Carry On... Episode 13: Me and My Shadow Part 2
Here is the second part of episode 13 of Carry On...
Episode 13: Just Me and My Shadow
Original airdate: 2010.05.03
Summary:
Sam is seeing things that no-one else sees and it seems to be tied to his powers. Dean is watching Sam's increasingly odd behavior and is wondering where this all will end? Several incidents happen, one actually threatening their lives.
When Sam uses his powers to save lives while battling with himself over the action taken, it brings it all to the surface. Dean thinks Sam is in control. Sam is not so sure. Later, Sam's subconscious forces him to face his fear and look into himself to accept who he is, even the dark parts.
Excerpt:
Dean's hands gripped his shoulders hard, but Sam didn't budge. With Dean standing behind him, his only option was to let the Poltergeists' energies mirror off his own body to then collide with the walls and the shelves, then turn back and mirror off him all over. The whirlwind it created made the Poltergeists lose control and implode on themselves in a rain of sparks. And right there, in a zap of blinding light, Sam saw something that resembled a human figure. Like a bluish shadow, flickering in the light, like a warning. It was gone in a moment, but the image was like etched into Sam's awareness.
Written by: starbright73 and sendintheklowns
Artist: kiscinca
PART TWO
Dean heard a loud commotion in the bathroom, almost like something exploding, followed by a loud thump. A thump that shook the walls and caused dust moats to rain down on the dingy carpeting.
“Sammy!” Silence greeted his shout. Dean tried the doorknob and it wouldn’t turn; Sam had locked it even though Dean had asked him to leave the door open. Figured. Lowering his shoulder, Dean applied it to the bathroom door with all the force he could muster. He was gratified when the chintzy lock splintered and the door was flung open. The forward motion of the hollow plywood door halted abruptly as it thudded against something. Sam’s thigh was that something and the door had probably added a bruise to whatever other injuries his brother had just collected in the bathroom turned war zone.
His brother rested in an ungainly heap on the grungy tile floor, his legs bent beneath him as he kneeled awkwardly, head dangling limply on his bowed neck.
Eyes scanned the tiny area and once he was satisfied Sam wasn’t in danger, Dean started to drop to his knees, settling for a crouch as he took in the sharp shards littering the floor. Sam hadn’t been so lucky.
Silvered pieces of broken mirror protruded from the exposed skin of Sam’s hands and face but that wasn’t what worried Dean at the moment. It was his brother’s absolute silence.
Dean gently gripped Sam’s chin in one hand and levered it up so he could peer at his brother. Sam’s eyes were obscured by long bangs which sparkled with residue from the shattered mirror glistening in the light that streamed through the open door. The bathroom’s lights had exploded along with the mirror and there was no way Dean could make out anything but the basic shape of his brother on the floor.
With a hand at Sam’s elbow, Dean pushed upward, relieved when his brother followed suit. As soon as Sam was upright his legs trembled, threatening to send him back to the floor, so Dean wound an arm around Sam’s lower back, anchoring him to his side. “Come on, let’s get you out of this mess.”
Sam was weaving on his feet and that along with the absence of talk worried Dean. If he couldn’t trust Sam to go to the bathroom by himself then things were more dire than Dean had thought and that did nothing to settle his jangling nerves.
He carefully deposited Sam on the nearest bed. This time he didn’t have to pull Sam’s chin up to look at his brother’s eyes but when he got his first good look at Sam, he wanted to cringe. Sam’s eyes were empty instead of the expressive hazel Dean had come to rely on. Empty and blank. Like Sam’s mind had gone on vacation and forgotten to take his body along.
A loud knock at the door shattered the silence as surely as the mirror had shattered it a moment before. “Sir, is everything okay in there?”
Crap. Dean recognized the older woman who had checked them into their room a short while ago. The one who couldn’t take her eyes off of Sam. It was creepy the way her eyes had followed him around. Sam had been unfailingly polite and patient with the woman, almost like he didn’t notice. It worried Dean that Sam could be so focused on the hunt but oblivious to what amounted to a potential stalker, albeit a human one. But in their line of work, humans were often the wildcard, unpredictable and with as much capacity for evil as any supernatural being they went up against. Sam was too big hearted for his own good sometimes but that’s why he had Dean around.
Dean pulled himself together. Sam was staring at the door but he didn’t look like he was going to be much help at the moment. “We’re okay, thanks. Just a little accident.”
Two more loud raps on the door told Dean the clerk was impatient and wasn’t going to be put off by some story shouted through the door. Her next words confirmed it. “Please, sir, either open the door or I’m going to have to call the police.”
With a quick glance over Sam, assuring himself that his brother wouldn’t fall over if he left his side, Dean moved to the door, whipping it open. The woman, her hair dyed too dark against her pale skin, barged past Dean and zeroed in on Sam. “There you are, young man. Are you okay?”
Dean was relieved to see the spark of awareness in Sam’s eyes. He might be bleeding and bruised, maybe even in shock, but he could hold his own against a nosey motel clerk any day. “I’m sorry, I broke the mirror in the bathroom. It was an accident.”
