Carry On... Episode 13: Me and My Shadow Part 3
Here is the third 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 THREE
Dean had little trouble finding the main drag which housed the book store they needed. He wasn't thrilled about moving off the beaten path to retrieve this book of Bobby's, but Dean would rather run this errand then go check on The Roadhouse. Ellen was a little too maternal, too knowing. It sometimes made Dean squirm the way Ellen seemed able to pick up on his emotions. And Sam seemed to cave to her mothering far too easily; Dean didn't want to have to worry about what his brother would blurt out next to Ellen.
They didn't need to throw anyone else in the mix right now; things were definitely weird enough at the moment.
Take Sam's behavior for instance. Something was definitely up with him. For example, at this very moment Sam was doing some awkward hide and seek thing with his reflection as they walked by the storefronts.
Dean decreased his pace so he keep could tabs on Sam. It was obvious Sam was doing everything he could to stop the urge to run, arms twitching at his side, as he frowned at Dean who had fallen behind him. Sam came to a complete stop, arms crossed, foot tapping impatiently. "Where's the...what's the rush, Sam?"
He'd started to ask where's the fire but fire and his brother were a touchy subject. For both brothers, actually: Dean had worked hard to erase the image of Sam's body smoldering on the funeral pyre but even now, months after Sam had died in his arms, the mere thought made Dean's body twitch. That's why he was trying hard not to jump on Sam's back about his freaky behavior. Sam was obviously trying to work through some issue or another and it hurt, at least a little, which he wouldn't spill to Dean. But then again watching Sam do his little dance to avoid his reflection was pretty darn amusing, especially on a day that had Dean bored nearly to tears.
Sam tried to maneuver so that Dean was closest to the storefronts, massive windows that reflected images so clearly they could double as mirrors.
Mirrors.
Sam had definitely tangled with the mirror back at their motel room, although Dean had a hard time believing Sam had duked and juked like he was now before he'd taken it out. There was a certain smoothness to Sam's movements as he tried, and failed, to avoid catching glimpses of himself as they walked down the sidewalk.
Dean slowed enough so that he was a couple of paces behind Sam. Sam, who was glancing to his right at the storefront window, and then throwing up his right hand to screen his face. Sam realized Dean had fallen behind and stopped walking, hands on hip, lips pulled into a pout.
Ignoring Sam's stance, Dean continued walking at his leisurely pace. The breeze blew lightly and pushed Sam's bangs into his face. Instead of shaking his hair, or even pushing it back, Sam let his hair obscure
his face. Which was really funny when he bull dozed into a hot chick, the woman staggering back a step and only saved from hitting the cement sidewalk by Sam's quick reflexes. Of course hot chick's hostile
expression at almost being flattened quickly melted into an encouraging smile once she got a look at Dean's little brother.
Sam was a total chick magnet and he was totally clueless. It used to be that Sam only attracted the maternal type-the kind who liked to pinch cheeks and bake cookies from scratch-but more and more lately the opposite sex was eying up Sam like he was desert and they wanted to pinch more than his cheeks. Dean had been aware of beautiful girls since the eighth grade, and vice versa, so watching his late blooming brother was a riot. Especially since Sam didn't seem to know what to do with the women with long, wavy dark hair and curves in all the right places who stared at him blatantly.
Dean wondered what Sam had been like in college when it came to girls. He had a hunch Jessica had been the aggressor in that relationship. Dean didn't like to put much thought into Sam being at college or Jessica's death. The former made Dean melancholy and the latter depressed Sam. Dean preferred to focus on happier things at the moment. Like watching Sam stammer his apologies (what happened to his college educated brother with a gift for gab that made him a sure bet in his chosen field, law) as the hot chick scrawled her phone number on the palm of Sam's hand.
Grabbing Sam’s upper arm, Dean steered him away from the brunette and down the sidewalk, ignoring the pout on her face. The store they wanted, Biblioteca Oblique, was the next block and as much as watching Sam’s antics were amusing the hell out of him, Dean also wanted to get Bobby’s damn book and get on the road while it was still light outside.
They entered the exceedingly poorly lit store and approached the desk across from the entrance where an older, balding man stared at a huge, blocky computer monitor while the hard drive whirred and wheezed in the background. The man looked up and frowned at them. “Just a moment, please. I’m trying to enter this transaction before the computer crashes.”
