Pulling his own pistol free, he put Mr. Baseball Bat in his sights. A quick nudge to Sam’s side, and Sam’s aim was immediately focused on Knifeman.
Coughing, Dean snapped at the men, “We don’t know anything. We haven’t done anything or hurt anyone. Go home.”
Sam sucked in a breath and went very still beside him. The pistol in Sam’s grip trembled ever so slightly. Dean watched as Sam’s eyes flicked first across the two men, both of whom wore sports jerseys. Mr. Baseball Bat had the number ten emblazoned on his chest. Beside him Knifeman wore the number twenty-two. Each held one weapon high and in front of them. They were standing in such a position that they appeared to stand on either side of two doors in a building across the street.
2 1 0 2 2 1 1 2
Swallowing the acrid fluid trying to bubble up from his middle, Dean made good use of their hesitation, and the fact they were faced with two guns. Making a mental note to disarm Sam when they were safely inside their motel room, he pinched the skin over Sam’s elbow lightly. The second his brother’s eyes shifted to him, Dean jerked his head to the side. Sam lowered his weapon then tucked it behind his back.
Sam gave Peter a sour look but turned the boy around anyway and moved him ahead. Dean followed, keeping their attackers in his sites until they were half a block away.
The minute they were a safe distance away, Dean’s arm was claimed in Sam’s grip. He didn’t fight it while Sam wrapped a rag pulled from his jacket pocket around the wound on Dean’s arm. Gritting his teeth against the urge to pull back and snap out an I’m fine Dean reminded himself what shaky ground Sam had been on for months, even before Dean went away. Sam’s quietly desperate actions since they’d been trapped here focused even more on Dean. The cut was minor, more messy than anything else, but Dean recognized the sense of security it gave his brother to give him a bandage, even a crude one.
“You all right?” Dean pulled his newly bandaged arm away, shifting so his hand landed on Sam’s back. Sam swallowed and nodded. “How about you?” He tapped Peter’s shoulder.
The boy looked up at him and beamed. “That was awesome!”
“Yeah.” Dean grinned at him and wiped one hand over the boy’s head. “Let’s check out your house.”
Peter nodded. Sam’s sour look turned downright bitter.
Dean did his best impression of pretending to ignore them both while keeping a sharp eye on them.
It was a twenty minute brisk walk to Peter’s house. Pistol held out and down, Dean crept up the front steps. Nudging the door open, he darted a glance at Sam who stood at the base of the steps, Peter in front of him. Sam’s gaze skipped up and down the street then returned to meet Dean’s, offering him a brief nod.
Dean stepped inside the house, did a quick scan before ducking his head back outside. “C’mon.”
Sam and Peter each took the steps two at a time, coming to a halt beside Dean in seconds.
Peter slipped past them, heading toward the back of the house. “My room is back this way.”
Moving quietly, Dean reached out, taking firm hold of Peter’s shoulder. “Stay where we can see you.” Peter looked from one to the other. “Okay.”
Hearing Sam’s sudden intake of breath, Dean turned enough to catch a look at his brother. Sam’s fingers skimmed over something on a table near the door. He turned it so Dean could see. Two checks, number one-one-zero-one and two-two-two-one sat on top of a notebook with a large two printed across the cover. As calmly as he could, Dean reached over, pulled Sam’s hand away from his hair.
1 1 0 1 2 2 2 1 2
Dean reached around Sam and turned the checks over. They moved first through the living room, Dean’s eyes jumped from one thing to another, he saw Sam’s go twice as fast. Everything his eyes landed on seemed to have some combination of the same sets of numbers, three ones, a zero and four twos. As they followed Peter through to the kitchen and hallway beyond, Sam moved more closely behind Dean. Dishes were arranged in groups of two’s intermittent with single plates and a gap. Everything in the house was somehow arranged into the same numbers in different orders. Even the furniture and the sleeping bags Peter’s family had set up had the same pattern of numbers.
When they reached Peter’s bedroom door Dean felt the color drain from his face. A brief glance back at Sam had him hoping his kid brother didn’t pass out; he was too big to carry. Peter’s door was adorned with license plates from various states. The letters on the plates varied, but to a last each one had nothing but twos, ones and zeros.
“Dean.” Sam whispered, pulling Dean’s sleeve between two fingers and tugging for a few seconds. “We gotta get the hell out of here.” Dean felt the tremors vibrating in Sam’s hand.
“I’m gonna get some stuff.” Peter was inside his room, throwing things into a backpack, oblivious to either Dean or Sam.
A few minutes later they were back outside, heading to their motel. Dean’s chest loosened, the urgency crawling under his skin eased off. The feeling of a dead weight pressed between his shoulder blades lightened. From the looks Sam kept aiming in his direction, he figured the kid was experiencing the same feelings. Thankfully they managed to get to their motel quickly and without incident. Dean hustled them along, trying desperately and knowing he failed to shield Sam from the glares and pointed fingers aimed in his direction.
They needed out and needed out now before this got out of hand and someone got to Sam for real and during a period he’d be unable to defend himself.
Smokey Mountain Inn…
“Sam, gimme a hand with this stuff.” Dean lifted one of their duffels and bumped Sam’s chest with it.
“I’ll help you.” Peter jumped off the bed he’d perched on.
“No, you stay in here.” Dean opened the door, arching an eyebrow at Sam until his brother moved forward, with hesitation Dean thought. “We’ll be right there.” Dean pointed out the door at their car.
Standing at the corner of the car, so Peter could easily see him but not Sam who came to a stop directly behind the car, Dean lifted the fake bottom of the trunk, dropped the duffel in after taking out a few knives and another pistol. Sam stood, hand on the trunk lid, leaning in a bit and watching.
How the hell was he going to do this, say this? Frozen threads of uncertainty fluttered through his insides, skipped from his intestines to his chest, slithered up his throat and dropped back to his stomach.
Wiping one hand over his face, Dean steeled himself, “Sammy…give me your gun.”
“Huh?” Sam’s forehead was resting against his hand gripping the trunk. He rolled his head sideways enough to look at Dean, startled.
“You can’t…Sam you can’t walk around armed.”
Sam straightened. His confused expression flashed from angry to hurt in seconds. “Dean? Those people want to kill me, and you want me to walk around defenseless?”
“Sam, you’re not exactly defenseless without a gun. You know I won’t let them hurt you, but, Sam, you haven’t exactly been yourself since we’ve gotten here.”
The way Sam blinked at him, Dean knew he was pushing back tears. His eyes shimmered, lower lip pulled between his teeth, expression completely crestfallen now. “You don’t think I can be trusted?” It wasn’t much more than a whisper.
“Aw, Sammy, of course I trust you. But not an hour ago you were coloring on the kids’ menu, then snapping crayons and looking like you wanted to kill a thirteen-year-old.” Dean swallowed the barbs in his throat threatening to crack his voice. “Sam, something is wrong, and walking around with a loaded gun, Sammy…you can’t.”
“I didn’t do anything to Peter, or anyone.” Sam’s arms fell to his sides, his shoulders slumped, his gaze hit between his feet. “We back each other up, how can I do that now?” One tear got free, splashed on the ground between Sam’s feet.
Hand resting on Sam’s forearm, Dean squeezed. “Sammy, you gotta let me cover this one. We can’t risk an accident. You’re hearing voices in your head from people not there.” Releasing Sam, he turned his hand palm up. “I need the gun, Sam.”
Without looking up, Sam reached behind him, took his pistol and laid it in Dean’s hand. Dean wanted to curl into a ball on the ground and cry. He’d never felt so low or helpless in his life.
The fact Sam jerked away from him when Dean raised his hand, wanting to rest it against Sam’s neck, sent spikes of guilt and hurt through every bit of him.
+++++
“I’m not crazy,” Sam blurted, needing Dean to believe that so much.
Dean was right, of course. Sam’s brain was scrambled and no matter what he did to unscramble it, it just tangled and wove into more knots. He’d never give a five year old a gun, especially if that five year old was him.
Sam’s a bomb.
“I never thought you were.” Dean’s hand froze where it was. He didn’t move toward Sam, didn’t move away either.
His second best means of protection was being stripped away.
“Sammy,” Dean’s voice was rough and had a wet quality Sam rarely heard. “You don’t need a gun to look out for me. I’m not going to leave you; I’ll take care of the village idiots.”
Nothing bad will happen to you as long as I’m around.
“I know.” Sam did know too. It was one of the constants in his life; Dean always looked out for him. The question of his own safety never came to the forefront of his mind.
Took Dean, Hellhounds took Dean.
Dean put the gun carefully into the trunk and gently moved Sam back a step before closing it quietly. It was Dean questioning the safety of those around Sam that had his head spinning even more. He stood staring at the ground, not able to look at Dean, to see the disappointment he was sure covered his brother’s face.
“Sam, look at me.” It wasn’t a command, or even a question, it was a soft, desperate plea.
Sam couldn’t, he just couldn’t. He’d let Dean down in the most horrible way imaginable. Worse Dean had lost enough trust in him to leave Sam open and defenseless.
“Sammy.”
Nothing bad will happen to you as long as I’m around.
Shaking his head, Sam blinked back more tears and bit down on his lip. He and Dean were a team, and he’d dropped his end. Dean would always protect him, but now Sam was unable to protect Dean.
You’re not a killer, Sam. It’s not in your bones.
Dean let his arm drop to his side, bouncing it lightly off his hip a few times, then rubbed at the back of his neck. Sam didn’t want Dean feeling worse than he probably already did, but he couldn’t find it in himself to do anything but stand there.
He heard how Dean drew in a deep, shaky breath. “Don’t stay out here too long, okay. And stay where you can see me, please?”
Stay behind me. Nothing bad will happen to you as long as I’m around.
“Yeah. Okay.” Sam managed to get the words out, nod his head.
He watched as Dean walked away, shoulders drooped; head down…my fault Dean’s gone. Once in their room, Dean said something to Peter, a warm, easy smile spread over his face when Peter replied. Sam felt his upper lip twitch, his hands bunched to fists without his permission. Not taking Dean.
Dean had been wholly correct about one thing, Sam didn’t need a gun.
Sam’s a bomb.
He moved slowly, trying to slip unnoticed into their room and settled in a chair. He shoved his hands in his pockets so Dean wouldn’t see his white knuckles. His teeth dug into his lip hard enough pain lanced across his jaw…can’t let go, never let go, hold on, hold on. Peter’s fault…Peter’s fault…Dean’s in Hell, can’t let go…I want you to have it…I love it Sam, this amulet is awesome…don’t let go…Peter’s fault.
“Sam.” Dean’s quiet voice right above him, his hand on the top of Sam’s head made him jerk then go still. “Stop that.” Dean’s fingers wound around Sam’s arm then insisted Sam sit back, sit still.
He hadn’t even been aware he was rocking back and forth.
“You okay?” Dean’s voice was low enough only Sam heard.
He flinched and nodded. I kill things all the time, Dean.
“I’m gonna—” Dean’s thumb speared over his shoulder in the direction of the bathroom.
Sam nodded again, eyes following Dean as he moved back to the room door, shut it and double checked the lock, then wandered to the bathroom, giving Peter a thump on the shoulder on his way by.
Crunching further into his chair, Sam stared at his knees, grit his teeth together to keep from saying anything and dug his hands deeper into his pockets. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t silence the voice in his head telling him to get rid of Peter. The images were harder to ignore, Sam’s hands around Peter’s neck, snapping it.
Eyes flicking to Peter…easy, it’d be easy, be quiet…can’t let go of Dean…Peter’s fault…Sam shook himself, stood too fast and had to grab the chair as the room tilted and swam for a few seconds. Striding to the table, he snatched a book…I kill things all the time…backpedaled to his chair and dropped in it. With a huff he opened the book and threw it onto his knees at the same time. He’s a person…kill things all the time…Peter’s fault…took Dean.
“Do you have anything to drink?”
Sam’s eyes jumped to Peter. “Yeah.” He slammed the book shut, stood and strode to the door. Great he had to get the kid whose neck he was daydreaming of snapping a bottle of water from the car. “Get a grip Sam, he’s a little kid.” He muttered to the Impala.