Almost rolling his eyes, Dean waited as the woman melted under Sam’s doe eyes and wistful manner. Dean wasn’t prepared when she turned on him, fire in her eyes. “You broke the mirror, or this one did?” Her attention swiveled back to Sam. “Was he trying to hurt you? I won’t let anything happen to you, you can tell me.” She leaned over so she was eye to eye with the seated Sam. “You remind me so much of my youngest son, Timmy. He’s the spitting image of my Jackson, God rest his soul.”
A shiver passed through Dean’s body; he didn’t know which was worse for Sam, resembling her son or her dead husband. He stood by his original assessment-creepy.
When another shiver shook his body, Dean realized he was a bit underdressed for company. His t-shirt and boxers left a little too much exposed for his liking. Apparently creepy office lady disagreed, sniping over her shoulder at him, “Get over yourself. You don’t have anything I haven’t seen before, young man.”
When Sam stifled a snicker, Dean knew his brother was completely back with him. The motel clerk turned around to make cow eyes at Sam and his brother quickly composed his features from suppressed amusement to woeful apology. “I’m very sorry about the bathroom. I forgot to take my medication and I guess I had a seizure. I’d be happy to pay for the mirror…”
The woman had the audacity to pat Sam’s denim clothed knee. “There, there, don’t you trouble yourself about the mirror. But maybe I should call an ambulance for you, you look a sight.”
Sam assured the clerk he was feeling better and wheedled her on her way, batting his eyelashes and alternating between shy smiles and soft sighs to accomplish the feat. Once the door closed behind her, Dean locked it and then grabbed up his jeans, stuffing his feet into them and pulling them up.
Now that his attention was focused solely on Sam, Dean could see he had quite the clean up ahead of him. He fished around in his duffle bag for the fully stocked first aid kit before returning to Sam’s side. “You want to tell me what happened in there?”
Cupping Sam’s jaw, Dean angled it up for better light. He grabbed the tweezers and began plucking the largest shards from Sam’s face, carefully placing them in a towel. Sam’s eyes were tightly closed, his mouth set in a grimace.
Dean allowed the silence to take over while he moved from Sam’s face to the palms of his hands. That was where the majority of the cuts were. Fortunately the mirror hadn’t done any real damage and although he didn’t doubt it smarted, the wounds were superficial.
Squirting antiseptic into a cotton ball, Dean blotted at the cuts. Sam hissed at the contact but didn’t draw away.
Now that Sam was fixed up, Dean wanted answers.
-0-
Sam's head and hands were throbbing so much he could barely keep himself from squirming off the bed. Dean was dabbing antiseptic on his multitude of cuts. A particularly vicious sting made Sam pull away from Dean's ministrations. Dean took this as his cue to finish up, bundling the unused supplies into the first aid kit and dumping the rest in the trash can.
Dean sunk down on to the bed across from Sam and leveled a concerned stare at him. "So you want to tell me what you've got against the mirror in the bathroom?"
Concern shifted to something akin to blatant apprehension on Dean's face and that squelched Sam's wish to spill his guts. After everything Dean had been through-the torture at the hands of Alistair and the depression that followed-Sam just couldn't bring himself to burden Dean with yet another situation. Not when things between them were still a bit fragile.
The only problem was that there was no other explanation Dean would buy. Forcing his lips into a facsimile of a smile, Sam asked, "Would you believe me if I said I slipped?"
Color suffused Dean's face and he opened and then slammed his mouth shut before rising to his feet. Towering over Sam, he crossed his arms. "Sure, you slipped on the tile and accidentally planted your head and fists in the mirror and that's how you ended up on the floor."
Sam hadn't expected Dean would buy it but he also hadn't expected the heat behind Dean's response. Feeling vulnerable as Dean loomed over him, Sam heaved himself to his feet; his body didn't like the sudden change in position and his vision grayed out for a moment.
Or maybe it was more than a moment because the next thing he knew, he was blinking up at Dean who was hovering over him, the lumpy mattress poking him in the back. "How many fingers do you see, Sammy?"
A hand was thrust so close to his face that Sam's eyes practically crossed trying to see them. That certainly wasn’t going to help his headache. Sam parried the hand away with his own and levered himself up on his elbows. Dean was right back at him, prying an eyelid back as he stared into Sam’s pupil. “I need to see if you have a concussion.”
Enough was enough. Fingers prying and poking were making him nauseous.
Sam pushed Dean back with all his strength which at the moment wasn’t much. It was enough to make his brother stagger back and when the back of Dean’s legs abruptly met the other bed, he collapsed down onto it. Dean quickly jumped to his feet and scowled down at Sam who was sitting on the edge of his bed, arms crossed.
“You know combative behavior is a sign of a concussion. If you’d quit being such a princess and let me check your pupils, I’d leave you alone.”
Sam was a chastised kid again. No one but Dean had that kind of power over him. Especially when he took that patient, mild tone with Sam. Dropping his head into his hands, Sam nodded his head yes in assent, head throbbing with the motion.
He knew what a concussion felt like and this wasn’t it. The bigger problem was the damn shadow thing. And his powers.