Dean’s eyes roamed around the store, dismayed at how small the place was. Where were all of the books? There were two bookcases and that was it. The smell permeating the place was one of mildew and decay. Dean’s nose twitched as he tried to stave off a sneeze.
“Thanks for waiting. How may I help you?” The disheveled man said, pushing his ungainly girth to his feet.
Silence greeted his question and Dean turned to Sam, whose eyes were turned toward the ceiling. Dean elbowed Sam in the side, relishing in the whoosh of air that left Sam’s solar plexus. “Please tell the man what Bobby needs, would ya?”
Sam’s eyes focused on the man and he cleared his throat. “We’re here for The Alphabetum Dia-“
“Diaboli by Joannes Ness. Yes, Robert said two of his young friends would stop by for it. If you’d like to follow me, I’ll get it from the back room…” Dean didn’t really want to follow the man who vaguely resembled Uncle Fester from the Adams Family but he nodded to Sam and they followed the shorter man through the door behind him.
Fester was throwing out phrases like “extremely scarce” and “profound knowledge of demonology” and Dean understood why Bobby had asked them to swing by; demons seemed to be the soup du jour right along with the angels.
Sam at least had recovered his geeky composure and queried the man, “So this is the one with the vellum binding and blindstamped decorations?”
Blindstamped decorations? Whatever the hell that was.
But Fester spoke Sam’s language and nearly fell into paroxysms of delight. “Yes, yes, and the title page has a wonderful engraving of hell. But best of all, it contains a strange undated handwritten paper. Some speculate it’s an exorcism.”
Dean waited for the man to rub his hands together in fiendish delight and cackle but instead he went to a safe and, shielded from their view, punched in the code. Withdrawing an ancient looking tome, he brushed the cover fondly before holding it out. Dean reached out to take it but Fester put it into Sam’s geeky hands instead. Sam’s expression was every bit as rapt as Fester’s.
Boys and their toys. Dean rolled his eyes but knew he’d be the same if Bobby asked him to pick up a weapon for him.
The three walked back toward the desk, Fester prattling about wrapping the book for safe keeping and murmuring about “curious occult treatise on the manifestations of devils in our world.” Dean had had enough of the demon talk and was ready to head out.
Sam had other ideas. Feet planted, his brother was staring at the ceiling again. Eyes rising, Dean saw a cheesy silver globe suspended which made him think of Saturday Night Fever and discotheques. But it wasn’t a disco ball; instead it was a security mirror that allowed a three-sixty degree view of the store, such as it was. Maybe Sam was horrified at the thought of a disco.
Enough was enough. Sam’s face was flushed, his eyes a little glazed. Dean hoped his brother wasn’t coming down with something; nothing sucked like a sick little brother. He clapped Sam on the shoulder. “Stay here. I’m gonna pull the car out front.”
Dean didn’t wait to hear the squeal of unfairness he felt certain would be brewing in Sam over being ordered to stay put. He bolted into the fresh air and hurried down the sidewalk. He couldn’t wait to get Sam and The Devil’s Alphabet back to Bobby’s.
-0-
The day hadn’t been particularly arduous but Sam was bone tired. Riding in the car, jumping at imaginary shadows and picking up Bobby’s book had worn him out.
Bobby had been thrilled with The Alphabetum Diaboli and seemed equally pleased to see him and Dean. He’d popped a frozen pizza in the oven and broken out the Miller Genuine Draft. One bottle later and Sam couldn’t keep his eyes open.
He might be tired but he wasn’t stupid. Nor was he blind to the way Bobby and Dean shot each other worried looks over Bobby’s kitchen table. Smothering another yawn, Sam rose to his feet. “I think I’m gonna turn in now. Thanks for dinner, Bobby. Good night.”
Sam ought to be pleased that Dean and Bobby didn’t try to whisper. He just wished they could’ve waited until he made it upstairs before they started to dissect him.
“What’s up with the kid? I thought he was feeling better…”
“Those damn powers of his…didn’t you see the cuts on his face and hands?”
Sam compelled his feet to move, in no mood to find out what else his brother and his friend thought of him. He dragged himself upstairs and brushed his teeth, the mint flavor mingling with the beer taste in his mouth almost enough to make him vomit, eyes studiously avoiding the mirror.