You’d do anything for your little brother, wouldn’t you? You’re my big brother, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. Peter’s fault.
Deep breaths, he needed deep breaths and to banish the voices whispering through his head. Ducking into the back seat of the car, he nearly whacked his head yanking his upper half out fast. His shoulders slumped when he caught sight of Peter jogging down the street, away from their motel.
“Great.” Sam threw both hands in the air, and looked into their room. Dean was still in the damn bathroom.
Sam’s a bomb.
“I lost a stupid thirteen year old. I’m never living this down.”
Slamming the car door shut, Sam took off after Peter.
Bombs go ka-boom!
“Little bastard.” Sam growled, his own voice startling him.
Trailing after Peter, Sam tried desperately to shut the voices up. The more he tried, the louder they became.
Peter’s fault…Peter’s fault…You’re my big brother, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you…Hellhounds took Dean…Sam’s a bomb.
Sam started to run. Maybe he could outrun the voices.
I kill things all the time…Peter’s fault…We don’t kill people…Peter’s fault…
Kill…kill…kill.
Sam shouldered his way into the diner. It didn’t take him long to spot Peter. He had to grab the kid and get back to the motel. The last thing he wanted was for Dean to think they’d vanished as well. Of course Sam hadn’t thought of that until he was just a few steps from the diner. Putting a damper on the rage coursing through him at the sight of Peter, Sam took a few deep breaths. Ignoring the stares and heads dipping at him, Sam made his way quietly across the diner.
We can’t save them all.
Shoving thoughts of what Peter’s neck would feel like encased in his hands, he smiled politely to
Sam unclenched his jaw and teeth. Acting like a pissed off deranged lunatic wasn’t going to further his cause any. “Dean’s going to think we disappeared, he’ll be worried.” Hell, he’ll freak right on out like never before and rip this town to shreds in about six minutes.
Peter pulled away, or tried to, but there was no escaping the grip Sam had clamped on his arm. Looking from him to
“Honey,”
You were always my favorite, Sammy. Nothing bad will happen to you as long as I’m around.
Dean wasn’t here.
“I’m sure your brother wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”
How did she know what he was thinking? Were the words coming out of his mouth too?
Sam didn’t miss the way she looked around the diner, how she seemed nervous. More than one group of people had stopped their meal and their conversation. Entire groups of heads were turned their way.
Shtrigas take little boy’s souls…Dean stop it…
“That’s a funny word, shtriga, what’s that?”
Sam bit down on his lip to stop the quivering. He’d said that out loud? He had to have. I’m sorry Dean, shouldn’t say those things.
Do what we do and shut up about it. We can’t save them all.
Winding the fingers of his free hand in his hair, Sam scrunched his eyes shut for a minute. Think, he had to think and shut his mouth, and why couldn’t he just think? Get away, had to get away. Get Peter away, he couldn’t do much with the kid while surrounded by people. That thought startled his eyes open. God, he was scared of them, of this town, of himself. Where’s Dean? His brother never let him out alone, especially not when there was trouble. He’d even crossed the street by himself…not allowed to do that.
Sam’s a bomb…kill things all the time…bombs go ka-
“Why does he keep babbling about a bomb?” A man Sam recognized, but couldn’t remember his name or why he recognized him stood from his stool at the counter, moved in pointing angrily at Sam.
“I don’t think he understands what he’s talking about.”
You’re a freak. Traitor to your own kind!
Burn, witch, burn.
Freak. Bomb!
Man with yellow eyes. Don’t hurt Dean. Dean, please don’t die.
Burn, witch, burn.
Traitor.
Voices screamed through his head. They hated him, they all hated him.
You were always my favorite, Sammy.
Sam staggered backwards, dragging Peter with him. “Where’s my brother. I have to go be with my brother. He’ll be mad I didn’t stay in our room.” Letting go of Peter, Sam brushed the back of one hand over his cheeks, wiping away the tears. His other hand tugged on his hair. Breathing hard, he tried to remember, in through his nose, out his mouth.
Where is Dean? Where is Dean? Where is Dean?
Dean’s in Hell.
No, he’s not.
Dean burns in Hell.
Burn, witch, burn.
Dean came back. Dean brought me back. Dean’s alive.
“Honey, nothing happened to your brother.”
“That kid knows something!” The man shouted.
“He’s a little boy, and you’re frightening him.”
“He’s no little kid.”
Jarring from his knees hitting the floor brought more tears to Sam’s eyes. He didn’t want to cry in front of these strangers, big boys didn’t cry.
Nothing bad is going to happen to you, Sammy.
But Dean wasn’t here.
Because he went to Hell, stupid. You let him die, you let him go to Hell…no, no, no, don’t let go…never let go…back, Dean came back…
“Listen, kid, you’d better tell us what you know about a bomb!” The man grabbed Sam’s shirt collar and hauled him to his feet.
“Stop it!”
Burn, witch, burn…traitor…freak…turned on your own kind…traitor…turned…kill things…can’t save them all…
Rounding on
“No! Don’t hurt her!” Sam shouted. The sound of shattering glass made him duck and cover his head with both arms. A second’s worth of bright pain lanced his skull, evaporating as soon as it appeared. He looked up when he realized the entire diner had gone silent.
All the drinking glasses on the tables near them were lying in broken shards. Sam hugged himself, rocking back and forth, trying so hard to stop the tears that refused to stop. Sam huddled back against a booth, cringing away from the angry man in front of him, shouting at him. Words Sam heard but couldn’t process. The only thing he could do in response was sob out pleas for his brother. “Where’s Dean? Please, I want to go home, be with Dean.”
She’s chasing me, taking me, inside me, Meg’s inside, makes me kill, don’t want to kill that man.
“It’s an act.” The man was screaming now, at
“No one can pretend to be like that.”
“Back off. I’m taking him to the police station. We’re getting to the bottom of this crap. It’s some kind of an attack, and this boy knows what’s going on.”
Several other people stepped up, making a circle around Sam, forcing
+++++
Smokey Mountain Inn…
Dean stepped out of the bathroom. It took a few seconds for the fact facing him to register. Empty. The room was empty. A wave rolled through him, turning his knees to mush. By the time Dean managed to grasp the doorjamb the feeling was gone.
“Sam?” The word died as it echoed around the vacant room.
Standing completely still, only his eyes moving, Dean scanned the room. His blood pounded like chunks of ice in his ears. Gone. Sam was gone. Vanished. He didn’t even realize a tear skimmed his cheek until he reached up to brush away the annoying tickle of it slip sliding down his face.
His eyes went from the chair Sam had occupied—Sam’s book is on the floor, closed—to trail over the carpet to the door—it’s open, I left it shut. I locked it—then to their car sitting patiently in the parking spot just outside their room—keys are in the door.
Dean bolted outside, snatching the keys from the car door where they dangled, swaying softly. He stood and stared at them in his palm. The others, when they’d vanished, everything else was just as they left it. Sam had been sitting with a book on his lap. The door had been shut and locked. The car keys he’d left resting on the dresser.
Where was Peter? The sudden question thundered through his head. His stomach dropped then twisted violently. No way, there was no way Sam would hurt the kid. Two steps had him at the trunk of the car. Unlocking it and yanking it open, Dean jerked the false bottom up. Knees suddenly too weak to support his weight, Dean gripped the side of the trunk, pulling in deep ragged breaths until the world stopped its unruly spinning.
Everything was just where he’d left it. Sam’s gun sat where Dean had put it.
“Where the hell did you go?” He asked the Impala. “Why did you go?” That question came out nothing but a weak whisper. Sam was hardly defenseless, gun or no. Sam was equally as dangerous with his hands. “He wouldn’t do anything to Peter.” Slamming the trunk shut, he shook his head at himself. He sure didn’t sound convinced.
The sound of an engine pulling up beside him and cutting off made him jerk around. Please let Sam be in there. Ernie jumped from the driver’s seat of an older 4x4 type truck. Dean stood there, staring at him, at the empty truck Ernie had vacated.
“I’ve just been to
“Ir-Irvine?” Dean’s befuddled brain was working to catch up.
“Peter’s family.”
“They’re gone.”
“I know.” Ernie seemed impatient.
“Not Peter, he was with us, came to the diner looking for him mom. Sam and I had him come with us. There was no one at his house.”
“Where is he now?”
When Dean didn’t answer, Ernie grabbed his arm, gave him a rough shake. Pulling away at once, Dean glared a warning. The man let go but didn’t back off. Dean recognized at once the expression he wore. The boy, Peter, meant something to him, the rest of his family too, but especially Peter.
“Dean.”
“He and Sam were…they were right there.” Dean pointed through the open door to the motel room.
Ernie blanched, straightened, and gave Dean a hard stare. “You left Peter alone with Sam?”
“I went to the bathroom. It’s not like I sent the two of them out on survival training in the desert.”
“Look, I don’t mean to sound nasty or anything, but your brother isn’t exactly—”
“Exactly what?” Dean’s upper lip curled to a snarl. Just let this man finish that sentence.
Taking a deep breath, Ernie’s face softened. “He’s not exactly babysitting material. No offence intended.”
“No, he’s not.” Dean had to agree there. “I went into the bathroom. Peter was sitting on the bed, and Sam was in the chair, reading.”
“People been disappearing.” This time Ernie seemed to be talking to himself more than Dean.
Dean quickly pointed out, “It wasn’t the same. We saw that too. People just disappeared, but everything else just left. Things were different when I came out. Stuff was moved. I think they left.”
“Got any idea—”
Ernie’s words were cut off and their attention was drawn to the parking lot when they heard someone running and shouting. “Dean. DEAN!”
Peter pounded to them, barely stopped before grabbing Dean’s arm. He tugged and tried to run backwards all at the same time.
“Peter, what—” Ernie started questioning the boy, but Peter ignored him.
“They’re going to hurt him. You have to hurry.”
Dean looked at Ernie, realization spreading over his face in a way Dean was sure reflected his own.
“They think Sam did something. I went to the diner to see if my Mom was there. Sam came after me. I’m sorry. I should have waited and told you. Now they have Sam, they’re going to hurt him. They think he did this!”
Dean jerked free, “Come on.” He took one step toward his car before Ernie grabbed him.
“I know these streets better than you.”
Wheeling Dean around, Ernie shoved him at his truck. “Get in.” He shouted at Peter who scrambled in the back seat. Dean was shoved into the passenger side of the front seat. Ernie had his truck fired up and peeling out in mere seconds.
Dean was glad when they reached the diner it was Ernie driving. He stopped in front, whereas Dean would have plowed straight through and with the amount of people inside, no doubt killed someone, maybe even Sam.
Barely slowing down to crash through the door, Dean pulled up fast when confronted with the scene in front of him. Sam was on the floor, huddled in a ball, crying, freaking begging a man to let him go, let him go to Dean, to please get Dean. A group of about six others had formed a circle, blocking anyone else from them. The man had a gun. It was Knifeman, Dean recognized him at once.
Someone outside the group shouted, drawing everyone’s attention for a minute. “All the people in the section at the back are gone. They were right there, now they are gone.”
“Get away from him.” Dean snarled out, slamming into the closest person, intent on grabbing his panicked brother.
Knifeman, now armed with a gun, swung on Dean, gun up and pointed at his forehead. Skidding to a halt, Dean threw both hands in the air. “Look, I just came here to get my brother. Then we’re both gone, out of your way.”
“Your brother isn’t going anywhere until he tells us what he knows about the bomb.”
Dean’s mind scrambled for the words to get through to these idiots. He sure couldn’t fist fight an entire mob and take them all down. Again his knees tried betraying him, a huge intake of air and Dean forced his body straight.
“NO!” Sam screamed.
Fascinated, Dean watched as a glass partition behind Sam cracked. Thousands of fractures wormed through the partition, making the entire thing pop and groan. Sam surged to his feet, lunging at Knifeman, stumbling a few steps and winced.
The glass wall exploded, sending splinters of glass in all directions.
Sam tackled Knifeman, reared back and punched him in the back of the head. The hand gripping the gun was flung out and to the side. The gun discharged. Hearing a grunt and a thud, then Peter’s scream, Dean turned away long enough to see Ernie hit the floor, a line of red gauged across his temple. Eyes open, chest not moving, Dean knew without much further examination, the man was dead.