Allowing himself to be prodded, Sam complied with Dean’s every request to the letter. He followed Dean’s finger with his eyes as his brother moved it from left to right, up and down. He let Dean shine the annoying maglight into his eyes and if he hadn’t had a headache before that definitely would have caused one; a bright, precision focused shaft of light blazing into first one eye and then the other tended to have that affect. He even submitted to Dean’s unique range of questions to prove he was coherent-first girl Sam had ever kissed (and don’t think Sam regretted sharing that information with Dean over the years), Jimmy Paige’s birthday (it’s not that Sam disliked Led Zeppelin but by the time Dean was done drilling facts about the band into Sam’s young, impressionable head, his excitement had waned) and the name of the president in office when Sam was born (which Sam wasn’t convinced Dean knew the answer to and was tempted to give him the wrong name but with his luck he’d be wrong and his brother would haul him to the doctor).
All the while Dean was assessing him, Sam’s mind was turning. Dean was used to the freaky; he’d believe Sam about the shadow. But maybe Dean would decide Sam was the freak, even be afraid of him, once he knew Sam had dismantled the mirror with his TK powers. He’d reacted instinctively, and his TK lashed out without him wanting it. He wanted to believe he could control his powers but right now, his powers seemed to have the upper hand.
Sam had to face it; he was a freak. But was he evil?
“You’re not going to tell me, are you?” Dean’s voice sounded young to Sam’s ears. Even hurt. Dean had never taken well to anything except full disclosure when it came to Sam. Funny how his brother hadn’t demanded the same of their dad; half truths and spotty explanations were status quo and perfectly acceptable. Sam liked to think that was because the brothers had a different relationship. Dean had always been the one constant in Sam’s life, an absolute rock, at least until Sam had gone to Stanford.
Moistening his lips, Sam gathered himself to tell Dean what had happened in the bathroom. He owed it to his brother.
At least until Dean’s hurt turned into full blown anger. “What is it with this family and keeping secrets? Fine, you don’t want to tell me what happened? Then don’t.”
Bitter accusation flared in Dean’s eyes. It was almost enough to get Sam to point out that Dean had kept one whopper of a secret and not that long ago-the one about their dad’s last words to him. Last year that definitely would have been Sam’s response; he couldn’t stand double standards, especially when it was aimed at him. But things had changed. Dean had lost his father and hero, acquired some new talent that involved hearing conversations among the angels, and been tortured by the meanest demonic SOB they’d ever gone up against.
Sam didn’t have the heart to turn this into a pissing contest. “You’re right. No more secrets.”
Dean’s eyes bugged out of his head at Sam’s words and he sunk heavily onto the bed again. Flummoxed. Like it was the first time Sam had ever told Dean he was right, at least as an adult. He scoured his mind and tried to remember-had he ever told Dean he was right?
Shaking off those thoughts, Sam concentrated on telling Dean what he really needed to know, hoping feverishly that Dean wouldn’t back away from him. “Remember I told you I thought I saw something inside the warehouse? A shadow that flashed before my eyes and then was gone but looked human?”
Dean shook his head yes but his lips were already flattening in a line. Sam ignored his brother’s expression, pushing on with his story. He was determined to get this out. “It happened again in the bathroom. I thought maybe the shadow was an omen of a loved one’s death but Bobby suggested maybe I’d picked up a ghost. The mirror broke when the ghost-shadow-attached me. I did it.”
Sam braced himself, expecting some sort of reaction-recriminations, fear, something-from Dean about the TK and the mirror. But that’s not what Dean zeroed in on. His brother never lost the ability to surprise him and this time was no different. “Wait, you’re telling me you talked to Bobby about the shadow?”
Hurt tinged every word his brother spoke and Sam was at a loss. Sam had mentioned seeing something to Dean who had told him it was nothing at the time. Why wasn’t Dean pissed off, or something, about the TK? “Um, yeah. You were getting coffee at the gas station when I called and asked him to check if anyone had been hurt when the warehouse imploded. I mentioned it to him then.”
Dean’s feet moved him away from the bed. Sam reached out to catch Dean’s arm but was shrugged off. His brother continued to pace the small room, looking everywhere but at Sam. Sam dropped his own gaze and stared at his feet. Little shimmers caught the dull room given off by the lamp, reminding Sam that pieces of smashed mirror littered the room. And Dean wasn’t wearing any shoes. “Dean, man, put some shoes on before you step on-“
“Screw the shoes! Tell me about this man in the mirror.” Dean cut Sam off before he could even point there was ground up mirror all over the carpet.
Sam knew better than to argue with Dean about shoes right now. Dean had finally locked on to the shadow. Good. It was best to get it out in the open. “I saw a hint of blue, a blur really. But I had the impression it was in the shape of a man. A shadow. Just like in the warehouse.”
Dean’s pacing had slowed which was good because following his brother’s progress was making Sam dizzy. “Let’s suppose there is a shadow. Why is that a big secret? We deal with the supernatural on a daily basis so I know that isn’t what’s got you spooked, looking out windows, acting all paranoid.”
It didn’t escape Sam’s notice that Dean hadn’t agreed there was a shadow. Sam let it go for now. He needed to know where Dean stood on his powers. “Dean, did you hear the part where I said I blasted the mirror with my powers? What if I’m getting stronger because…”
Sam let his voice trail off as Dean walked over to the bed. “Because what? You’re evil? Give me a break.” Dean snorted but to Sam it didn’t sound like his brother was amused. More like frustrated as his next words demonstrated. “When are you going to let that shit go, Sammy? We’ve been up and down that territory before and it’s time to move on. You’re not evil. End of story.”