He hadn’t seen any hint of the shadow today, despite searching for it, and now that he wanted to stretch out, he’d like to keep the streak alive. Shedding his clothes, he pulled on flannel pajama bottoms and a t-shirt. Settled on the lumpy, single mattress, body exhausted, yet Sam’s brain wouldn’t turn off.
The last time Sam’d read in bed, he and Dean had ended up on a trip to Dean’s future, courtesy of the Ghost of Future Yet to Come. Actually more like courtesy of the trickster, but still, Sam wasn’t ready to try it again. And thinking of the trickster wasn’t going to help him sleep.
Clearing his mind, Sam concentrated on relaxing his toes, his ankles and then his knees. Breathing deeply in, breathing deeply out…
A noise startled Sam and he bolted upright in bed.
Only he wasn’t sitting up in bed, he was standing next to the bed. Watching himself sleep. His transparent self; he could see the navy blue blanket on the bed through his recumbent body. Almost like a shadow.
I’m insane. There was no other explanation as far as Sam is concerned.
“A bit of a drama queen, aren’t you? Relax. You’re not going crazy. It’s just me. I’m a part of you. You're just sticking your head in the old sand again. Like always. Didn't work out so well before, did it? What makes you think it will this time around? Bang up job you're doing here, Samuel. Denial is it, huh? That little nagging thing in the back of your head, or in your case - flagging its arms right in your face - not gonna shut up before you face it. Not gonna just fade away, and that's a promise.”
The whisper was sibilant, setting Sam’s teeth on edge. His temper ignited, smoldering. “Leave me the hell alone.”
In his mind the words had been forceful; spoken aloud they sounded indecisive.
“Remember what you did in the warehouse? That’s what I would’ve done. Win the battle and forget the war.”
Sam clapped his hands over his ears but the taunting whisper wouldn’t leave him alone. “I’m the dark side of your nature. You’ve rejected me, repressed me, but guess what? I’m not going anywhere.”
Strong hands ripped his hands away from his ears. Under Sam’s breath he chanted, “No, leave me alone.” Over and over.
But no, the shadow was in his face. He clenched his eyelids closed but the words didn’t stop. “You know what you have to do. Face yourself. All of you. Otherwise I’m just going to take control and then where will you be?”
Rough hands shook Sam. “Enough already. Open your eyes. Sam?”
Sam’s eyes flew open at the raw concern in Dean’s voice. Dean was shaking him. Dean’s eyes were wide, his features pale in the dim glow of the small lamp on the nightstand between the beds.
Sam was sitting up in bed. Not standing next to it.
His head whipped around, seeking out every crevice and corner in the room.
No shadow.
The tension fled his body, leaving him drained. Dean’s tight hold on his arms eased. “Are you okay, Sam?”
Sam. Not Sammy. He was pushing Dean’s patience and he couldn’t blame his brother at all. He was a wreck, awake or dreaming.
Dean was perched on the edge of his bed, hair sleep rumpled, eyes tired. “You were sitting on the bed, talking to yourself. And it didn’t sound like it was a friendly conversation. What’s going on with you?”
Sam’s eyes dropped to stare at his hands fidgeting on top of the blanket. “I guess I was dreaming…there was something in the room and…”
The intense scrutiny was getting to him and Sam swung his legs off the bed, climbing to his feet. Dean had to get up to let Sam pass in the cluttered room. “Sam, it’s okay. It was just a dream. There’s nothing to worry about.”
Nothing to worry about. Nothing except shadows and his incipient insanity. “I need a…go downstairs…sorry I woke you…”
Sam was out of the room before Dean could call him back. He made his way to the kitchen where he found what amounted to half a cup of coffee in the pot, so strong it could probably double as paint stripper. Sam heated it quickly in the microwave before sinking into a chair at the table.
Cradling his head in one hand, Sam sipped the strong brew.
He needed a plan. A plan to the kill the shadow, end this once and for all. It’s not necessarily a rational plan but at three thirty in the morning he didn’t have anything that met the definition of rational.
Sam knew he’d either lost his mind or something was haunting him. It was easier to deal with something haunting him and with that decision made, he moved into the living room to find his laptop. He wanted to make sure he was armed with whatever knowledge he could muster for the next time he meets the whispering shadow.
-0-
Dean would be lying if he said he wasn’t worried about Sam. His brother had the look of someone seriously sleep deprived and his behavior-detached and vague-matched the look. “Come on, Sam, Bobby said he needed some stuff from in town. Why don’t you and me make a supply run?”