Darting forward, Dean grabbed Sam under one arm and hauled him up and away from Knifeman. Sam immediately latched onto Dean’s arm. “Peter!” Dean turned to find the boy, moving a few steps toward him and Ernie’s body, Sam in tow, stumbling along.
Get out. Just get the hell out now. It was Dean’s new mantra. He intended to grab Peter, and hustle he and Sam somewhere they could hole up until things could be figured out.
Peter had Ernie’s shirt fisted in both hands, pulling up and punching down, over and over. “No. No, no, no…” He hit Ernie again. “No. Please, no. You can’t be dead.”
A hand grabbed at Dean, another tried pulling Sam from his grasp. Swinging around, shoving Sam behind him, Dean’s fist smashed into a jaw. A second later another body was sent flying as Dean hammered against another assailant.
How the hell Peter knew, Dean only spent a few seconds on. The kid sure couldn’t have seen too many dead bodies.
One arm around Sam, Dean reached down for Peter. “We gotta get out of here.”
Jerking away, Peter pulled again on Ernie’s clothing. It did nothing other than make Ernie’s body flop in odd directions. Dean opened his mouth to try reason, thought better of it, and just grabbed Peter around the waist and picked him up. The kid turned on him, throwing punches and kicking. Spears of pain lanced through Dean’s shins where the kid’s feet slammed against him. Clamping down against Peter’s chest, Dean ducked away from the boy’s fists, trying to keep him from twisting and hitting Dean in the face.
Sam turned on Peter. Reaching around Dean, Sam growled out, “Stop it.” His fingers curled in Peter’s hair, yanking his head away from Dean. Getting his other hand free from Dean, Sam grabbed up Peter’s arm in a powerful vice grip, twisting and yanking. Stepping back against Sam, Dean tried pushing him farther away while at the same time not letting go of Peter. Trapped between the two Dean fought off the way his arms felt slow, sluggish, how his legs seemed to drag against the air around him.
“Sam!” Dean barked, his mouth close enough to his brother’s ear, Sam pulled back, surprised. That gave Dean enough room to get one of Sam’s arms, forcing him to partially let go of Peter.
People surrounded them, trying to pull Sam away.
Dean had to decide and do it fast. There was no decision really. No one wanted Peter dead. Letting go of the boy, he spun around so he had Sam with both hands. He shoved his kid brother away from the mob and at the door, shouted, “Peter!” commanding the boy to follow while realizing at the same time it was a useless act. Maybe he could stash Sam away and come back for Peter, but even as the thought went through his head, he knew he wouldn’t leave Sam anywhere alone right now.
“Mr. Adaey, please! Ernie!” The sound of Peter’s broken voice made Dean’s heart bleed.
A hand landed on Dean where his neck curved into shoulder, another hand pulled on his arm. Jerking free, he saw fingers from yet another attacker wind around Sam’s shoulder, someone else grabbed Sam’s sleeve.
Using Sam as a brace, Dean swung around again, landing a solid kick to someone’s midsection. Another punch connected with somebody else’s jaw. He’d finally cleared space around them, and somewhat a path to the door. He just had to somehow get Peter away from Ernie’s body.
Ernie coughed.
Dean sucked in his breath, and Sam made some odd choking noise behind him.
Ernie coughed again, this time added a groan, and rolled partially to his side. He squinted up at Peter who was still tugging on his clothes. “What hit me?” He took a look around and seemed to take in the pandemonium and general chaos in a few quick seconds. Pushing up farther, he took hold of Peter’s arm. “We need to go.”
Shoving people away, Ernie caught Dean’s eye and jerked his head at the door. More staggering than running, Peter in tow, Ernie headed to the door, then out to his truck.
“He was dead.” Sam hissed in Dean’s ear.
Turning far enough to see Sam’s wide eyes and pale face, Dean nodded. “I guess not dead enough.”
Taking advantage of the path cleared by Ernie, Dean and Sam ran out before anyone else could get a hold of them. Reaching the truck, Dean wound one arm around Sam’s middle and literally threw him into the backseat, the sound of footsteps coming at them slamming into his ears. Peter was shouting at them to hurry, and Ernie was shouting at their pursuers to back the hell off. The sound of gunfire over his head had Dean ducking as he threw himself into the backseat of the truck and over Sam.
The small group following them scattered.
Ernie jumped into the truck and had it going in reverse at a high rate of speed in no time.
“You’ll be safe at my bunker. We all will,” was all Ernie said as he guided the truck onto the road.
When Dean sat up and looked out the back window, the street in front of the diner was empty. Everyone chasing them was gone.
Dean twisted far enough to look at Sam. His eyes were still wide, though he’d lost much of the panicked expression.
“They’re gone,” Sam hissed, barely loud enough for Dean to hear.
Reaching over and squeezing his brother’s shoulder, Dean nodded. “It’ll be okay, Sam.”
“Are you mad at me?”
“Course not, Sam, why do you think that?”
Sam blinked away tears and looked down at his knee, picking at the edge of his frayed jeans with one hand. He squirmed around so he lay sideways in the seat, knees drawn up, his head resting against the seatback, watching Dean. “You only call me Sam when you’re mad at me.”
Dean couldn’t help laughing softly at that. How long had he endured nasty glares and repeated snarls of it’s Sam? Only to be told it wasn’t Sam, it was Sammy. Rubbing Sam’s arm a few times before he play punched the same arm Dean leaned back, letting his head drop against the seatback. Rolling his head far enough to look at Sam, he half expected him to be sucking his thumb and was ridiculously relieved Sam wasn’t. “I’m not mad,” he mumbled, letting his hand fall from Sam’s arm and rest on the seat between them.
Head bouncing with the truck jerked Dean awake. For the second time that day, he’d simply dropped off to sleep. This town and its constant adrenaline spiking events were beginning to play havoc with him. It was the only explanation he had right now. Sam was still half curled in the same position on the seat next to him, one hand on Dean’s shoulder, his fingers loosely gripping his jacket.
Stretching as much as he could in the confined space, Dean turned his head side to side and pushed straighter up in the seat. He rolled his head far enough to see Sam. His brother was quiet and still. Dean kept his movements to a minimum, not wanting to wake him yet. It took another glance before Dean realized Sam wasn’t asleep. He followed Sam’s gaze. The sheer hate rolling out of Sam and aimed with narrowed eyes at the back of Peter’s head had Dean suppressing a shudder. Finding their motel room empty, Sam and Peter gone, scared a huge reality check into Dean.
Sam was unraveling, becoming rapidly unstable and Dean was going to have to face the fact, unwanted or not, that could make Sam a very dangerous person. He had no delusions; Dean knew exactly what had happened to the glass wall in the diner. Even though he hadn’t seen how the broken glasses littering the tables surrounding Sam had gotten that way, he knew.
It probably hadn’t been intentional, but Dean knew full well Sam had broken the glasses as well as the wall.
For the first time Dean considered maybe it wasn’t Sam becoming evil that might be the issue. Sam could never be evil. Dean was convinced of that, now more than ever. Possibly it was the loss of control on Sam’s part that was the real danger. It was the one thing Sam wouldn’t talk to him about much, no matter how Dean coaxed.
He strongly suspected whatever hold Sam had was tenuous and the fact Sam wouldn’t talk to him about it told Dean a few things. Foremost it told him Sam was afraid, maybe afraid to acknowledge fully what he held within him, certainly afraid of Dean’s reaction. Secondly it told him Sam was afraid of what would happen if he let himself use what he had, afraid of not keeping a tight lid of control over this unnamed, largely unknown, power.
That lid was kept firmly in place until Sam started losing his grip on reality and adulthood.
It was only a matter of time before Sam’s hatred of Peter spiraled out of control, and Sam harmed or killed the boy. Dean knew that would be merely the first step. Dean had no idea how to stop it or reverse it once it got that far. For the first time ever, Dean worried Sam could very easily become a killer. Using a gun, his hands, or some power he carried within him, it didn’t matter. Sam would cross a line both he and Dean had worked so hard to stay away from.
Ernie’s Bunker…
The truck rumbling to a stop pulled Dean’s thoughts to their surroundings. Straightening further in the seat, Dean watched as Ernie jumped from the truck. They’d stopped in front of what looked suspiciously like old fashioned iron fencing. A quick glance at Sam confirmed his brother’s attention was still honed in on Peter. Twisting in his seat, Peter shot a look at Sam, then one at Dean. He couldn’t help thinking the boy recognized the threat in Sam’s face, in his body language. Peter didn’t seem overly upset or worried, but he also didn’t seem to care if it stopped.
“Mr. Adaey has a cool house,” Peter quipped. He was speaking to Dean, but his eyes slid to Sam, resting there for a few long seconds. A quick flash of something cold and hard in Peter’s gaze appeared and vaporized almost at once, making Dean shiver. Sam didn’t even blink.
Dean resisted the urge to wrap both arms around his brother, gather him close and hide him away from Peter, from the world.
Clearing his throat to keep the tremor from his voice, Dean looked at Peter, wondering if he realized what Dean had seen, was seeing? “Does he?”
“Yeah, he says we can live there for a decade if we have to.”
Brushing away the question of why Ernie would tell Peter that bit of information, and he’d obviously done it long before now, Dean forced a chuckle, “That’s pretty cool, don’t ya think, Sammy?”
Sam’s eyes lifted to meet his. The only response was a slight shrug of one shoulder. Dean pressed his lips together in one of his best poker smiles.
Dean hoped Ernie’s bunker had separate rooms with locks on the doors.
“Okay, just another few minutes.” Ernie was pushing up into the truck and pulling the door shut behind him as he turned to talk to Dean. “Glad we got here now, it’s getting dark out. Best thing would be to hold up here for the night, figure out what to do in the morning.”
“I agree.”
Ernie’s gaze slipped for a second to Sam’s face, then trailed to Peter. Ernie sported his own poker game smile, not nearly as convincing as it should be. Dean cringed inwardly. The man recognized the silent glares, the thinly veiled anger passing between Peter and Sam. Dean wasn’t sure if he should be thankful or fearful.
As Ernie guided the truck to the front of his bunker style house, Dean couldn’t help thinking this whole situation was one big powder keg waiting to blow. He needed a walk to put some distance between Sam and Peter before the whole thing blew up in their faces.
“Mind if we check it out?” Dean jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the parcel of land surrounding the house. His other hand snagged Sam’s jacket as he climbed down from the truck. “C’mon, Sammy, let’s stretch our legs a bit.”
“Nope, not at all, just let me know when you are ready to come inside.” Ernie dipped his head to a security camera mounted near the main door.
Throwing one final halfhearted glare at Peter’s retreating back as he and Ernie headed into the house, Sam followed willingly. Nodding to Ernie, Dean stepped away from the truck, Sam keeping pace with him. They walked to the corner of the house then circled it. Ernie’s cannon stood silent sentry at the back.
Sam snickered, “Dad would’ve loved this guy and his house.”
Dean circled the cannon. Sam reached out and touched it, running his fingers along one wheel. “This is cool.” Dean didn’t even try to keep the admiration from his voice.
“Yeah,” Sam agreed. Dean thought he sounded a bit awestruck.
Stuffing his hands into his pockets, Dean rocked back and forth on his heels, gazing up at the sky. He craned his neck as far as he could then twisted on his toes to follow a line of barrier from horizon to horizon. “You see it, Sammy?”
“Yes. I never stopped.”
Dean sighed. “Me neither, kiddo.”
Though it was evident night was closing in, the sky above was still gray haze. He knew the moon and stars should be visible by now, but there was nothing except the gray haze.
“Dean, what if it doesn’t go away?”
Swiveling to look at his brother, Dean felt his stomach drop. There was Sam, twenty-five, but really no more than five, asking what they were going to do if this was what was left of the world? It hurt. What was he going to do with a somewhat psychotic brother who’d suddenly lost his ability to think, and act, like an adult? Add to that the fact Sam could at least break glass with his thoughts, never mind what he was capable of with his bare hands if he so chose.
“I don’t know, Sammy.” Admitting it doubly hurt.