Sam wanted to believe. He really did. But when the power rolled over him, through him, it felt good. Like in the warehouse. Those kinds of feelings…it couldn’t be good.
A hand nudged his shoulder. “Sam, quit thinking about it. And as for the shadow, we’ll do a little research, get rid of it. I’ve got your back here, there’s nothing to worry about.”
Sam appreciated the sentiment on some level but it didn’t make him feel any better. The words reminded him too much of Dean’s attitude after his brother had told him that according to their dad, he might have to kill Sam if he couldn’t save him.
Don’t worry. I’ll handle it. Trust me.
Sure.
Sam was over thinking everything. Again. Maybe his powers were making him crazy after all. But the tiny voice in the back of his head was telling him to keep his mouth shut. Let it go. At least around Dean.
He didn’t want to be a burden. And Dean’s tone and words made Sam think his brother didn’t want to deal with his shit anymore. And why should he? He had his own crap to deal with.
Sam’s cell phone rang and he gratefully grabbed it off of the nightstand, happy for the distraction. “Hey Bobby.”
The older hunter breezed past the typical greetings, diving into the reason for the call. “Sam, listen, I need you and Dean to stop at a bookstore for me before you head this way.”
It wasn’t the first time Bobby had asked them to pick something up for him but Sam found the timing a little strange, what with the demonic omens and breaking of seals. Pushing off the bed, he went to his duffel bag and easily found a pen and paper. “Sure thing, Bobby. What do you need?”
Sam did his best to avoid Dean’s direct stare but he wasn’t oblivious to the pursed lips and deep frown Dean was shooting his way. Turning his back so Dean was no longer in his line of sight, Sam quickly scrawled the name of the book Bobby needed and where to find it.
“Oh, and I’m supposed to pass on a message from Ellen. She’s in the midst of rebuilding The Roadhouse and she said you two could swing by and do some work with the construction crew, make a little legit cash if you wanted.” Sam could hear the smile in Bobby’s voice and wondered idly if the older man was smitten with Ellen.
Sam didn’t have a crush on Ellen himself but he was drawn to her; she had a very maternal side that was at odds with her tough as nails persona and she pretty much doted on him and Dean. Sam wouldn’t have minded stopping in Nebraska to see her, and make some money the legal way, but the back of his neck was heating up from the way Dean was impatiently glaring at him and he knew Dean wouldn’t want to stop. Dean and Jo had some sort of love-hate thing going on and Dean wasn’t eager to put himself in Jo’s path anytime soon. “I don’t think we can make it this time but please tell her thank you for us. We’ll call when we’ve got the book and are headed your way.”
Bobby said goodbye and broke the connection and Sam slowly closed his phone, turning back to his brother.
“Well?” Dean infused that one word with a wealth of impatience.
“Bobby asked us to swing by Kansas and pick up a book on our way back to his place. Ellen’s rebuilding The Roadhouse and said we could work on the construction crew if we want to make a little cash.” Sam condensed the information as much as he could, very much aware that Dean’s patience was thin, at least when it came to him.
Dean rolled his eyes and some of the tension drained out of Sam; Dean wasn’t upset with him anymore. “Why would I want to do hard, physical labor on a construction crew when I can hustle pool?”
Sam had given up trying to persuade Dean into making his money above board. It’s not that Dean was allergic to hard work; his brother had held a multitude of jobs when Sam was a teenager, jobs that required blood and sweat and maybe even some tears, just to pay the rent and put food on the table while their dad disappeared for long stretches at a time on some hunt or another. Sam suspected Dean liked to yank his chain a little. As if Sam was some straight arrow law abiding citizen. “Never fear, I told Bobby we’d take a pass.”
Sam yawned so widely his jaw cracked. Dean laughed and then was overcome by a yawn himself. “Let’s get a little shut eye and then hit the road nice and early. I’ll lay the salt lines and you draw some wards. Maybe we’ll get lucky and that creepy clerk will be off duty when we leave.”
Creepy clerk? Mrs. Johnson was really nice. A little lonely but then who wouldn’t be in her situation, with her family scattered all over and her husband dead.
Already sliding out of his jeans, Dean threw a balled up sock at Sam who casually swiped it out of the air, deflecting it to the floor. “Turn off your brain, Sam. I can smell it overheating from over here.”
Sam knew it was supposed to be a throwaway comment, something his brother had said to him countless times over the year, but this time it struck a chord. What if his brain overheated while he used his powers? He didn’t want to think about what would happen to someone if they were standing too close to him and he lost control.
Shrugging out of his clothing, Sam hissed when his hands made contact with the material. He carefully pulled back the comforter and slid into bed. Dean appeared at his side with two tablets and a glass of water. “Tylenol. Take it and go to sleep already.”
His brother had always known when he was hurting. Although after their little run in with Alistair, Dean had kept his distance. Sam didn’t know exactly where they stood right now but it was definitely better then when they’d first gotten out of the hospital.
The Tylenol took the bite out of his cuts and soothed his headache. He clenched his eyes closed and waited for sleep.
