And the Greatest of These... 4/7 (Gen, PG-13)
And the Greatest of These...
by Swanseajill
Chapter Four
4
Finding Sam was the easy part. Late that evening, Dean simply called his cell. He told him he was at Bobby’s, had been thinking things over, and wanted to meet up the following day. He let Sam choose the meeting place - a popular diner on the outskirts of Barberville, a small town just an hour’s drive west of Bobby’s home.
The next day, he and Bobby split up, agreeing that the older man should keep a low profile until the meeting with Sam began. To be safe, in case Sam was watching the house, Dean even left Bobby’s alone.
He arrived at Connie’s diner at eleven a.m., half an hour before the time they’d agreed to meet. He wanted - needed - a few moments alone to pull himself together, physically and mentally, in preparation for the ordeal ahead.
Dean parked in a space near the brightly painted entrance door and got out of the car. He was sure Sam was nearby when he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand to attention. Sam had probably holed up somewhere in town to watch the diner and make sure he arrived alone. He looked around carefully, as Sam would expect him to do, before sauntering inside.
The diner was full - only to be expected at that time of the morning. Dean spotted a free booth toward the back of the room and headed for it, choosing the far seat, where he had a good view of the door. He carefully arranged his body into his usual boneless slouch, trying to ignore the burning in his side and the constant pounding in his head. The pain was making him nauseated, and while the Tylenol he’d taken less than an hour ago had done little to take the edge off, he couldn’t afford to dull his senses by taking anything stronger.
He gritted his teeth. He didn’t want Sam to know how badly he’d been hurt back at the mine, nor to see how weak he was now. Pulling the sleeve of his shirt down a little further, he covered the dressing on his forearm. There wasn’t much he could do about the stitches in his head and the square of white dressing that covered them, though, nor the bruises on his face that could compete with the fall leaves outside for color.
He felt groggy and spacey, hardly surprising as he’d barely slept the night before. Still, he was functioning well enough to recall those words spoken eight months ago. They were as clear in his mind as if it had been yesterday. “Are you sure that what you brought back is one-hundred percent Sam?” And Bobby’s words, too: “My guess is that when Sam died and you brought him back, the power was somehow triggered again.”
He’d suspected for a long time that something was wrong with his brother, ever since the moment he’d watched Sam kill Jake with an expression of naked triumph. He had deliberately pushed the incident from his mind - after all, if anyone deserved a sense of satisfaction at that moment, Sam did - and tried to convince himself that there was nothing more to it. But the memory had come back to haunt him during the past few months as he’d witnessed Sam’s clear enjoyment of each and every kill.
He’d wanted to tell Sam to get the hell out of Dodge, to go back to college, to a normal life where he had a chance to keep this thing at bay. But he’d known Sam wouldn’t do it. Not while they were in the middle of a war Sam felt responsible for starting. And not while Sam was so focused on finding a way to break the crossroads deal.
Dean had grown afraid that Sam’s fevered attempts to save him would lead to Sam trying to exploit his connection with the demon, and in so doing, lose himself to evil. It had been a profound relief for all sorts of reasons when Sam had found a different way.
The doorbell clanged, and Dean looked up as Sam walked into the room. He straightened a little, then nonchalantly laid one arm across the back of the seat, smothered a grimace at the accompanying flash of pain that shot through his ribs, and plastered his game face in place. Everything was riding on his ability to convince Sam that what he was about to say was the truth.
Sam spotted him and raised a hand in recognition, striding across the room toward the booth. He folded himself into the seat opposite Dean.
“Hey, big brother,” Sam said easily with a wide grin. “I’m glad you showed. It was quiet in the motel last night without you there, snoring like a pig.”
Dean hadn’t been sure what to expect, but he hadn’t anticipated Sam looking and sounding just like - Sam. Not that he’d expected his brother to have sprouted horns overnight, but he’d anticipated anger, or wariness, or - something. Not Sammy.
“Dude, I don’t snore,” he responded automatically to the familiar jibe.
“You so do.” Sam waved a dismissive hand. “Anyway, like I said, I’m glad you showed.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
Sam crossed his arms on the table and leaned forward, brow furrowed. “We didn’t exactly part on the best of terms, did we? I wasn’t expecting you to come around so quickly.”
“Yeah, well, there’s a war on, Sam. Time’s a luxury we don’t have.”
Sam shifted, leaned back in his seat and linked his hands behind his head. He studied Dean’s face, and a small smile played on his lips. “You look like hell, Dean. Pardon the pun.”
Dean rolled his eyes. “Thanks. That makes me feel so much better.”