Sam turned back toward the bunker. “Are we going to live here forever?”
A cold chill rushed against Dean, making him pull his jacket closed. Stepping towards Sam, he gave in to the urge to place a hand on the back of Sam’s neck and turned him to the house. He suddenly wanted his brother close, within touching distance. “I don’t know that either, Sammy.” He stopped just before they reached the door, turning Sam so he had to look at Dean. “Sammy, you have to listen to me, and do something for me, okay?”
Sam nodded solemnly. As a child a request from Dean was treasured and sacred. That part hadn’t changed so much. The fact Sam waited quietly for Dean’s request and didn’t offer questions or opposing opinions was what ran a spear through Dean’s heart.
“I never want you close enough to Peter to touch him. No matter what happens, you never hurt him, even if something happens to me.”
Sam’s eyes skittered to the house then came back to settle on Dean. He nodded. “I promise.”
“Good.”
“Don’t go where I can’t see you.”
Dean smiled, patting Sam’s shoulder before he released him and reached for the buzzer to alert Ernie they wanted inside. “Not that I planned to, but fair enough.”
Ernie’s house wasn’t homey, or even very much house-like. It was more like one big panic room built to withstand aliens. Dean noticed right away it was also built to withstand a variety of supernatural threats, even if Ernie didn’t even know what he’d accomplished. The walls were six inches of concrete embedded with iron and salt. There was buried iron piping circling the house. Ernie informed him it kept a constant flow of saltwater around the house. Dean found no symbols, but then Ernie wouldn’t know to use any. Ernie thought he needed protection from aliens, not demons. Maybe Sam had been right when he’d suggested they were one in the same.
The entire structure was the size of a three bedroom ranch, and might have been that at one point. Now, other than a kitchen and a bathroom, both of which were sectioned off, it was one large, open space. The rest was taken up with storage cabinets for weapons and supplies. There was a section in one corner with clothes hanging from free standing racks. Seeing them made Dean remember, everything he and Sam owned was back in the town. They would have to make one final trip back, even if it was merely to retrieve their things and the Impala, they, or at least he, would have to make one more trip back.
It may have been a type of bunker meant to be defended against attack, but Ernie obviously lived here in some comfort and with plenty to keep him busy and entertained if the stereo and television equipment was anything to go by.
Thinking of being here long term, if not permanently, startled Dean. It was a reality, however; Sam would never be safe in the town. Not that Dean was all that sure he was any safer here. For now, at least, here was where they were and they’d have to make the best of it. He wondered, not for the first time, how much more unraveled Sam was likely to become, and if he’d be his normal twenty-five year old adult self again. As Dean’s eyes scanned their new surroundings, he bid a silent prayer to anyone who’d listen that Sam wouldn’t repeat his teen years. Dean would be forced to shoot them both himself if he was required to relive that. Once was more than enough for any person. Surely even God, the Devil, and all their angels and demons combined didn’t want to endure that.
Just as they’d seen in Peter’s house, the numbers were everywhere, seen in whatever direction Dean looked. One fast glance at Sam confirmed his brother saw them too.
“We can go back for your stuff in the morning,” Ernie seemed to read Dean’s thoughts. “You two can bunk over there for tonight. We can rearrange things as we need to later.” He shot a look at Peter. “If it’s even necessary.”
If the situation in town was anything but temporary, Dean decided right then and there, he and Sam were striking out on their own. They’d find somewhere to live quietly, and hopefully safely. No way in Hell were they staying here for a single minute longer than they had to. Having Sam and Peter together in such close confines for any length of time made Dean itch. He’d raised Sam, taken care of him, taken care of them both as children and adults. There was no reason to think he couldn’t do the same again.
“You got a first aid kit in here?”
“Got more than a kit.” Ernie opened one of the cabinet doors and stepped back, proudly displaying a small clinic’s worth of medical supplies.
Dean plucked some antiseptic cleanser and cotton from a shelf and motioned Ernie to a nearby table and chair. “You look a bit gruesome there, man.” Holding up the medical supplies, Dean grinned. “Lemme help you out here.”
They settled at the table. Dean let his eyes shift to Sam for a beat, unspoken words indicating he should be over here. Sam slid quietly into a chair, head turning one way then the other, wide eyes gawking and taking in the sight of their temporary home.
Dean made quick work of cleaning and dressing Ernie’s wound. “Any blurred vision? Nausea?”
Ernie silently shook his head no. After a few minutes’ work, Dean placed everything on the table. Ernie touched his head. “I shouldn’t be alive.” His eyes stayed trained on the table top.
“Tell me about it.” Dean snorted a short laugh, “Eh, chicks love scars, and that one is gonna be a doozy.”
“How about your arm?” Ernie picked up the gauze and antiseptic Dean had pulled from the cabinet.
Grabbing Dean’s arm and jerking it toward him, Sam snapped out a ferocious, “I’ll do it.”
Ernie blinked and straightened in his chair, mouth dropping open.
“We’re used to having just each other for this stuff. He can do it just fine.” Turning to look Sam in the face, Dean frowned a bit. “Sam, knock it back a few notches, okay? Time to relax a bit.”
While Sam dabbed at the cut then put a better dressing on it than an old rag, Dean let his gaze wander the area, taking in more. There were books, hundreds of them on a shelf taking up nearly one wall. The one bit of open wall space in that part of the bunker was filled with pictures, awards, diplomas.
“I got an older generator that works so we’ll have some light, but we’ll have to be prudent. There’s firewood, plenty of candles and I have two Coleman gas camping stoves, so hot meals.”
“Can we have stew?” Peter asked. He’d been sitting so quietly, half the building’s length away. Dean had nearly forgotten him.
“Sure. You know where it is, why don’t you break out a few cans, get us some dinner going.”
Sam nudged Dean’s leg with his knee, leaned over and whispered, “I’m hungry.”
“Guess we’re having stew.”
Then he poked Dean’s side, pointing to the wall opposite the bookshelves. “Can I play darts? I promise to be careful.”
“Uh…I…Sam—” He wasn’t so sure Sam with small, sharp projectiles was a good idea either. The wide-eyed, open expression Sam offered him surprised Dean. He honestly wanted to play a game. Ernie’s hand on his forearm stopped him mid-sentence.
“Do you know how?” Ernie asked. Sam grinned and nodded vigorously. “As long as it’s okay with your brother and you don’t put holes in your fingers.”
Sam’s gaze shifted to Dean. With a small nod at the dart board, Dean said, “Go on.”
He sat and watched Sam gather the darts and settle himself on a tall stool, lower lip sucked between his teeth as he concentrated on hitting the target. The enormity of it sunk in and Dean fought to steady his breathing, fought wanting to crumble to the floor in a helpless puddle. He had no one to go to with this; no one who’d understand or offer help to Sam. Dean was in way over his head with this and he knew it, yet the responsibility rested on his shoulders alone. He didn’t have anyone to confide in, seek assistance from, or even ask to care for Sam if something should happen to him. Even Bobby, Dean suddenly realized, would see the threat of how dangerous Sam could become and act upon that.
For the first time since his father died, Dean didn’t wish he was here to help. At least he didn’t have to deal with John’s reaction, which would be fast and deadly accurate. If Sam lost control, became a threat, Sam would need to be put down. Warm bile burned the back of his throat thinking he might have been put in the position of protecting Sam from his own father. His stomach churned. A cold drizzle of sweat slithered along his spine.
“He’s amazingly good at that.” Ernie interrupted his thoughts. “Hey, you okay? You look pale.”
Dean twisted around to face Ernie. “We play all the time.” His voice sounded anemic and far away.
“I think it’s time we get some calories.” Ernie patted Dean’s arm before moving to the other side of the structure to help Peter with the cans of stew and stoves.
Needing something else to focus on, even if for a few minutes, Dean wandered to the plaques hung on the wall next to the shelves. In the center was a picture of a smiling young couple holding a tiny baby. A plaque along the frame read Ernest Fred Adaey,
“My parents owned that ship. They were commercial fishers,” Ernie said from somewhere behind Dean. A warm bowl tapped Dean’s elbow.
“Thanks.” He took the offered dinner, stomach rumbling when he realized how long it had been since they’d last eaten. Sam, darts in one hand, spoon in the other, was sitting at the table, shoveling stew into his mouth.
“I was born while they were at sea, international waters. My mother took every opportunity to remind what a paperwork nightmare that was.”
Dean chuckled.
“They’re gone now.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It was a while ago, and it happens. Your parents get old and they die. They had good lives, and each other.” Ernie shot a glance at Peter, then Sam. “It’s just the two of you?”
Dean leaned against the shelves and took a bite of the stew. “Yeah, mostly just us our whole lives.”
“
“I’d never do that to Sam.” Dean wasn’t sure exactly what he’d do if Sam didn’t snap out of this and return to his normal self, but some kind of mental home, if any were even left, wasn’t it.
They spent an hour after finishing their meal moving things around for the night. There were a half dozen or so cots at one end of the building. Ernie was set up for other people being in there with him, probably Peter’s entire family. He and Sam moved two of them to a corner of the building. Dean decided not to wait a few days to change things and used some of the clothing racks as temporary dividers. They’d do little to shield Sam from anything, but they gave Dean a sense of privacy and allowed him to relax away from Peter and Ernie.
Finally, Sam settled on one of the cots. Stretched out, a book in his hands, he thumbed at the pages. Dean could tell he wasn’t really reading. They all needed sleep, but Sam was fighting it. Moving silently, Dean crossed their part of the bunker, Sam’s eyes following him until he sat cross-legged on the floor next to his brother.
“Whatcha reading there, Sammy?”
Sam’s shoulders moved up and down, he handed Dean the book. “I don’t understand most the words. Would you help me?”
Glancing at the book, Dean snorted a laugh and flipped through the Mechanics of Gun Construction. “Sure, but not now. Time for sleep.”
“We have to go back tomorrow?”
“Yeah. We’re not leaving the Impala; she stays with us.”
Sam smiled and nodded. “You used to read to me all the time. How come you stopped?”
Dean chuckled. “You went to college, kiddo.” He had to force himself to not slip onto the cot, wedge himself between Sam and the wall and read to his little brother as he’d done for years when Sam was small.
“I missed you.” Sam’s voice was soft.
“I missed you too.” Dean laid his hand on Sam’s forearm and twisted his head far enough to meet Sam’s eyes. Somehow dealing with Sam as a child just came naturally to Dean. Dealing with Sam as an adult, not always so easy.
“I’m glad you came and got me.”
That surprised Dean. He’d never been sure how Sam felt about that time. Moving around to rest one arm on the side of Sam’s cot, Dean waited for his brother to continue.
“Even with Jess, I never belonged there, with those people. They were nice, but not like…They’d never understand. None of them ever needed to take care of anyone.”
“Yeah, not everyone is like us.” Dean reached out, brushed Sam’s bangs away and pulled the blanket over his shoulders. “Time to go to sleep now, and this time I mean it.” He’d forgotten how good at distracting him Sam had been with the goal of not going to bed.
“What are you going to do?”
Dean remembered that part too. “Sit right here until you’re asleep. Then,” he pointed to another cot, “I’m going to pull that cot over here and go to sleep too. I’m tired.”
Sam yawned then smiled suddenly. “Me too.”
Another few minutes and Sam was asleep. Satisfied he’d be alright, Dean moved off the cold floor to his own cot.
Sam’s voice, at first incoherent mumbling and soft whispers filtered into Dean’s brain. Something in his subconscious set off the tinkling of warning bells that crescendoed into sirens. Dean’s eyes snapped open. It took him a minute to process why he was staring at a concrete ceiling.
Pushing up on one elbow, Dean grumbled out, “Sammy.” He sat up, and glanced at his watch then reached out and shook Sam’s shoulder. He knew the words coming from Sam’s nightmare even if they were a jumble. If he didn’t wake Sam up soon, Sam would wake Peter, Ernie and anyone in a ten mile radius.
Rolling off his cot, Dean landed in a crouch between the two cots. This time he gripped Sam’s arm and gave him a firm shake. “C’mon, Sammy, wake up. Just a bad dream.”
Dean had blanked out pretty quickly when the Hellhounds attacked him.