If his eyes were closed, he couldn’t see the shadow, right?
END OF PART TWO
Episode 13: Just Me and My Shadow
Original airdate: 2010.05.03
Summary:
Sam is seeing things that no-one else sees and it seems to be tied to his powers. Dean is watching Sam's increasingly odd behavior and is wondering where this all will end? Several incidents happen, one actually threatening their lives.
When Sam uses his powers to save lives while battling with himself over the action taken, it brings it all to the surface. Dean thinks Sam is in control. Sam is not so sure. Later, Sam's subconscious forces him to face his fear and look into himself to accept who he is, even the dark parts.
Excerpt:
Dean's hands gripped his shoulders hard, but Sam didn't budge. With Dean standing behind him, his only option was to let the Poltergeists' energies mirror off his own body to then collide with the walls and the shelves, then turn back and mirror off him all over. The whirlwind it created made the Poltergeists lose control and implode on themselves in a rain of sparks. And right there, in a zap of blinding light, Sam saw something that resembled a human figure. Like a bluish shadow, flickering in the light, like a warning. It was gone in a moment, but the image was like etched into Sam's awareness.
Written by: starbright73 and sendintheklowns
Artist: kiscinca
PART TWO
Dean heard a loud commotion in the bathroom, almost like something exploding, followed by a loud thump. A thump that shook the walls and caused dust moats to rain down on the dingy carpeting.
“Sammy!” Silence greeted his shout. Dean tried the doorknob and it wouldn’t turn; Sam had locked it even though Dean had asked him to leave the door open. Figured. Lowering his shoulder, Dean applied it to the bathroom door with all the force he could muster. He was gratified when the chintzy lock splintered and the door was flung open. The forward motion of the hollow plywood door halted abruptly as it thudded against something. Sam’s thigh was that something and the door had probably added a bruise to whatever other injuries his brother had just collected in the bathroom turned war zone.
His brother rested in an ungainly heap on the grungy tile floor, his legs bent beneath him as he kneeled awkwardly, head dangling limply on his bowed neck.
Eyes scanned the tiny area and once he was satisfied Sam wasn’t in danger, Dean started to drop to his knees, settling for a crouch as he took in the sharp shards littering the floor. Sam hadn’t been so lucky.
Silvered pieces of broken mirror protruded from the exposed skin of Sam’s hands and face but that wasn’t what worried Dean at the moment. It was his brother’s absolute silence.
Dean gently gripped Sam’s chin in one hand and levered it up so he could peer at his brother. Sam’s eyes were obscured by long bangs which sparkled with residue from the shattered mirror glistening in the light that streamed through the open door. The bathroom’s lights had exploded along with the mirror and there was no way Dean could make out anything but the basic shape of his brother on the floor.
With a hand at Sam’s elbow, Dean pushed upward, relieved when his brother followed suit. As soon as Sam was upright his legs trembled, threatening to send him back to the floor, so Dean wound an arm around Sam’s lower back, anchoring him to his side. “Come on, let’s get you out of this mess.”
Sam was weaving on his feet and that along with the absence of talk worried Dean. If he couldn’t trust Sam to go to the bathroom by himself then things were more dire than Dean had thought and that did nothing to settle his jangling nerves.
He carefully deposited Sam on the nearest bed. This time he didn’t have to pull Sam’s chin up to look at his brother’s eyes but when he got his first good look at Sam, he wanted to cringe. Sam’s eyes were empty instead of the expressive hazel Dean had come to rely on. Empty and blank. Like Sam’s mind had gone on vacation and forgotten to take his body along.
A loud knock at the door shattered the silence as surely as the mirror had shattered it a moment before. “Sir, is everything okay in there?”
Crap. Dean recognized the older woman who had checked them into their room a short while ago. The one who couldn’t take her eyes off of Sam. It was creepy the way her eyes had followed him around. Sam had been unfailingly polite and patient with the woman, almost like he didn’t notice. It worried Dean that Sam could be so focused on the hunt but oblivious to what amounted to a potential stalker, albeit a human one. But in their line of work, humans were often the wildcard, unpredictable and with as much capacity for evil as any supernatural being they went up against. Sam was too big hearted for his own good sometimes but that’s why he had Dean around.
Dean pulled himself together. Sam was staring at the door but he didn’t look like he was going to be much help at the moment. “We’re okay, thanks. Just a little accident.”
Two more loud raps on the door told Dean the clerk was impatient and wasn’t going to be put off by some story shouted through the door. Her next words confirmed it. “Please, sir, either open the door or I’m going to have to call the police.”
With a quick glance over Sam, assuring himself that his brother wouldn’t fall over if he left his side, Dean moved to the door, whipping it open. The woman, her hair dyed too dark against her pale skin, barged past Dean and zeroed in on Sam. “There you are, young man. Are you okay?”
Dean was relieved to see the spark of awareness in Sam’s eyes. He might be bleeding and bruised, maybe even in shock, but he could hold his own against a nosey motel clerk any day. “I’m sorry, I broke the mirror in the bathroom. It was an accident.”