Sam’s legs were crossed Indian style on the couch, laptop perched precariously. Sam nodded his head in agreement but didn’t stop the keystrokes, his fingers tapping away.
“Sam?” His voice was louder that time and punched through the haze surrounding his brother.
Sam ground the heel of his hand into one of his eye’s before closing the laptop and setting it aside. “Sure. Let’s go.”
It was like Sam was here, going through the motions, but he wasn’t really here. First he’d done his freaky sidewalk show on the way to the bookstore, then he’d practically fallen asleep over pizza and beer, followed by a nightmare complete with arguing with himself that made Sybil look like a mild case of split personality in comparison.
Dean didn’t know what Sam needed but he’d start by getting him outside for some fresh air. After grabbing the list from the kitchen table, Dean waited for Sam to unfold himself from the couch. He had to hand it to Sam, for a big guy he was flexible, but Dean didn’t think his brother was meant to bend that way.
The sunlight glistened off the black paint job and Dean thought maybe he’d wash his pride and joy when they got back from town. Sam muffled a yawn with his hand and Dean thought maybe the wash job would have to wait. Dean planned on sticking close to Sam today and it looked like a nap was on the afternoon agenda.
They cruised down the little used two lane highway and Dean let the Impala stretch her legs. He thought about turning on the radio but maybe Sam would doze in the car. He’d certainly done that when he was a kid. He chanced a glance at Sam and found him frowning in the side mirror. “Problem?”
Sam startled, guiltily. “What? No.”
Dean wanted to press Sam but his brother was pretty ragged at the moment. Ragged and twitchy. His shoulders kept bunching and unbunching and the kid’s knee jangled up and down, no easy feat in the confined area beneath the dashboard.
The sun played hide and seek with a cloud and Dean tried to enjoy the ride. The sun made its way from behind the cloud, dazzling Dean with its brilliance.
“Look out!”
Sam’s panicked voice caused Dean’s foot to hit the brake. He expected to see an animal perched on the side of the road, ready to leap out.
Nothing.
Except Sam contorting in the passenger seat, face white and eyes wide. Sam’s arm jerked out and static electricity filled the enclosed spaced.
The steering wheel locked in Dean’s hands and the Impala went into an uncontrolled skid. Dean tried pumping the brakes but the vehicle wasn’t responding. The smell of hot wires and burnt plastic filled Dean’s nostrils as the car bucked and jerked under his hands.
Dean's heart thundered as the Impala's skids tugged violently at the steering-wheel. The brakes squealed and he tensed his body to keep the car on the road. Sam's hand was on the steering wheel, aiding him but all Dean saw was Sam's head dangerously close to the windshield. If they went over, he might end up with his fucking stupid brother's head coming loose and landing in his lap.
He finally managed to slow the car down enough to steer it to the shoulder and stop. Taking a deep breath he loosened his fingers from the wheel and looked at his stupid ass brother who was lucky he still had a head on his shoulder and not rolling on the asphalt.
Sam's face was white from shock and his lips were a thin line that barely moved when he asked: "You ok?"
Dean slapped him over the head. Hard. "What the hell, Sam?"
The regret was immediate at Sam's reaction. It wasn't what Dean had expected. Sam flinching, arms coming up as if he expected more abuse and then the frantic grappling for the door-handle and the 'M'so s'rry' before he scrambled out the door in such a haste that he almost face-planted and had to sustain himself on his palms before he got back enough momentum to right himself up.
Dean followed the staggering gait to the side of the road while the guilt tore at him.
Sam dropped to his knees, stomach rejecting and spewing what little contents it held.
Dean got out of the car, not even minding that usually the sight of someone else vomiting was enough to make his stomach roil. Still slightly shaky on his legs, he approached Sam and squatted right by his side, trying not to join in with Sam's retching.
"I don't think this road side needs more fertilizing, Sammy," he quipped.
When Sam showed no signs of letting up, Dean put his hand on his back, rubbing lightly
Sam sat back on his heels. “I almost killed you…I can’t believe…never meant…God, Dean…how can you trust me?”
So Sam had used his powers. The raised arm, static electricity and burnt smell in the car had tipped Dean off but until Sam had confessed, he hadn’t known for sure.