Dean remembered pain, fear, then the stark mind shattering terror of Hell, but now only as one remembered a bad dream. His memories resurface more like random thoughts, like something he’d learned in school or read years ago that popped into his mind. The only difference was this was accompanied by intense emotion, lasting a few seconds to a minute at most. By the time he could give them thought or honest consideration, they were gone and he had nothing to grab onto.
It was Sam who’d suffered the most. He’d seen Dean ripped apart. For Sam, it was still painstakingly real and Dean relived it constantly through Sam’s nightmares.
Sam jerked awake in his grasp, looking around. His hand shot out and latched onto Dean’s arm. He scrunched his eyes shut, but even closed, tears oozed out and ran down Sam’s cheeks.
“I’m sorry, Dean,” Sam choked out, obviously trying to cover the soft sobs trying for freedom.
“Hey, take it easy. It’s just a bad dream.”
“They came and got you and I couldn’t do anything. I promised you I’d stop it and I didn’t and—”
“Sam. Stop it.” He kept his voice low, but Dean put all the authority in it he could muster. “I’m right here.”
Rolling to his side, facing Dean, Sam’s voice dropped but more words tumbled out of his mouth making Dean realize Sam as an adult had barely coped with this; he had no prayer of doing so as a child. “She let them in. I wanted to stop them, I tried, and I couldn’t. Those things tore you up…I tried so hard, I did. I was scared and alone and I tried.”
“Shh…shh…Sam.” Dean scooted close enough to Sam’s cot he rested his elbow on the frame. He’d never be hearing this confession from Sam if he’d been himself. Dean closed his eyes as the enormity of it pressed against him again. He drew a deep, shaky breath and opened his eyes, looking directly at his brother. “Sammy, listen to me.” His other hand he laid on Sam’s head. “You did just fine. I’m here, and you’re here. I’m right here because you got me out. You don’t be sorry for anything.”
“I didn’t let go,” Sam said in a small voice, “but I’m not sure how it happened.”
Dean smiled, “I know. You’re a stubborn ass bastard, and for that I’m thankful. The only thing that’s important is you and I are here.”
Sam sniffed and nodded. Dean pulled the blanket over him.
“Now go back to sleep. We have a lot to do tomorrow.”
A short time later, Sam’s breathing evened out and he was asleep again. Dean, however, was wide awake. Pushing to his feet slowly, he rubbed his legs for a minute. He’d spent a few too many minutes crouched beside Sam’s cot and he was losing some feeling. Moving silently, tossing looks back to Sam every few seconds, Dean wandered to the far end of the bunker, away from both Sam and the section Peter and Ernie occupied.
Leaning one arm on the window, Dean let his chin rest on his forearm and gazed out the window. He stared out at the night, not really seeing anything at first. His mind did a one-eighty and shot back to the motel when he’d come out of the bathroom and found Sam and Peter gone. More specifically his brain suddenly focused on the outside of the motel.
He’d been too intent on finding Sam at the time to take much notice, but now...?
Dean squinted out the window. It was night, but there was a difference, just like when he’d run out to find the Impala’s keys dangling from the car door. He craned his neck to see up as far as he could.
Twisting around, Dean assured himself Sam was still deeply asleep before he looked back out the window. It hadn’t registered earlier, not completely, and Dean had brushed it off, attributed it to his inattention.
There was still no moon or stars, but he couldn’t see the gray barrier. Nothing in the sky shimmered or moved.
When he’d run out of the motel room after finding Sam gone, Dean had barely paid attention to the fact he couldn’t see the gray barrier then either; he’d been so worried about finding his brother. Every other time he seen the barrier he and Sam had been together. Sam had been awake.
Hurrying back to his cot, Dean pulled his boots on before moving back to the window for another look. This time Ernie was up, rummaging around in the kitchen.
“Is he okay?” Leaning in the kitchen doorway, bottle of water in one hand, Ernie dipped his head toward the part of the bunker Sam and Dean occupied.
Dean rubbed at the back of his neck. “Yeah, bad dream. He’s fine. Thanks.” Alone in this.
Ernie nodded. “It’s a wonder we all aren’t having them.”
Snorting a short, soft chuckle, Dean had to agree. “Hey, I thought I’d take another look around outside.” He glanced at Sam’s sleeping form then Peter’s, before coming back to Sam.
“Sure. I’ll keep an eye on them.” Ernie moved to one of the many cabinets, fished out a flashlight and handed it to Dean. “Code for the door is three-zero-eight.”
“Thanks. I’ll be back in a few.” Dean managed to remember to turn away before rolling his eyes. Of course that was the combination for the door lock, three-zero-eight, three ones, a zero and four two’s. He’d seen them so much his brain was doing the math without prompting. “If he wakes up—”
“I’ll bring him out.”
Stepping out into the crisp night, Dean’s boots crunched on the short grass. Since he’d been back this was the first time he’d left Sam alone at night, left him sleeping somewhere. The nightmares Sam had now were ten times worse than those he’d had after Jessica’s death. The thought of his brother waking up from one of those nightmares, the ones about Dean, alone, sent chills through Dean and churned his insides. As it was Dean’s heart broke every time he had to wake the kid up from one.
He didn’t intend to be gone long, however, this was important. He had to know what was going on, and he had to be without Sam to find out. Stopping halfway between the house and the fencing, Dean let his head drop back and stared at the sky.
No gray barrier.
It was there, Dean knew it was there. No stars, no moon, no clouds, just blank.
He pulled his amulet away from his chest and stared at the thing. “Awful quiet now, aren’t you?” He gave it a frustrated shake. “Dude, do something.”
Nada, zilch, nothing. No tingling, no electric current, not so much as a shimmer.
Dean looked back at the bunker for a few seconds before turning his gaze back to the sky. Sam had suggested he’d caused this somehow. Dean saw the barrier before, but why not now?
What the Hell? What the freaking Hell?
Dean stood in the dark yard, staring up at the sky. Sam had said he thought he was responsible for the barrier. Dean refused to believe it then; he wasn’t too sure about now. The logic of it escaped Dean, never mind how. He’d come back to how later, but why would Sam do anything like this?
Maybe if this did originate with Sam, it wasn’t something he’d made a conscious effort to do? Sam spent his life being pushed. Every emotion the kid had tested and retested. All in all, he’d coped amazingly well, they both had, but everyone had a limit. Possibly this was Sam’s?
Dean’s return may have been weeks ago, but he wondered if Sam would ever recover from Dean’s death. He hid it most days, but it would creep out to smack the two of them when least expected. Dean would see the insecurity, the panic edged fear spark in Sam’s eyes from the memory, always hovering just under the surface, of Dean being torn away from him, literally. Dean hated it. He didn’t know what to do about it, or how to fix it. He had no words to reassure Sam in even the smallest way.
He’d considered, briefly, that Sam’s strange vision on the roadside the day before was nothing more than a repressed reaction to the Hellhounds’ attack.
Then Dean began to see them too.
That first month after his return, Sam hadn’t let Dean more than two feet away from him. Dean had to, more than once, bodily shove Sam back so he could get a shower or use the bathroom by himself. He understood. He’d been the same after Sam died, after he’d made his deal. He’d tried to be patient, but it wore thin some days. Sam had been a wreck. He’d lived life without Dean twice now, and he’d seen him die hundreds of ways, watched, helpless as Dean was shredded by Hellhounds. There wasn’t much Dean could do to fix that other than what he’d always done. Take care of Sam and endure.
Sam was still a wreck though.
There’d been more than one night he’d woken up with Sam tucked against him as if he were five again. Each time Dean would ask, “You okay, Sammy?” Sam would nod, grumble something affirmative and brush the question aside. Dean knew better, far better. Twenty-five year old men who were okay didn’t use their big brothers for pillows.
There wasn’t much Dean could do about whatever had been done to return him from Hell. Other than take his gun and send himself back…and—no.
This all brought him back to the gut wrenching decision Sam had snapped. The barrier, the odd visions, maybe even the people disappearing and becoming violent, might very well be the result of Sam’s mind letting go and losing control. That scared Dean. It was a weapon they didn’t recognize, had no idea what its capabilities were and was now possibly released unchecked.
Yet the logic of it all completely escaped Dean. Then, an insane mind held no logic.
Sounds from the house, made Dean swivel around. He caught a glimpse of Ernie pointing at him from the doorway. Sam nodded and was walking fast toward Dean, hands stuffed in his pockets, shoulders slumped slightly, head down watching his feet as he went.
The change in the sky as Sam crossed the yard drew Dean’s attention up. Frozen in place, he watched the gray, misty barrier resolve as Sam drew near; giving the impression it followed him. It took up the sky once more, shimmering and fluctuating exactly as it had earlier.
“What are you doing?” Sam stopped in front of him.
Dean craned his neck back and turned away long enough to follow the barrier from horizon to horizon.
“Do you see it?” Sam asked.
Turning back to face his brother, Dean nodded. “Do you?”
“I have every time I’ve looked.” Sam shivered and dug his toe into the grass. “You said you wouldn’t go where I couldn’t see you. You promised me.”
Dean released a heavy sigh, how was he going to explain this? “I’m sorry, Sam. I had to check out something, and I had to be alone. I should have told you, but I didn’t want to wake you up. I thought I’d be back sooner.”
“Check out what? What are you looking for?”
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Dean laid his other hand on Sam’s shoulder. “C’mon, it’s cold out here. Let’s go back inside.”
Sam didn’t move. “Dean, please.”
Facing Sam, a hand on either side of his neck, Dean took a deep breath. “Sammy, I need you to trust me on this. I need to work this out in my head before I tell you. And not here, we can’t stay here, Sam, you understand that, right? We’re gonna get the Impala, and if we can’t leave this town, if this is all there is then we have to find somewhere to ourselves. Just us. I’ll tell you everything, every detail, Sammy I promise I will. But not here.”
Sam nodded. He stood still, not saying anything, doing nothing but watching Dean for a minute. Slowly he reached out one hand, fingers curling tentatively around Dean’s amulet. He tightened his hold, staring down at his hand. Lifting his eyes again, Dean saw they were shimmering.
“I never let go. I hung on as tight as I could.” Sam’s voice was soft. “And I never let go, not once. I took you to
“You also got drunk.”
Nodding, wiping tears from his eyes with the back of his hand Sam looked down, puffed out a short laugh. “Yeah, I did.”
Dean brought his hand up, wrapped his fingers around Sam’s wrist. He felt a tingle, like a low level electrical charge as soon as his fingers touched the skin of the hand in which Sam held the amulet. Holding his breath, Dean moved his gaze from his and Sam’s hands to Sam’s face. Their eyes locked. “You feel that?”
Sam nodded. Opening his fingers he let Dean’s amulet slip away. The second it hit Dean’s chest the sensation vanished. Dean still wasn’t clear on what Sam had done, how he’d brought Dean back. He was convinced Sam didn’t know either. He resigned himself to the fact he may never know. More to the point, maybe he didn’t want to know.
“I’m tired.” Sam yawned.
Dean looked at Sam, into his eyes, studied his face. Sam stood placidly looking back. What Dean saw was open, honest and trusting. Sam hadn’t caused this, whatever this was. This was causing Sam’s reaction, it was overloading him somehow. Whatever this was, whoever caused it, this couldn’t be totally hidden from Sam.
Sam wasn’t the cause.
The revelation hit Dean square between the eyes. Sam was, however, the reason Dean saw the barrier and maybe the numbers.
A weapon is only as good as the man who wields it.
“Me too.” Dean put one arm around Sam’s shoulders as they walked back to the house. “We’re gonna rest up here another day, get our stuff, collect some supplies and then we’re finding somewhere as far from here as we can go.”
“We’re running away?”
“Yes, Sam, we’re running away.”
“What about the people here? Don’t we have to help them?”
“We’ll do what we can, but this time…we help us first.”
“Where are we going to live?”
Dean shrugged. He hadn’t actually thought that far ahead. “I dunno, Sammy. How about a cave? Like the Batcave?”
“No.” Sam wrinkled his nose.
“Well that was pretty decisive. We’ll find a house to live in.”
“With a yard?”
“You betcha, Sammy—maybe even a swing set and a dog too.”