Almost rolling his eyes, Dean waited as the woman melted under Sam’s doe eyes and wistful manner. Dean wasn’t prepared when she turned on him, fire in her eyes. “You broke the mirror, or this one did?” Her attention swiveled back to Sam. “Was he trying to hurt you? I won’t let anything happen to you, you can tell me.” She leaned over so she was eye to eye with the seated Sam. “You remind me so much of my youngest son, Timmy. He’s the spitting image of my Jackson, God rest his soul.”
A shiver passed through Dean’s body; he didn’t know which was worse for Sam, resembling her son or her dead husband. He stood by his original assessment-creepy.
When another shiver shook his body, Dean realized he was a bit underdressed for company. His t-shirt and boxers left a little too much exposed for his liking. Apparently creepy office lady disagreed, sniping over her shoulder at him, “Get over yourself. You don’t have anything I haven’t seen before, young man.”
When Sam stifled a snicker, Dean knew his brother was completely back with him. The motel clerk turned around to make cow eyes at Sam and his brother quickly composed his features from suppressed amusement to woeful apology. “I’m very sorry about the bathroom. I forgot to take my medication and I guess I had a seizure. I’d be happy to pay for the mirror…”
The woman had the audacity to pat Sam’s denim clothed knee. “There, there, don’t you trouble yourself about the mirror. But maybe I should call an ambulance for you, you look a sight.”
Sam assured the clerk he was feeling better and wheedled her on her way, batting his eyelashes and alternating between shy smiles and soft sighs to accomplish the feat. Once the door closed behind her, Dean locked it and then grabbed up his jeans, stuffing his feet into them and pulling them up.
Now that his attention was focused solely on Sam, Dean could see he had quite the clean up ahead of him. He fished around in his duffle bag for the fully stocked first aid kit before returning to Sam’s side. “You want to tell me what happened in there?”
Cupping Sam’s jaw, Dean angled it up for better light. He grabbed the tweezers and began plucking the largest shards from Sam’s face, carefully placing them in a towel. Sam’s eyes were tightly closed, his mouth set in a grimace.
Dean allowed the silence to take over while he moved from Sam’s face to the palms of his hands. That was where the majority of the cuts were. Fortunately the mirror hadn’t done any real damage and although he didn’t doubt it smarted, the wounds were superficial.
Squirting antiseptic into a cotton ball, Dean blotted at the cuts. Sam hissed at the contact but didn’t draw away.
Now that Sam was fixed up, Dean wanted answers.
-0-
Sam's head and hands were throbbing so much he could barely keep himself from squirming off the bed. Dean was dabbing antiseptic on his multitude of cuts. A particularly vicious sting made Sam pull away from Dean's ministrations. Dean took this as his cue to finish up, bundling the unused supplies into the first aid kit and dumping the rest in the trash can.
Dean sunk down on to the bed across from Sam and leveled a concerned stare at him. "So you want to tell me what you've got against the mirror in the bathroom?"
Concern shifted to something akin to blatant apprehension on Dean's face and that squelched Sam's wish to spill his guts. After everything Dean had been through-the torture at the hands of Alistair and the depression that followed-Sam just couldn't bring himself to burden Dean with yet another situation. Not when things between them were still a bit fragile.
The only problem was that there was no other explanation Dean would buy. Forcing his lips into a facsimile of a smile, Sam asked, "Would you believe me if I said I slipped?"
Color suffused Dean's face and he opened and then slammed his mouth shut before rising to his feet. Towering over Sam, he crossed his arms. "Sure, you slipped on the tile and accidentally planted your head and fists in the mirror and that's how you ended up on the floor."
Sam hadn't expected Dean would buy it but he also hadn't expected the heat behind Dean's response. Feeling vulnerable as Dean loomed over him, Sam heaved himself to his feet; his body didn't like the sudden change in position and his vision grayed out for a moment.
Or maybe it was more than a moment because the next thing he knew, he was blinking up at Dean who was hovering over him, the lumpy mattress poking him in the back. "How many fingers do you see, Sammy?"
A hand was thrust so close to his face that Sam's eyes practically crossed trying to see them. That certainly wasn’t going to help his headache. Sam parried the hand away with his own and levered himself up on his elbows. Dean was right back at him, prying an eyelid back as he stared into Sam’s pupil. “I need to see if you have a concussion.”
Enough was enough. Fingers prying and poking were making him nauseous.
Sam pushed Dean back with all his strength which at the moment wasn’t much. It was enough to make his brother stagger back and when the back of Dean’s legs abruptly met the other bed, he collapsed down onto it. Dean quickly jumped to his feet and scowled down at Sam who was sitting on the edge of his bed, arms crossed.
“You know combative behavior is a sign of a concussion. If you’d quit being such a princess and let me check your pupils, I’d leave you alone.”
Sam was a chastised kid again. No one but Dean had that kind of power over him. Especially when he took that patient, mild tone with Sam. Dropping his head into his hands, Sam nodded his head yes in assent, head throbbing with the motion.
He knew what a concussion felt like and this wasn’t it. The bigger problem was the damn shadow thing. And his powers.