Sam grinned. “Sorry about your face. Guess I’ve upped my game since we last fought, huh?”
A chill shot through Dean as he saw past the friendly smile, noticed in Sam’s eyes the same unnatural light he’d seen during the fight back at the mine. He’d been wrong, he could see that now. This wasn’t Sammy.
He’d been deliberately vague when describing the fight to Bobby, because it had been dirty and vicious and had shaken him to the core. Sam had attacked him with such ferocity that it had been all he could do to defend himself without inflicting any serious damage on his brother. As it was, he’d taken more punishment than he should have - the agony that shot through his ribs every time he moved was testimony to that.
But it wasn’t so much the physical pain that had shaken him. It wasn’t even Sam’s words, spoken after a particularly brutal punch had split his lip and landed him on his ass. Sam had grabbed a handful of shirt and pulled him up until they were nose to nose. “I’m leaving now. When you get your head out of your ass, you come and find me, okay?” Then Sam had drawn back his fist, and when it connected, Dean had seen stars. No, what had really scared him was the look in his brother’s eyes as Sam delivered that final blow, which had sent Dean tumbling down the steps to the mine. The eyes that had searched his face had been ice cold and filled with a feverish, alien light. They could have belonged to a stranger.
Sam hadn’t wanted to kill him - not then. But Dean wasn’t sure what his brother would do if he realized that Dean still had his head firmly lodged in his ass.
The waitress who appeared at their table brought him out of his momentary reverie. Sam’s eyes were still on him, and there was a slight smile dancing around his lips. For a moment, Dean was afraid his brother could actually see into his mind. He mentally shook himself and cursed himself for his momentary lapse of concentration. He had to stay focused.
He looked away casually and smiled at the middle-aged waitress. “Hi there… Betty. I’ll take a large coffee, black, and a large cappuccino with some of those sprinkly chocolate things on the top for my brother.”
“Sure thing, honey. What can I bring you to eat? The breakfast special’s the best deal you’ll get in town.”
Dean’s stomach did a flip-flop at the thought, and told him he was likely to throw up if he even looked at a plate of bacon and eggs. But Sam was still watching him closely, and he knew it would look suspicious if he turned down food. He forced some enthusiasm into his voice. “I’ll take that, then. Sam?”
Sam glanced at the waitress with a bright smile. “I’ll take the pancakes with some bacon on the side. Thanks.”
The waitress scribbled down the order. “Coming right up, boys.”
Dean waited until she’d walked briskly back to the counter and then leaned forward slightly. Time to get this show on the road.
“So, where’ve you been, Sam? Nice move, by the way, leaving me stranded in that godforsaken place.”
Sam grinned. “Left you your cell, didn’t I? Bet you called Bobby, right?”
For one heart-stopping moment, Dean wondered if Sam had been following their movements since Bobby arrived at the mine. But that was impossible. Bobby had been on his guard, and he’d have known if a car had been tracking them.
“How’d you know?”
Sam shrugged. “Just an educated guess. We don’t have that many friends in South Dakota, Dean. What’d you tell him?”
“Not much. Just that after we killed the chulka, I slipped and fell down the steps, and when I woke up, you were gone. Told him I thought there was someone else around, that they must have taken you.”
Sam cocked an eyebrow. “Why’d you lie to him?”
“Why d’you think?” Dean answered casually. “What happened was between the two of us, Sam. I trust Bobby, but that doesn’t mean he has to know all our business.”
Sam nodded. “So you went back to his place?”
Dean had decided to tell as much of the truth as possible. Sam was less likely to catch him in a lie that way. “Bobby made me go to the ER, get some stitches in my head. We stayed in the motel and drove back to his place in the morning.”
“Does he know you’re here?”
“Yeah. I told him I called Ellen and she told me she’d heard a rumor that Gordon was out of prison and been spotted in Barberville. He agreed I should check it out.”
Sam raised an eyebrow. “I take it you made up the part about Gordon?”
Dean forced a grin. “’Course. Don’t worry, little brother. Gordon’s got a lot of years ahead of him in his cozy little cell.”
“Yeah. And he deserves every minute of it. Guess it’ll be a while longer before I get the chance to dish out the punishment he really deserves.”
The waitress returning with their order gave Dean an excuse to look away from the feral light of anticipation that shone in Sam’s eyes. He’d worn the same expression as he’d hacked away at the chulka’s body. Dean suppressed a shudder. For a few minutes, he concentrated on forcing down a few forkfuls of egg and washing them down with large gulps of coffee, aware the whole time of Sam’s eyes fixed on him.