They stopped at the door; Dean reached out to punch in the door code. His fingers hovered over the keypad for a few seconds before he dropped his hand to his side. There was one more thing.
“Did you forget the code?” Sam asked.
“No. Sammy, there is something else, and this is very important. You have to promise me something.” He waited for Sam’s nod before he continued. “If something ever happens to me, you go to
“Why do you think something will happen to you?”
“I don’t, Sammy. But just in case I want you to have a plan and know what to do.”
“Will you do that too? If something happens to me?”
“Yes.”
Dean punched the code into the keypad and the door swung open. Warm air greeted them. Four glasses of water, one trip to the bathroom, and a promise from Dean he’d not take any more walks tonight later, Sam was settled and sleeping.
+++++
Sam sat staring at the plate of food in front of him pretending not to notice the sidelong glances Dean aimed in his direction every few minutes. He listened to Dean and Peter talking as they took inventory of their food stocks. Ernie had twice offered them whatever they needed, though Dean declined for now. He did seem to want to help Ernie prepare his bunker for more people Ernie was sure would eventually show up.
Sam liked Ernie. The man wanted to help everyone. He’d obviously prepared this place with the intention of housing just not himself, but any others in need of shelter. In a way, Ernie reminded Sam of Dean. Never asking for himself, just doing for everyone else.
Peter was a different story. Sam not only disliked Peter, just being near the boy caused him pain. The thought, the feeling of Peter’s neck encased in his hands while he closed his fingers, crunched muscle and bone and snapped that same neck was a constant. When he closed his eyes, Sam could imagine the pain Peter caused him fading away as the warmth and life faded from Peter’s body. Dean saw it, Sam knew he did. His repeated reminders to Sam how he mustn’t hurt anyone, especially Peter, made that clear.
To make everything worse, whatever was going on in Sam’s head had him acting like a small child, dumping on Dean his own fears and feelings from the Hellhounds. He’d worked so hard to keep that inside, away from his brother, not hurt him anymore, and in a few short minutes it’d all come bubbling out.
So, there he sat, pretending to eat. When he was done pretending to eat, he’d pretend to read. All the while what he was really doing was listening to Peter and Dean, watching Peter for any sign that he was starting to affect Dean the same way he affected Sam. Promises be damned, that kid did one aggressive thing and Sam was going to forget he’d promised not to hurt the boy and never regret it for one second.
As if reading his mind, Dean stopped what he was doing for a few seconds, leveled a sharp look at Sam before turning back to the box of supplies he was repacking.
Sam let his eyes drop to the table. Shoving the plate away, he took the comic book Ernie gave him earlier and slumped in an overstuffed chair a few feet from Dean and Peter. He pretended to ignore them. Sam didn’t really want to read a comic book but he didn’t feel like finding anything else just then.
“I like school.” Peter sat next to Dean, taking count of what Dean handed him, writing dates with a magic marker on some of the packages. “But what I really want to do is go to seminary school. Another few years and I can go. Well, I would have been able to go.”
“You’re kinda young to decide now what you want to do. Don’t you think you should try other things?” Dean smiled at the boy. When his eyes skipped to Sam’s face, his smile softened then dropped away. Sam studiously stared at the comic book.
“It’s what I’ve wanted to do since I can remember.”
“Hmm. Goals are good.”
Peter shifted around so his back was to Sam and he sat cross legged on the floor. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Shoot.”
“What do you think is going on?”
“I don’t know.” Dean’s voice was steady in the same way it was when they were talking to victims.
“Do you think the people who disappeared will come back?”
Dean stopped, facing Peter completely. “I don’t know that either. I sure hope we can find them, help them.”
Peter was silent for a few minutes. “Maybe they disappeared for a reason. Maybe we’re left for a reason. Maybe those other people had to go because they got in the way.”
Sam felt a shiver worm its way down his spine. He snapped his head up, looking at Dean. His brother stilled, he sat staring at Peter then met Sam’s eyes over the top of the boy’s head. Sam’s thoughts spun around themselves. What Peter said, how he said it, he’d heard it before and so had Dean. Where and from whom, Sam couldn’t grasp the answer. It formed and the instant he was about to grab onto it, off it went skipping just out of reach. He felt fried. Concentration was a memory just now.
“I’m not afraid of him.” The words coming from Peter’s mouth made Sam’s skin crawl. They made him wish he really was five again so he could hide under his blankets and behind his big brother.
Dean’s eyes dropped to the floor for a few beats. When he raised them to meet Peter’s, Sam could see the slight change in his brother’s expression. Dean was guarded and wary, in a few brief seconds he’d slipped from Dean the regular guy to Dean the hunter. The smile he offered Peter, while looking warm and kind to an outsider Sam knew was nothing but a hollow ruse. “Sam? No reason to be afraid of him.”
The tone Dean used was one Sam was all too familiar with and it quelled his insides. The overpowering jealousy Sam knew was stupid and pointless eased back. Dean’s voice, his entire body language was open and easy for Sam to read, even if others couldn’t. Dean had been honest when he’d said they’d do what they could, but this time it was them first.
Everyone was drawn to Dean, Peter was no exception. Dean made even the darkest room light up. He was a safe haven to Sam and to others as long as Sam wasn’t in jeopardy. Sam sometimes felt like nothing more than some dingy, dark moth circling the bright flame that was Dean Winchester. It didn’t matter though, since who Dean preferred to keep close was Sam, no one else. Peter could do or say what he wanted; Sam had every intention of sticking close. Hell hadn’t managed to take and keep his brother from him. There was no way some freaky thirteen-year-old would accomplish what Hell couldn’t. Sam would make damn sure of that if he had to.
Ernie’s voice from across the building calling to Peter caught Sam’s attention. He followed the boy’s movements as he left Dean to help Ernie with yet another task. All the while Sam ignored how Dean watched Sam watch Peter.
Gaze shifting to his brother, Sam watched as Dean stood slowly and brushed his hands off on his thighs. He gave the boxes surrounding him another long look. Carefully stepping over them, he made his way to Sam. “How ya feeling?”
“Better.” Sam looked up, not quite able to meet Dean’s eyes. He felt foolish and a bit embarrassed, remembering what he’d been like yesterday.
“Listen,” Dean pulled a chair up and settled beside Sam. “Need you to do me a favor?”
Instantly on guard, Sam sat and waited. He wasn’t going to agree to anything right now, not without knowing the details. Something in Dean’s tone and the way Dean was almost looking at him set off warning bells. Sam had the distinct feeling he wasn’t going to like this favor.
“I thought I’d head back in a bit, get our stuff and the Impala, and—”
“We.” Sam corrected immediately, getting where Dean was going with this. “We go back.” He kept his voice low, hissing the words out. The way Dean straightened, glanced around before coming back to look at Sam’s face he could tell Dean wasn’t giving in so easily.
Too bad. Neither was Sam.
“Sam,” Dean’s voice was equally as low as Sam’s but his tone was deep and soothing, or at least Sam figured that’s what he was going for. Leaning forward a bit, resting his arms on the side of Sam’s chair, Dean took a deep breath. “You’re okay in here. You’re better this morning. Whatever is going on out there, it’s not in here. An hour, I promise, no longer.”
“You promised we’d stick together. You promised you wouldn’t go anywhere I couldn’t see you. Are you saying you’re breaking that promise? Again?”
“Sammy—”
Catching sight of Peter moving closer, Sam pushed out of the chair and glared at his brother, snarling out, “No.”
Dean’s eyes darted to Peter then back to Sam.
Clenching and unclenching his fists, Sam tried desperately to soften his harsh breathing, calm his nerves and shut up the voice in his head chanting kill, kill, kill.
“I’ll stay here and watch him.”
Peter’s voice right behind him made Dean start. The absolutely murderous glare Sam aimed first at Dean, then at Peter was scary. Not that Dean thought for a second Sam might hurt him, but he wasn’t so sure about Sam hurting Peter. In fact, given the opportunity, Dean was pretty darn sure Sam would do substantial harm to Peter.
In the span of time it took the thoughts to form, Dean realized he’d gone from protecting Sam from the world to protecting the world from Sam.
The back of his throat stung and burned, moisture oozed along his shoulders as Dean managed to get control of a sudden shiver wanting to rage uncontrolled through him. Sam never wanted to hurt things, he wanted to save them, help them. Dean’s mind was barely beginning to wrap around the thought his quiet, kind brother wanted to kill a child. Murder a child.
“I’m not—” The words spat from Sam’s mouth.
Dean held up one hand, fingertips against Sam’s chest, silencing him. Twisting far enough to see Peter, he made sure both Sam and Peter heard what he said. “That’s nice, and I appreciate the sentiment.”
“Dean!”
Pushing against Sam with enough force to move him back a step, Dean smiled at Peter. “Like I said, that’s kind, but not necessary.” He took a deep breath. “Listen, Peter, I need to talk with Sam. Alone.”
The spark of antagonism, pure hate, arcing between Sam and Peter for a few seconds made Dean want to cringe away from them both. Not moving his feet or his body took tremendous conscious effort. In that span of seconds Dean wasn’t sure from which boy it originated, or who was afraid of whom. Again, something cold and aggressive bloomed in Peter’s eyes, dying away as soon as Dean could register it was there.
Sam surging against the gentle pressure of Dean’s fingers when Peter didn’t move away immediately caused Dean to step towards Sam. He forced them both to take another step back. He felt Sam’s entire body twine and quiver against Dean’s restraint. Sam could certainly get around Dean if he wanted, three fingertips against Sam’s chest wasn’t nearly enough to hold him back, yet it was.
A weapon is only as good as the man who wields it.
Peter nodded, smiled up at him and turned away, silently moving to the opposite end of the bunker.
Dean’s mind skipped back to before. To the time prior to his being thrust into Hell. The thing, Ruby called it a bomb, inside Sam, that was Sam, whatever, mercifully hadn’t fully surfaced since. At least not to the point they couldn’t handle. Sam may very well be some weapon. Dean was beginning to see he couldn’t ignore that any longer. Not with glass exploding around Sam. He was also seeing, if Sam was a weapon, Dean was the trigger, Dean was who wielded the weapon.
It was becoming crystal clear to Dean, what power he had, wanted or not. Here he was keeper of some weapon, demonic or powerful enough to combat demonic, he still wasn’t sure. But keeper of it he was. He had two choices, as he saw it. He could either chose to be guardian of that weapon, or its destroyer. Guardian he’d been since the first time Sam drew a wailing newborn breath. Destroyer? That was never, ever an option.
When he looked back on the last hours before his meeting with Hell hounds Dean realized it was there then, the clues, his control over the weapon that was Sam Winchester.
Exploding glass was one thing. It was the thought Sam might be able to explode heads, specifically Peter’s if he deteriorated, regressed far enough, that sent ice through Dean’s intestines. The idea Peter might also do something to Sam chased right along on the heels of Dean’s thoughts Sam might harm Peter.
Taking a few more steps, shoving Sam backwards until they were behind one of the partitions they’d set up.
“I do not need a freaking damn babysitter!” Sam was literally vibrating with anger. “There is no way I’m staying here waiting around to see if you come back.”
“Sam, the last thing I’d do is leave you alone with him or anyone after what you turned into—”
“Turned into what?” The challenge and anger left and Sam’s voice cracked into pieces over the last word.
Running one hand over his face, Dean drew in a deep breath, put up a placating hand. “Sorry. Bad choice of words.” Ever since they’d gotten here Sam seemed to be a half step out of sync with the rest of the world. In a blink the difference would be gone, and Sam would be Sam again. “You haven’t exactly been in control.”
Sam’s gaze dropped to his feet. “I’m sorry.”
Dean removed his hand from Sam’s chest. Let it sit solidly on his shoulder. “It’s not your fault.”
“You promised.”
The way Sam’s voice sound tiny and lost made Dean’s chest tighten, a large blob filled his throat. “You’re better in here.” He barely managed to push the words out, not even caring how his own voice sounded lost and pleading, how it cracked.
“What if you don’t come back?” Sam pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers. Dean saw one stray, rebellious tear get free. “What if you go out there and disappear too because we’re not together? You look at me and you promise me that if I stay you’ll come back. You promise me that.”
