Terror Town, USA 6/?
Title: Terror Town, USA
Author:mlebayre
Genre: General
Characters/Pairings: None
Rating: R
Summary: The next installment of the War With No Front series, created by mlebayre and Sojourner84. Trapped in a small town, cut off from the rest of the world, Dean struggles to save their tiny corner of the world and Sam struggles to hang onto reality while events threaten to push him straight over the edge and into insanity.
In a war with no front, enemies are not always obvious, reality maybe nothing but illusion.
Disclaimer: Not mine, just borrowing from Kripke.
A/N: Many thanks to Maygin for the huge amount of research she helped me with. Also to Sojourner84 Vanessa and Maygin for their beta'ing skills.
“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?”
“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 Lynn. And who is this with you?”
“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. Lynn laid a paper placemat in front of Sam, and a small box of crayons next to his hand not clutching the milkshake. More words floated at them, though this time Sam was oblivious, his attention riveted to the paper and crayons.
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, Lynn, maybe we should take ours to go.”
Lynn snorted, leveled a frosty glare at the woman that had her flipping around in her seat, back now squarely to them. “My grandma, she had a sister. Was ninety-three the day she died, never made it past eight or so, if you get my meaning. She loved my grandma, and my grandma never once considered putting her away, or made fun of her, never let anyone talk down to her. You remind me an awful lot of my grandma. She was the finest person I ever knew.” Her voice raising, interest sliding toward the woman from the library, “With the amount of educations in this town you’d think folks would know better, understand how to be polite.”
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 Lynn turned the paper to see. He shrugged one shoulder. “Just stuff in my head.”
Lynn’s eyes met Dean’s briefly, her face filled with kindness and compassion. “You boys let me know when you’re ready to order. And don’t forget a snack to take back to your motel for later. You both look like you have decent appetites.”
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. Lynn simply nodded and went off to the next table.
“I’m sorry, Dean.” Sam stared at the table after Lynn left them, hands still resting in his lap.
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 Lynn stood, now near the kitchen entrance. “You go over there, tell Lynn you’re with us, and tell her what you want to eat. Then we’ll all go look for them. You, and me, and Sam. You can stay with us till we find them.”
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!
SAM!
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…
“SAM!”
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 me.” He sneered.
“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.
Chapter 7
Author:mlebayre
Genre: General
Characters/Pairings: None
Rating: R
Summary: The next installment of the War With No Front series, created by mlebayre and Sojourner84. Trapped in a small town, cut off from the rest of the world, Dean struggles to save their tiny corner of the world and Sam struggles to hang onto reality while events threaten to push him straight over the edge and into insanity.
In a war with no front, enemies are not always obvious, reality maybe nothing but illusion.
Disclaimer: Not mine, just borrowing from Kripke.
A/N: Many thanks to Maygin for the huge amount of research she helped me with. Also to Sojourner84 Vanessa and Maygin for their beta'ing skills.
“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?”
“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 Lynn. And who is this with you?”
“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. Lynn laid a paper placemat in front of Sam, and a small box of crayons next to his hand not clutching the milkshake. More words floated at them, though this time Sam was oblivious, his attention riveted to the paper and crayons.
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, Lynn, maybe we should take ours to go.”
Lynn snorted, leveled a frosty glare at the woman that had her flipping around in her seat, back now squarely to them. “My grandma, she had a sister. Was ninety-three the day she died, never made it past eight or so, if you get my meaning. She loved my grandma, and my grandma never once considered putting her away, or made fun of her, never let anyone talk down to her. You remind me an awful lot of my grandma. She was the finest person I ever knew.” Her voice raising, interest sliding toward the woman from the library, “With the amount of educations in this town you’d think folks would know better, understand how to be polite.”
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 Lynn turned the paper to see. He shrugged one shoulder. “Just stuff in my head.”
Lynn’s eyes met Dean’s briefly, her face filled with kindness and compassion. “You boys let me know when you’re ready to order. And don’t forget a snack to take back to your motel for later. You both look like you have decent appetites.”
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. Lynn simply nodded and went off to the next table.
“I’m sorry, Dean.” Sam stared at the table after Lynn left them, hands still resting in his lap.
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 Lynn stood, now near the kitchen entrance. “You go over there, tell Lynn you’re with us, and tell her what you want to eat. Then we’ll all go look for them. You, and me, and Sam. You can stay with us till we find them.”
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!
SAM!
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…
“SAM!”
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 me.” He sneered.
“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.
Chapter 7