This was the tricky part. Dean got to hear angels, and sure, it was confusing and made him doubt his sanity. But Sam’s powers were dangerous. The damage Sam could do, even unintentionally, was staggering. Dean couldn’t really begin to understand how Sam felt but he knew one thing-Sam wasn’t alone in this.
Dean moved his hand to the back of Sam’s neck and gave it a squeeze. “Sam, you’re the strongest person I know. You can do this. You’re in charge of your powers, not the other way around.”
More than anything, Dean wanted to know what had set Sam off in the car. But now wasn’t the time.
Sam’s shoulders sagged and he took some deep breaths. He eased himself to a standing position, straightening his posture, standing tall. When he turned to face Dean, his face was blotchy and snot still ran from a nostril. Sam’s throat was filled with phlegm as he spit out a terse, “Gross.”
Dean reached into his pocket and pulled out a bandana and a pack of gum. He threw them up in the air and watched Sam snatch them deftly. “Clean yourself up. I want to make it into town and back by sundown.”
Sam tried to smile but it faltered and died. The gratitude in his eyes stood firm.
-0-
Sam couldn’t believe he’d almost crashed the Impala. Dean could’ve died.
He walked through the grocery store, never letting his brother out of his sight. Seeing Dean, having proof that he was living and breathing was the only thing keeping Sam from dissolving in a puddle on the floor.
Dean hadn’t laid into him either which made Sam feel all the guiltier. Dean thought Sam was in charge of his powers. He couldn’t even convince himself of that right now.
They turned the corner of the aisle and Sam saw the metal refrigerated cases gleaming at him. His eyes skittered away but not before he caught sight of something. A blur of movement.
Sam was so busy not looking at the refrigerated cases that he plowed into Dean’s back. His brother whirled around, took one look at Sam’s face, and didn’t say a word. But he did physically take Sam by the shoulders and move him to t he cart, even going so far as to curl his fingers around the handle. With a slight push to the middle of Sam’s back, he and the cart were propelled softly forward.
He’d never realized how hard it was navigate when you weren’t looking where you were going. He almost clipped a display full of cans in his efforts to avoid the shadow and Dean didn’t say a word; he just curled his hand around the cart handle so they were both pushing the cart.
At some point in the not so distant past, Sam would’ve been worried about how this looked. Two guys, big guys, simultaneously pushing a cart down the aisles. But having Dean next to him was doing a world of good for Sam’s nerves. The shaking had almost ceased and he could breathe normally, without shuddering.
They made it through the check out and outside without incident. That’s when Sam’s luck turned for the worst.
The shadow, not just a blur or a movement out of the corner of his eye, but the image of himself, faded and dark around the edges, was waiting for him in the parking lot. Sneering at him. Waving him over.
Sam abandoned the cart and stepped forward, intent on catching the shadow. A horn blared and Sam found himself airborne, his head cracking painfully against the cement.
“He’s okay, thanks for your concern. Sorry he scared you like that. He’s a little slow, if you know what I mean. We’ve got it.” Dean’s voice was babbling in the background and the other voices dissipated gradually.
Sam kept his eyes tightly closed, willing his heartbeat to slow down, his head to stop throbbing.
“Hey, you are okay, right?”
As much as Sam wanted to stay curled in a tight ball on the ground, he couldn’t do that to Dean. He pushed himself over and sat up to find Dean sitting on the back of his heels.
Their shopping cart was on its side, contents spread far and wide.
Dean reached forward and pushed Sam’s bangs out of his face, ignoring his flinch, wincing at the scrape and bruise Sam could feel blossoming there. Sam knew he was lucky that only the cart had been upended. He very easily could’ve been splatted across the parking lot.
Dean stood up and extended a hand. “Come on, let’s get you settled in the car.”
Sam’s hand was ensconced in Dean’s sure grip and he easily hauled Sam to his feet. The world spun lazily for one rotation and then righted itself. By that time Dean had snaked an arm around Sam’s middle and guided him toward the parked car. “What about the groceries?”
His brother actually smiled at the question and Sam was pleased to see the lines of worry ease on his face. “I think I’ll handle the cart if it’s all the same to you.”
Sam allowed himself to be bundled into the passenger seat without protest. He watched Dean tip the cart back on its wheels and gather up their purchases. When Dean flashed a concerned look at Sam on his way to the car, Sam managed a feeble smile and small wave.
All the while his brain was stuck on one thing and one thing only…he had to either ice the shadow or find a way to live with it.