The wind completely left Dean’s sails and his resolve. He couldn’t make that promise. He wouldn’t lie to his brother that way. Not now, not ever. If he was seeing things because of Sam’s proximity, what was to stop him from vanishing if they separated? What was to stop the same from happening to Sam? He didn’t want to leave his brother here, not at all. Dean did, however, want his brother safe and whole. Out there he was neither. Out there he teetered on the edge of some sort of insanity.
Out there they were together.
“You promised.” Sam whispered.
He had. He’d promised a little boy who was inside the grown man that was his brother they’d stick together. Both those parts of Sam feared losing Dean, maybe more than Dean feared losing Sam. Every one around Sam died horrifically, and Sam watched. Dean had been given a second chance, he wasn’t sure why, but he wasn’t going to let Sam suffer that again. He wasn’t going to abandon Sam either, let him sit alone and wondering.
A little voice in the back of Dean’s mind told him, repeatedly, they were stronger, safer together. It had always been that way, always would be that way. He had promised, and if his promises were empty, then what sort of man, what sort of brother, was he?
Sam had totally played him, and Dean knew it. In a way he was grateful for it.
Smokey Mountain Inn…
They’d been about halfway back to town when Dean, and possibly Ernie, realized bringing Sam had been a horrible, grievous mistake. They probably shouldn’t have brought Peter either, but both were in agreement, Peter and Sam left alone together was a sure recipe for tragedy and disaster.
The road between Ernie’s bunker and the town was littered with evidence of violence and desperation. Vehicles abandoned and bloodied, a few bodies. People’s possessions scattered along the roadside. It was heart wrenching.
By the time they pulled into the town, Sam was bouncing up and down in the seat beside Dean, tugging on Dean’s sleeve. Rapid fire questions shot from the kid’s mouth about what they witnessed going on around them. People were stealing things, attacking one another, some sitting in the middle of the road sobbing. Dean had no answers. All he could do was pull Sam’s hand from his hair and push him back against the seat to quiet the rocking motion.
Dean’s eye caught Ernie’s in the rearview mirror. He entertained the thought of asking Ernie for a length of rope and literally tying Sam to him. This was worse than it’d been since they’d arrived. Sam chattered on like a toddler, “promised me,” was interspersed every few sentences.
Ernie stopped the truck in front of their motel, the Impala a few spaces down. “Look, you want me to keep an eye on things in here?”
Grateful for Ernie’s tact, Dean darted a glanced at Sam and started to nod. The second he reached for the door handle, Sam snatched his jacket with both hands and scooted across the seat to follow Dean out the door.
“Sammy, I really need you to stay in here with Ernie.”
Shaking his head furiously, hair flapping in more directions at once than Dean thought possible, Sam’s grip on his jacket tightened. “Promised me, promised me, promised me. You promised me!”
Dean sighed. “Don’t take your hands off my jacket.”
He and Sam more tumbled from the backseat of the truck than climbed down.
“Can we go check for my mom again?” Peter asked Ernie.
Ernie’s eyes again met Dean’s.
Nodding, Dean waved at their motel room door. “It’ll take us ten minutes or so to pack everything up.”
“We’ll be back in less.” Ernie restarted the truck and pulled away from them, heading towards Peter’s house.
“We have to go see
“Yeah, Sammy, first we have to get our stuff packed in the car.”
It took them five minutes. Dean ignored how the entire time Sam kept up a steady chant…promised me, promised, promised, see Lynn, need to see Lynn, promised me. Grinding his teeth together to keep from snapping at Sam to just shut the hell up, Dean grabbed bags in one hand, Sam in the other and dragged his brother to their car.
Opening the driver’s side door, Dean threw their bags over the seat to the back. In the next move he shoved Sam into the car.
Screeching loud enough to make Dean jump and turn for a look around them, Sam hit the steering wheel.
“NO!” He shouted, fists hitting the steering wheel again and again. “Not driving, not driving, no, no, no.”
Grabbing Sam’s closest wrist, Dean tried shoving him across the seat. “Sam just move over. I’m driving!” No way was he even thinking of getting Sam to drive, even if he’d been capable of it.
He still had the small cut on his forehead from a week or two ago when he’d tossed Sam the car keys, thinking he’d like to drive for a bit. To Dean’s utter surprise Sam volleyed them right back, accidentally hitting him in the head, leaving a tiny cut. Sam had stood there and screamed at Dean he never wanted to drive that car again. The whole thing caught Dean by surprise and off guard until he’d worked out it was another of those moments of panic Sam kept so well buried. Dean had always primarily drove. It was Dean’s job to drive. He liked to drive. Sam merely tolerated it when he needed to.
The last time Sam drove the Impala it’d been with Dean’s dead, mutilated body as the backseat passenger.
“NO!” Sam bellowed again.
Sam may have been mentally about the age of three right now and having a temper tantrum, but he still had the body and weight of a twenty-five year old man, one in shape and with a vicious punch. Completely panicked, Sam’s fist plowed into Dean’s middle, shoving him away from the car, and forcing him to release Sam’s wrist. Sam scrambled from the car shouting not driving, not driving, not driving.
Sucking in air, trying desperately to refill his suddenly emptied lungs, half doubled over Dean latched onto Sam’s shoulders with both hands.. “Sammy,” he wheezed out. “You’re not allowed to drive. I just want you in the car.” He managed to straighten completely and shove Sam around to the other side of the car. Opening the passenger side door, Sam looked from him to the car and back again.
When Dean waved to the inside of the car, Sam immediately quieted down and slid inside. “Need to find
Dean braced on arm against the roof of the car and sagged against it. His other hand followed Sam inside the car. He rested it on the top of Sam’s head. “We will, Sammy. We will.”
A woman’s scream ripped across the parking lot. Dean swiveled to find the source of the sound. Sam’s head poked out of the car. A man had a woman forced back and held to the wall of the next building over. He was ripping at her clothes, then he slapped her across the face.
“Hey!” Dean pushed away from the car. He got three steps before he turned and ran back just in time to shove Sam back into the car. “You stay there. Sammy, you stay there no matter what happens.”
“Promised. Promised me. Promised me.”
Dean sprinted at the man and woman, twisting his torso and pointing back at Sam as he ran, “You stay there!”
Leaping a short concrete divider, Dean was landing his hand on the man’s shoulder, yanking him off the poor woman. He spun the guy around, and smashed his fist into the guy’s face. The man brought both hands up, crashing them into the side of Dean’s head. He staggered back a few paces, stunned. The world spun and started to slip away. A second later he regained his balance and pushed a feeling of heaviness from his limbs.
The windows of the building cracked, groaned, shattered and splintered, flying in all directions.
Dean got a glimpse of Sam’s fingers digging into the man’s shoulder, pulling him away. The woman ducked, sobbing she stumbled into Dean. He shoved her to the ground. Covering his head with his arm, Dean pushed her into the wall with his leg, at the same time turning to Sam and the man.
Sam had barely let go, and turned away when bits of glass bounced off the denim material covering his shoulders.
“Find
“Sam!”
Shaking his head, Sam backed away more.
The man groaned and started pushing off the ground. The woman sobbed louder.
“Are you all right?” Dean didn’t mean to shout at the poor woman, but he couldn’t stop his voice from coming out loud and harsh. She looked up at him, wide eyed, with tears streaming down her cheeks. Scooting away from him, she nodded. Dean turned from her, hauled the man to his feet and hit him hard enough to knock him out. “You stupid piece of shit.” Letting the guy go, he crumpled at Dean’s feet.
Jumping over the now unconscious man, Dean shouted again, “Sam!”
Halfway between him and the car, Sam stopped, turned and watched Dean with round, terrified eyes. He waved at the road leading to the diner with one hand, the other gripped his hair, tugging and pulling. “We have to stop it. Help them. Promised me, stick together, promised me. One, one, one, zero, two, two, two, two.” Sam let go of his hair and held both hands up in front of his face, as if holding something between them, face contorting to a snarl. “Kill him. Feel it, his neck snap, bones break, I can feel it.”
Running full tilt at Sam, Dean tried reaching out for him, but Sam darted away. “Sammy, c’mon. Come here.” Panic gripped Dean and nearly consumed him. His fingers felt icy, his head muddled and his reflexes too slow. Desperation took over, he had to get a hold of Sam, get him back to Ernie’s bunker or he’d melt down completely and not survive, Dean was sure.
“Promised me. Stick together. Safe together. Promised me.” Sam shook his head, backing away.
“Sam.” It was nothing more than a whisper.
“Promised.” Sam whispered back before he turned and ran.
“Shit. Shit!”
Keeping track of Sam acting like a toddler was worse than it had been when he’d actually been one.
Dean didn’t even think about it, he bolted after Sam.
Malcolm’s Kitchen…
Sam didn’t know why he had to come here, to the diner. Maybe it was because he wanted to be sure
Dean had gotten into a fight with a man. Sam didn’t think Dean was hurt, but his instructions to Sam were clear. If anything happens to me go to Lynn. If
He was confused. Nothing made sense other than the jumble of numbers in his head. One, one, one, zero, two, two, two, two. Over and over the numbers rang through his head until everything else was pushed out. They chased him no matter how fast he ran. His only other clear thought was to run. Some odd scrambled up logic dictated if Dean was in the diner, and Sam was in the diner then
Sam didn’t stop running until he ran straight into
“Dean promised, Dean promised. They were in the way, because they were in the way.”
Sam barely spared a glance to a small group of people ten or so feet away grabbing and pulling at one another.
“Who was in the way?”
“Sam’s a bomb. Save Dean, can’t save Dean, save Dean.” Sam pushed by her, barely paying attention to her trying to pull him back by one arm. “You! Not hurting Dean. Not taking my brother!”
When or how Peter had gotten there Sam neither knew nor cared. He landed on the boy, both of them crashing to the ground. Nothing was taking Dean again. Ernie pulled him off a second later just before Sam’s hands got a good enough grip on Peter’s neck. From somewhere farther inside the diner Sam heard high-pitched giggling, it sounded more like someone was afraid.
“Who is taking Dean?” Ernie was shouting at him, shoving him away from Peter, to the booth again.
Sam saw Dean charge through the door, stopping long enough to look around, look for Sam. His face was flushed from running, his eyes wide and frightened. He was already moving through the diner when
Dean hadn’t made it quite halfway across the room to Sam when a girl slid into the booth across from him. “Hi!” She leaned over the table and Sam couldn’t help looking down her shirt, then away fast. She had long, light brown hair that fell in chunks over her shoulders and breasts. There was a pale expanse of skin between where her tight shirt stopped and her low, tight jeans began. She reached across and stroked two fingers over his cheek. “You are so cute.”
“I—thank—uh—I’m Sam.”
Her smile widened, her eyes shown. She was pretty. “Marie.” Her finger slipped into his mouth for a second then skimmed his lower lip.
Sam gulped.
The jukebox flared to life. Strains of music filled the air.
Silver bullets in the jukebox, spin another round. Everybody at the back of the line it’s
“You can’t use silver bullets you have to mix the silver with lead, or they’ll be too soft.” Sam blurted out.
Marie’s eyes widened, she leaned farther over the table. “Wow. That’s hot!” She reached across the table, latched onto Sam’s shirt and pulled herself over and onto his lap.
“Sam!” He was pretty sure Dean didn’t like this.
“I’ve seen werewolves, they are nassss-teee.” Sam thumped his hand against the table in beat with his words.
“Really hot.” Marie stuck her tongue down his throat and her hand into his jeans and grabbed—oh there!
Hangin on barely, hitch a ride away. Belly up and bury, boy, all the hurt you feel today.
“Sam quit fooling around with that girl.” Dean’s hand on his shoulder caused Sam to pull back from Marie.
“I’m not the one fooling. You keep telling me to get laid more often.”
“I didn’t mean right now!”
They both looked at the wall with the jukebox. Peter stood beside it, holding up the unplugged cord. The power was still firmly out.
Hangin on barely, hitch a ride away. Belly up and bury, boy, all the hurt you feel today.
Without warning Marie’s warm hand and curious tongue were yanked away. Dean had her by the arm.