“How’s your breakfast?” Sam asked after a while.
“Awesome,” Dean said, around a huge mouthful.
“Mine too. So, anyway, you said you’ve been doing some thinking about what I said. I’m guessing you’ve come to a decision.”
Dean put his fork down and braced himself for the best acting job of his life.
“I’ll be honest with you, Sam. I still don’t like the idea of you getting too deep into all this ‘power’ stuff. We don’t know where it’ll lead.” He held up a hand when Sam’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t get your pantyhose in a knot. You wanted to know what I’m thinking.”
“Fine. You’re not happy. So what are we doing here?”
“Let me finish, dude. I said I don’t like the idea; I didn’t say I wouldn’t go along with it. You said it yourself yesterday - we’re in a war, and our side needs all the help it can get. Desperate times call for desperate measures.”
Sam frowned. “You still don’t get it, do you? It’s obvious I’ve been given these powers for a purpose. I don’t see how using them qualifies as ‘desperate measures’. All I’m doing is fulfilling my destiny.”
The chilling sincerity in those words convinced Dean his brother really believed what he was saying. Unless Sam was a far better actor than Dean knew him to be.
“Whatever, Sam,” he said casually. “You go on believing that destiny crap if that makes you happy.”
Sam’s lips tightened, and Dean went on hastily, tone firm, “Bottom line is, yeah, I have doubts about this. But one thing I do know, and that’s that we have to stick together. No way am I letting you go off without me, not while we have a demon army to fight.” He paused and leaned forward, tone softer now. “You’re my brother. It’s my job to look out for you, right? And I’m gonna carry on doing that, whatever it takes. So you can count me in.”
Sam looked at him long and hard, and Dean gazed back with as much sincerity as he could muster. After long moments, Sam smiled. “Okay.”
“Just one thing.” Dean knew he couldn’t give in too easily, or Sam would smell a rat.
“What’s that?”
Dean jabbed a finger at Sam. “If it looks like you’re ever in danger of losing control of these powers, you stop using them. I want your word, Sam.”
Sam sighed exaggeratedly. “You worry too much.”
“Your word, Sam.”
Sam smiled. “Fine. You have my word. Want to shake on it, too?”
Dean responded automatically to the outstretched hand. Sam leaned forward, grasped his forearm, and squeezed hard. Dean bit back a gasp as strong fingers dug painfully into the stitched-up gash.
“Something wrong?” Sam asked innocently.
Dean shook his head. He didn’t trust himself to speak.
Sam held his eyes. “Just follow my lead, and everything’ll turn out just fine.”
Dean almost lost his breakfast. The warning in both the brutal grip and the softly spoken words was unmistakable and the clearest indication yet that his brother was no longer himself.
He forced a smile as he grasped Sam’s forearm in return, and felt sweat break out on his forehead as Sam continued to squeeze. Then Sam abruptly released him, scooped up a final forkful of pancake and stood up. “We’d better get moving. I did some research last night. There’s something very strange happening down in Louisiana. I’ll tell you about it in the car.”
“Lead on, little brother.”
Dean waited for a moment until Sam had turned to leave before letting out a shaky breath. He wiped his face quickly with the sleeve of his shirt, then painfully levered himself out of the chair and followed his brother to the door.
They stepped outside, and Dean saw the Impala parked next to Bobby’s car. He glanced around casually. There was no one else in the lot.
“Toss me the keys? I’ve missed my baby.”
Sam stared at him for a moment, and then grinned. “Sure.” He tossed the keys and walked around to the passenger side.
Dean stood beside the driver’s door. “Hey Sam,” he said lightly, “I hope you’ve treated my girl with the respect she deserves.”
As Sam looked up to reply, his face contorted in pain, and he slapped a hand to his neck. He looked at Dean with an expression of surprise mixed with anger. Then his legs folded under him. By the time Dean reached him, he’d hit the deck, out cold.
Dean looked up as Bobby appeared beside him. “Hell, Bobby, what did you shoot him with? He went down hard.”
Bobby grunted, straightening his cap. “There was enough tranquilizer in that dart to down an elephant. Should keep him out long enough for us to do what’s needed.”
Dean frowned. “You realize Sam’s not an elephant, right? A sasquatch maybe…”
“Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing. He’ll have a bit of a headache when he wakes up, but he’ll be fine.”
Together, and with some difficulty, they manhandled Sam’s 6’4” frame into the back of the Impala and drove out of town.
Go to Chapter Five
Chapter Three
Chapter One & Two