Allowing himself to be prodded, Sam complied with Dean’s every request to the letter. He followed Dean’s finger with his eyes as his brother moved it from left to right, up and down. He let Dean shine the annoying maglight into his eyes and if he hadn’t had a headache before that definitely would have caused one; a bright, precision focused shaft of light blazing into first one eye and then the other tended to have that affect. He even submitted to Dean’s unique range of questions to prove he was coherent-first girl Sam had ever kissed (and don’t think Sam regretted sharing that information with Dean over the years), Jimmy Paige’s birthday (it’s not that Sam disliked Led Zeppelin but by the time Dean was done drilling facts about the band into Sam’s young, impressionable head, his excitement had waned) and the name of the president in office when Sam was born (which Sam wasn’t convinced Dean knew the answer to and was tempted to give him the wrong name but with his luck he’d be wrong and his brother would haul him to the doctor).
All the while Dean was assessing him, Sam’s mind was turning. Dean was used to the freaky; he’d believe Sam about the shadow. But maybe Dean would decide Sam was the freak, even be afraid of him, once he knew Sam had dismantled the mirror with his TK powers. He’d reacted instinctively, and his TK lashed out without him wanting it. He wanted to believe he could control his powers but right now, his powers seemed to have the upper hand.
Sam had to face it; he was a freak. But was he evil?
“You’re not going to tell me, are you?” Dean’s voice sounded young to Sam’s ears. Even hurt. Dean had never taken well to anything except full disclosure when it came to Sam. Funny how his brother hadn’t demanded the same of their dad; half truths and spotty explanations were status quo and perfectly acceptable. Sam liked to think that was because the brothers had a different relationship. Dean had always been the one constant in Sam’s life, an absolute rock, at least until Sam had gone to Stanford.
Moistening his lips, Sam gathered himself to tell Dean what had happened in the bathroom. He owed it to his brother.
At least until Dean’s hurt turned into full blown anger. “What is it with this family and keeping secrets? Fine, you don’t want to tell me what happened? Then don’t.”
Bitter accusation flared in Dean’s eyes. It was almost enough to get Sam to point out that Dean had kept one whopper of a secret and not that long ago-the one about their dad’s last words to him. Last year that definitely would have been Sam’s response; he couldn’t stand double standards, especially when it was aimed at him. But things had changed. Dean had lost his father and hero, acquired some new talent that involved hearing conversations among the angels, and been tortured by the meanest demonic SOB they’d ever gone up against.
Sam didn’t have the heart to turn this into a pissing contest. “You’re right. No more secrets.”
Dean’s eyes bugged out of his head at Sam’s words and he sunk heavily onto the bed again. Flummoxed. Like it was the first time Sam had ever told Dean he was right, at least as an adult. He scoured his mind and tried to remember-had he ever told Dean he was right?
Shaking off those thoughts, Sam concentrated on telling Dean what he really needed to know, hoping feverishly that Dean wouldn’t back away from him. “Remember I told you I thought I saw something inside the warehouse? A shadow that flashed before my eyes and then was gone but looked human?”
Dean shook his head yes but his lips were already flattening in a line. Sam ignored his brother’s expression, pushing on with his story. He was determined to get this out. “It happened again in the bathroom. I thought maybe the shadow was an omen of a loved one’s death but Bobby suggested maybe I’d picked up a ghost. The mirror broke when the ghost-shadow-attached me. I did it.”
Sam braced himself, expecting some sort of reaction-recriminations, fear, something-from Dean about the TK and the mirror. But that’s not what Dean zeroed in on. His brother never lost the ability to surprise him and this time was no different. “Wait, you’re telling me you talked to Bobby about the shadow?”
Hurt tinged every word his brother spoke and Sam was at a loss. Sam had mentioned seeing something to Dean who had told him it was nothing at the time. Why wasn’t Dean pissed off, or something, about the TK? “Um, yeah. You were getting coffee at the gas station when I called and asked him to check if anyone had been hurt when the warehouse imploded. I mentioned it to him then.”
Dean’s feet moved him away from the bed. Sam reached out to catch Dean’s arm but was shrugged off. His brother continued to pace the small room, looking everywhere but at Sam. Sam dropped his own gaze and stared at his feet. Little shimmers caught the dull room given off by the lamp, reminding Sam that pieces of smashed mirror littered the room. And Dean wasn’t wearing any shoes. “Dean, man, put some shoes on before you step on-“
“Screw the shoes! Tell me about this man in the mirror.” Dean cut Sam off before he could even point there was ground up mirror all over the carpet.
Sam knew better than to argue with Dean about shoes right now. Dean had finally locked on to the shadow. Good. It was best to get it out in the open. “I saw a hint of blue, a blur really. But I had the impression it was in the shape of a man. A shadow. Just like in the warehouse.”
Dean’s pacing had slowed which was good because following his brother’s progress was making Sam dizzy. “Let’s suppose there is a shadow. Why is that a big secret? We deal with the supernatural on a daily basis so I know that isn’t what’s got you spooked, looking out windows, acting all paranoid.”
It didn’t escape Sam’s notice that Dean hadn’t agreed there was a shadow. Sam let it go for now. He needed to know where Dean stood on his powers. “Dean, did you hear the part where I said I blasted the mirror with my powers? What if I’m getting stronger because…”
Sam let his voice trail off as Dean walked over to the bed. “Because what? You’re evil? Give me a break.” Dean snorted but to Sam it didn’t sound like his brother was amused. More like frustrated as his next words demonstrated. “When are you going to let that shit go, Sammy? We’ve been up and down that territory before and it’s time to move on. You’re not evil. End of story.”