“Hey! He’s a big boy, and he’s mine, get your own.” Marie’s voice was an indignant squawk.
“Listen sweetie, I don’t care how old his or how old he lives to be, that’s my little brother and he’ll never, ever be old enough for you.”
“Asshole.” Marie spat.
“Pediphile!” Dean returned.
“But Dean…”
“No!”
Ernie appeared beside Dean. “What the hell?”
Whatever answer Dean was going to give Ernie was cut short by Marie making another dive at Sam’s lap. Dean caught her around the waist and shoved her back.
The jukebox’s volume ramped up. Two women and a man landed on the table across from where Sam sat. He watched as they tugged and pulled at one another’s clothes.
Some one hit someone else, tossing them over the service counter.
“This is insane.” Dean growled and grabbed Ernie, moving him back in time to avoid being hit with a chair.
“How is that thing even playing? We still have no power.” Ernie shouted above the wracket.
Midnight at the lost and found, lost souls in the hunting ground, A remedy for all your ills, at the lost and found, Midnight at the lost and found...Silver bullets in the jukebox, spin another round. Everybody get back in line, last call for the lost and found…
“Come on, Sam. This whole place has gone nuts.”
Dean took hold of Sam’s arm, started pulling him to his feet.
The jukebox skipped and scratched, it was so loud it made some people stop and cover their ears. A second later another song blasted out, impossibly loud.
People began ripping food from the refrigerator behind the counter. Others were throwing dishes and trays.
Your soul, your soul. You’re going down, boy, all the way down. Hellhounds on your trail, boy, Hellhounds on your trail…
Dean’s hand slid from Sam’s shoulder. The color left his face. Pivoting on his heels he put his back to Sam, faced the jukebox. He froze in one spot, trembling head to foot.
Sam lost track of what the others in the diner were doing, it was all a jumble of noise and motion.
A clock was chiming to twelve. Lilith opened the door. Sam begged and pleaded for it to stop. Dean was dragged to the floor, blood and bone ripped and shredded away.
Come a little closer it's a feeling that I can't deny. I was weak, but I never thought I'd speak about the darker side. Is that a tent? I could repent on the side of the road. But, I kept on going yeah I headed for another load.
Lilith’s hand raised and the room whited out. When it cleared, Dean was lying dead and bloody. Sam had barely a second to realize he was still alive before Lilith vacated the body and slithered away in a black haze. Sam’s world closed down to the mangled body of his brother. He didn’t try to stop the tears. When Bobby rushed in, trying to move Sam away, to help him, Sam spun and hit Bobby hard enough to knock him into a wall.
Hit Bobby. Christ he’d hit Bobby.
On a road outside of nowhere, in the middle of the night. Well I guess I hit rock bottom and the dawn was not in sight. And a Tempest made of fire, onset the sky aglow. And a sweet young thing called out my name. And this is how it goes, she says...Go boy, can you hear them? Are you falling through the cracks in your eyes?
Sam carried Dean to the Impala and carefully, with the utmost tenderness, he’d placed his brother in the back, covered him with a blanket. Starting the engine, Sam pressed foot to the gas pedal and drove. Paying no attention to the speed limit or other cars, he careened down the road, intending to drive until a fatal blow stopped him. A cop tried to stop him. Sam hit him too, right before the man saw the body Sam had in the backseat. He sped away not knowing, or caring if the cop was alive or dead.
The car stopped, almost of its own accord, at a cemetary in Wyoming. The Hellgate wouldn’t open, Sam needed time to prepare, set up the rituals. He laid Dean in a caretaker’s shack.
He couldn’t do it, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t open the Gate, bring Dean out.
Still Sam held on.
The world faded away, narrowed down to the bottles of whiskey he found in the trunk and the ruined flesh of the man who’d been his brother.
Gripping Dean’s shoulders with both hands, Sam shook him. Pleading, “Dean!” He wanted the memories to go away, but they washed over him in a tsunami, vivid and relentless. Under his hands Dean’s entire body shuddered. He did nothing but stand and stare at the jukebox.
I get up from the ground in the middle of the morning. Up from the ground in the middle of the evening. Up from the ground and I'm falling back down. Up from the ground and I testify.
How much time went by before Dean’s body vanished, Sam had no idea. Now he was alone, horribly, painfully alone. Even Dean’s corpse was gone. Reason and time lapsed away.
Still Sam hung on.
Every cut that heals reveals a scar that you can never hope to hide. All the pain that you restrain keeps building up deep inside. If you think you're above it then it's you my friend that I implore. You've got to talk before you run. See the night before the dawn. Before you pull yourself off the floor.
The next thing Sam felt, truly felt that wasn’t grief or pain was warm fingers against his face. A deep, familiar voice pulling him from his stupor.
I get up from the ground in the middle of the morning. Up from the ground in the middle of the evening. Up from the ground in the middle of the night. Oh, I testify.
The scars on Dean’s chest Sam had seen for the first day only. He remembered them, everyone of them. Sam couldn’t see them now, but they were there. He didn’t care, they were there and so was Dean.
Sam shook Dean again. Without letting go of his brother’s shoulders, Sam straightened and locked eyes with Peter standing across the room. Curling his lips to a snarl, Sam focused on Peter.
Peter stilled and glared right back.
“Demon flashy thing doesn’t work on me.” The words hissed from Sam’s mouth without his brain actually forming the thought.
Dean’s shoulders twitched, he turned his head and his eyes slid to Sam.
The jukebox scratched and screeched again, another song blared at them.
It's the end of the world as we know it. It's the end of the world as we know it. It's the end of the world as we know it and I feel fine.
“I don’t know about you, but I’ve had enough of this crap.” Ernie pulled his pistol up, other hand waving at Peter, “Get away from there!” He elbowed Dean’s arm.
Peter dropped the jukebox’s electric cord and jumped to the side.
“Yeah.” Dean snapped out. “This ends.” Shrugging off Sam, he reached behind his back for his pistol. Raising it to match Ernie’s aim, Dean shouted the command, “Get down!”
Sam watched as the people in the diner obeyed without question and dropped. Some were screaming, some crying, others rolling together on the floor.
Dean and Ernie opened fire on the jukebox.
Blue-white flame mingled with orange-red.
Sam froze. His stomach churned, hairs all over his body rose, his skin tingled while his mind screamed NO! Next he felt Dean’s weight hit him and crush him to the floor. Fire surrounded them. Dean was screaming his name, screaming
One, one, one, zero, two, two, two, two flew out from the ball of flame at Sam, swirled around he and Dean before being melted away by a fire burning blue-white and deep orange all at once.
Smokey Mountain Inn…
I see the bad moon arising…
Dean opened his eyes. He was lying on a bed staring at a ceiling.
I see trouble on the way. I see earthquakes and lightnin…
Moving nothing but his eyes, he scanned the room. He was in their motel room. The clockradio beside the bed happily cranking out tunes.
I see bad times today…
Easing up on his elbows and turning his head toward Sam’s bed at the same time, Dean stared at his brother.
Don't go around tonight. Well, its bound to take your life…
Sam stared back with round, wide eyes. Slowly he sat up, gaze traveling the room to come back and rest on Dean.
Theres a bad moon on the rise…
Dean straightened, lifted his hands so they were in front of his face, turning them over, he stared at the uncharred skin. “What’s the date?”
I hear hurricanes ablowing. I know the end is coming soon…
Sam leaned over and looked at the clockradio. “The twenty-first.”
I fear rivers over flowing. I hear the voice of rage and ruin…
“The diner exploded on the twentieth.” Dean watched as Sam slowly nodded.
Dont go around tonight, Well, its bound to take your life. There’s a bad moon on the rise…
“Two, one, two, zero.” Both of them looked at the clock, then at each other. Eleven-twenty-two. “One, one, two, two.” Dean stammered.
“Four two’s, three ones and a zero.” Sam whispered. “Power is back on.”
“You spike the beer with that dream root?”
Sam shook his head. “Nope.”
Hope you got your things together. Hope you are quite prepared to die. Looks like we’re in for nasty weather…
Dean swallowed thickly and asked, “How you feeling?”
One eye is taken for an eye.
“Fried, but okay.”
Dont go around tonight. Well, its bound to take your life…
“How old are you, Sam? Three, five…”
Theres a ba—
Sam’s fist slammed into the clockradio. Dean’s eyes tracked it as it sailed across the room, splintering into pieces against the far wall.
“Twenty-five and I hate that song.”
Dean nodded slowly, “Point taken.”
The blaring of a horn and someone shouting from the parking lot drew both sets of eyes to the window. Dean threw back the blankets, was up and moving even as Sam was doing the same. They nearly collided with one another trying to get to the window. Using two fingers, Sam pulled the curtain back far enough for them both to peer outside.
Dean looked up to the sky immediately. In his periphery he saw Sam do the same. Clear blue skies with wispy bits of clouds greeted him.
Beside Dean, Sam sucked in his breath, whispering, “Do you see it?”
“No.”
“Me either. It’s gone.”
“What the—?” Dean turned away when Sam darted across the room. A minute later he was hoping around pulling on jeans and boots.
Sam stopped and spread his arms wide. “You coming?”
“Ye—yeah. Give me a sec.”
Sam stood by the door, tapping his foot impatiently while Dean dressed, and stuffed his pistol into his waistband behind his back. “You feel like strangling anyone?”
“Other than you, ‘cause you won’t put a move on? Not right now.” Sam pulled the door open as Dean headed toward it and followed him outside. “Walk or drive?”
Stopping on the sidewalk, Dean took a minute to take in the sights and sounds around him. Sam drew up close beside him, gazing with eyes a bit too wide out at the parking lot, then up and down the street.
“C’mon.” Dean tapped Sam’s elbow, pressing the fabric of his jacket between two fingers. “Walk.”
They headed down the motel sidewalk to the main street, going in the general direction of the diner.
“Dean.” Sam voice was low and right in Dean’s ear.
“I see them.” Three of the missing people from the library, including the woman who’d vanished in front of them, were walking toward them. “Hey,” Dean stepped in their path. “Power is back on, is the road open yet?”
The woman eyed him up and down, making Dean want to fidget. The hair along the back of his neck rose, but he kept on smiling at her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She snapped at him and sidestepped around him. “Why does everyone come to
Dean turned on his toes to watch them pass. Sam’s mouth dropped open, he snapped it shut when his gaze left the three people and jerked to meet Dean’s. “They act like nothing happened.” Sam exhaled the words more than spoke them.
Nodding, Dean gave a quick tug on Sam’s arm. “Let’s check out the diner.”
As they walked they saw that the town looked perfectly normal. No bodies littering the streets, no shops with their windows broken out and the merchandise looted. Cars previously stalled and left abandoned, were now being driven through the streets, music flowing from the windows. Televisions in an electronics store played a movie, no emergency news reports. No stories of the end of the world or some disaster.
Malcolm’s Kitchen…
The diner wasn’t as packed as it’d been on their previous trips through, but considering it was lunch time, the place was pleasantly busy. Sam’s fingers clamping down on Dean’s forearm stopped him from following the instructions of the sign reading Seat Yourself Please. Sam tipped his head to the counter, to two men seated there, having a lively discussion over their lunch.
It was Knifeman and Mr. Baseball Bat.
Dean felt Sam’s sharp intake of breath. Knifeman still wore a sport’s jersey with the numbers two two, and Mr. Baseball Bat wore one with the numbers one zero. Each held a utensil in one hand resting on the counter, the utensils’ handles sticking up, one one. They were the only two people seated along that section of the counter, their reflections obvious in the cooler behind it. Two two.
Sam’s breath was warm, his voice shaky against the side of Dean’s head as he mumbled, “Three ones, a zero and four two’s.”
They edged closer, listening to the men’s conversation.
“No way, I’m telling you Chuck, the Indians are going all the way this year to the Series, I can feel it.” Knifeman thumped his fist on the counter for effect.
Mr. Baseball Bat laughed, threw his head back and bellowed out a hearty, cheerful sound. “Well, I can sure use the extra money. Wanna bet on that?”
Dean glanced back at Sam; the look on Sam’s face reflected his thoughts. Sure didn’t sound like terrorist attacks and the end of the world. Giving Sa