He couldn’t risk Dean’s, or anyone’s life for that matter, and that meant getting gaining the upper hand. And fast.
END OF PART THREE
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 THREE
Dean had little trouble finding the main drag which housed the book store they needed. He wasn't thrilled about moving off the beaten path to retrieve this book of Bobby's, but Dean would rather run this errand then go check on The Roadhouse. Ellen was a little too maternal, too knowing. It sometimes made Dean squirm the way Ellen seemed able to pick up on his emotions. And Sam seemed to cave to her mothering far too easily; Dean didn't want to have to worry about what his brother would blurt out next to Ellen.
They didn't need to throw anyone else in the mix right now; things were definitely weird enough at the moment.
Take Sam's behavior for instance. Something was definitely up with him. For example, at this very moment Sam was doing some awkward hide and seek thing with his reflection as they walked by the storefronts.
Dean decreased his pace so he keep could tabs on Sam. It was obvious Sam was doing everything he could to stop the urge to run, arms twitching at his side, as he frowned at Dean who had fallen behind him. Sam came to a complete stop, arms crossed, foot tapping impatiently. "Where's the...what's the rush, Sam?"
He'd started to ask where's the fire but fire and his brother were a touchy subject. For both brothers, actually: Dean had worked hard to erase the image of Sam's body smoldering on the funeral pyre but even now, months after Sam had died in his arms, the mere thought made Dean's body twitch. That's why he was trying hard not to jump on Sam's back about his freaky behavior. Sam was obviously trying to work through some issue or another and it hurt, at least a little, which he wouldn't spill to Dean. But then again watching Sam do his little dance to avoid his reflection was pretty darn amusing, especially on a day that had Dean bored nearly to tears.
Sam tried to maneuver so that Dean was closest to the storefronts, massive windows that reflected images so clearly they could double as mirrors.
Mirrors.
Sam had definitely tangled with the mirror back at their motel room, although Dean had a hard time believing Sam had duked and juked like he was now before he'd taken it out. There was a certain smoothness to Sam's movements as he tried, and failed, to avoid catching glimpses of himself as they walked down the sidewalk.
Dean slowed enough so that he was a couple of paces behind Sam. Sam, who was glancing to his right at the storefront window, and then throwing up his right hand to screen his face. Sam realized Dean had fallen behind and stopped walking, hands on hip, lips pulled into a pout.
Ignoring Sam's stance, Dean continued walking at his leisurely pace. The breeze blew lightly and pushed Sam's bangs into his face. Instead of shaking his hair, or even pushing it back, Sam let his hair obscure
his face. Which was really funny when he bull dozed into a hot chick, the woman staggering back a step and only saved from hitting the cement sidewalk by Sam's quick reflexes. Of course hot chick's hostile
expression at almost being flattened quickly melted into an encouraging smile once she got a look at Dean's little brother.
Sam was a total chick magnet and he was totally clueless. It used to be that Sam only attracted the maternal type-the kind who liked to pinch cheeks and bake cookies from scratch-but more and more lately the opposite sex was eying up Sam like he was desert and they wanted to pinch more than his cheeks. Dean had been aware of beautiful girls since the eighth grade, and vice versa, so watching his late blooming brother was a riot. Especially since Sam didn't seem to know what to do with the women with long, wavy dark hair and curves in all the right places who stared at him blatantly.
Dean wondered what Sam had been like in college when it came to girls. He had a hunch Jessica had been the aggressor in that relationship. Dean didn't like to put much thought into Sam being at college or Jessica's death. The former made Dean melancholy and the latter depressed Sam. Dean preferred to focus on happier things at the moment. Like watching Sam stammer his apologies (what happened to his college educated brother with a gift for gab that made him a sure bet in his chosen field, law) as the hot chick scrawled her phone number on the palm of Sam's hand.
Grabbing Sam’s upper arm, Dean steered him away from the brunette and down the sidewalk, ignoring the pout on her face. The store they wanted, Biblioteca Oblique, was the next block and as much as watching Sam’s antics were amusing the hell out of him, Dean also wanted to get Bobby’s damn book and get on the road while it was still light outside.
They entered the exceedingly poorly lit store and approached the desk across from the entrance where an older, balding man stared at a huge, blocky computer monitor while the hard drive whirred and wheezed in the background. The man looked up and frowned at them. “Just a moment, please. I’m trying to enter this transaction before the computer crashes.”