Sam wanted to believe. He really did. But when the power rolled over him, through him, it felt good. Like in the warehouse. Those kinds of feelings…it couldn’t be good.
A hand nudged his shoulder. “Sam, quit thinking about it. And as for the shadow, we’ll do a little research, get rid of it. I’ve got your back here, there’s nothing to worry about.”
Sam appreciated the sentiment on some level but it didn’t make him feel any better. The words reminded him too much of Dean’s attitude after his brother had told him that according to their dad, he might have to kill Sam if he couldn’t save him.
Don’t worry. I’ll handle it. Trust me.
Sure.
Sam was over thinking everything. Again. Maybe his powers were making him crazy after all. But the tiny voice in the back of his head was telling him to keep his mouth shut. Let it go. At least around Dean.
He didn’t want to be a burden. And Dean’s tone and words made Sam think his brother didn’t want to deal with his shit anymore. And why should he? He had his own crap to deal with.
Sam’s cell phone rang and he gratefully grabbed it off of the nightstand, happy for the distraction. “Hey Bobby.”
The older hunter breezed past the typical greetings, diving into the reason for the call. “Sam, listen, I need you and Dean to stop at a bookstore for me before you head this way.”
It wasn’t the first time Bobby had asked them to pick something up for him but Sam found the timing a little strange, what with the demonic omens and breaking of seals. Pushing off the bed, he went to his duffel bag and easily found a pen and paper. “Sure thing, Bobby. What do you need?”
Sam did his best to avoid Dean’s direct stare but he wasn’t oblivious to the pursed lips and deep frown Dean was shooting his way. Turning his back so Dean was no longer in his line of sight, Sam quickly scrawled the name of the book Bobby needed and where to find it.
“Oh, and I’m supposed to pass on a message from Ellen. She’s in the midst of rebuilding The Roadhouse and she said you two could swing by and do some work with the construction crew, make a little legit cash if you wanted.” Sam could hear the smile in Bobby’s voice and wondered idly if the older man was smitten with Ellen.
Sam didn’t have a crush on Ellen himself but he was drawn to her; she had a very maternal side that was at odds with her tough as nails persona and she pretty much doted on him and Dean. Sam wouldn’t have minded stopping in Nebraska to see her, and make some money the legal way, but the back of his neck was heating up from the way Dean was impatiently glaring at him and he knew Dean wouldn’t want to stop. Dean and Jo had some sort of love-hate thing going on and Dean wasn’t eager to put himself in Jo’s path anytime soon. “I don’t think we can make it this time but please tell her thank you for us. We’ll call when we’ve got the book and are headed your way.”
Bobby said goodbye and broke the connection and Sam slowly closed his phone, turning back to his brother.
“Well?” Dean infused that one word with a wealth of impatience.
“Bobby asked us to swing by Kansas and pick up a book on our way back to his place. Ellen’s rebuilding The Roadhouse and said we could work on the construction crew if we want to make a little cash.” Sam condensed the information as much as he could, very much aware that Dean’s patience was thin, at least when it came to him.
Dean rolled his eyes and some of the tension drained out of Sam; Dean wasn’t upset with him anymore. “Why would I want to do hard, physical labor on a construction crew when I can hustle pool?”
Sam had given up trying to persuade Dean into making his money above board. It’s not that Dean was allergic to hard work; his brother had held a multitude of jobs when Sam was a teenager, jobs that required blood and sweat and maybe even some tears, just to pay the rent and put food on the table while their dad disappeared for long stretches at a time on some hunt or another. Sam suspected Dean liked to yank his chain a little. As if Sam was some straight arrow law abiding citizen. “Never fear, I told Bobby we’d take a pass.”
Sam yawned so widely his jaw cracked. Dean laughed and then was overcome by a yawn himself. “Let’s get a little shut eye and then hit the road nice and early. I’ll lay the salt lines and you draw some wards. Maybe we’ll get lucky and that creepy clerk will be off duty when we leave.”
Creepy clerk? Mrs. Johnson was really nice. A little lonely but then who wouldn’t be in her situation, with her family scattered all over and her husband dead.
Already sliding out of his jeans, Dean threw a balled up sock at Sam who casually swiped it out of the air, deflecting it to the floor. “Turn off your brain, Sam. I can smell it overheating from over here.”
Sam knew it was supposed to be a throwaway comment, something his brother had said to him countless times over the year, but this time it struck a chord. What if his brain overheated while he used his powers? He didn’t want to think about what would happen to someone if they were standing too close to him and he lost control.
Shrugging out of his clothing, Sam hissed when his hands made contact with the material. He carefully pulled back the comforter and slid into bed. Dean appeared at his side with two tablets and a glass of water. “Tylenol. Take it and go to sleep already.”
His brother had always known when he was hurting. Although after their little run in with Alistair, Dean had kept his distance. Sam didn’t know exactly where they stood right now but it was definitely better then when they’d first gotten out of the hospital.
The Tylenol took the bite out of his cuts and soothed his headache. He clenched his eyes closed and waited for sleep.
If his eyes were closed, he couldn’t see the shadow, right?
END OF PART TWO