Dean’s eyes roamed around the store, dismayed at how small the place was. Where were all of the books? There were two bookcases and that was it. The smell permeating the place was one of mildew and decay. Dean’s nose twitched as he tried to stave off a sneeze.
“Thanks for waiting. How may I help you?” The disheveled man said, pushing his ungainly girth to his feet.
Silence greeted his question and Dean turned to Sam, whose eyes were turned toward the ceiling. Dean elbowed Sam in the side, relishing in the whoosh of air that left Sam’s solar plexus. “Please tell the man what Bobby needs, would ya?”
Sam’s eyes focused on the man and he cleared his throat. “We’re here for The Alphabetum Dia-“
“Diaboli by Joannes Ness. Yes, Robert said two of his young friends would stop by for it. If you’d like to follow me, I’ll get it from the back room…” Dean didn’t really want to follow the man who vaguely resembled Uncle Fester from the Adams Family but he nodded to Sam and they followed the shorter man through the door behind him.
Fester was throwing out phrases like “extremely scarce” and “profound knowledge of demonology” and Dean understood why Bobby had asked them to swing by; demons seemed to be the soup du jour right along with the angels.
Sam at least had recovered his geeky composure and queried the man, “So this is the one with the vellum binding and blindstamped decorations?”
Blindstamped decorations? Whatever the hell that was.
But Fester spoke Sam’s language and nearly fell into paroxysms of delight. “Yes, yes, and the title page has a wonderful engraving of hell. But best of all, it contains a strange undated handwritten paper. Some speculate it’s an exorcism.”
Dean waited for the man to rub his hands together in fiendish delight and cackle but instead he went to a safe and, shielded from their view, punched in the code. Withdrawing an ancient looking tome, he brushed the cover fondly before holding it out. Dean reached out to take it but Fester put it into Sam’s geeky hands instead. Sam’s expression was every bit as rapt as Fester’s.
Boys and their toys. Dean rolled his eyes but knew he’d be the same if Bobby asked him to pick up a weapon for him.
The three walked back toward the desk, Fester prattling about wrapping the book for safe keeping and murmuring about “curious occult treatise on the manifestations of devils in our world.” Dean had had enough of the demon talk and was ready to head out.
Sam had other ideas. Feet planted, his brother was staring at the ceiling again. Eyes rising, Dean saw a cheesy silver globe suspended which made him think of Saturday Night Fever and discotheques. But it wasn’t a disco ball; instead it was a security mirror that allowed a three-sixty degree view of the store, such as it was. Maybe Sam was horrified at the thought of a disco.
Enough was enough. Sam’s face was flushed, his eyes a little glazed. Dean hoped his brother wasn’t coming down with something; nothing sucked like a sick little brother. He clapped Sam on the shoulder. “Stay here. I’m gonna pull the car out front.”
Dean didn’t wait to hear the squeal of unfairness he felt certain would be brewing in Sam over being ordered to stay put. He bolted into the fresh air and hurried down the sidewalk. He couldn’t wait to get Sam and The Devil’s Alphabet back to Bobby’s.
-0-
The day hadn’t been particularly arduous but Sam was bone tired. Riding in the car, jumping at imaginary shadows and picking up Bobby’s book had worn him out.
Bobby had been thrilled with The Alphabetum Diaboli and seemed equally pleased to see him and Dean. He’d popped a frozen pizza in the oven and broken out the Miller Genuine Draft. One bottle later and Sam couldn’t keep his eyes open.
He might be tired but he wasn’t stupid. Nor was he blind to the way Bobby and Dean shot each other worried looks over Bobby’s kitchen table. Smothering another yawn, Sam rose to his feet. “I think I’m gonna turn in now. Thanks for dinner, Bobby. Good night.”
Sam ought to be pleased that Dean and Bobby didn’t try to whisper. He just wished they could’ve waited until he made it upstairs before they started to dissect him.
“What’s up with the kid? I thought he was feeling better…”
“Those damn powers of his…didn’t you see the cuts on his face and hands?”
Sam compelled his feet to move, in no mood to find out what else his brother and his friend thought of him. He dragged himself upstairs and brushed his teeth, the mint flavor mingling with the beer taste in his mouth almost enough to make him vomit, eyes studiously avoiding the mirror.
He hadn’t seen any hint of the shadow today, despite searching for it, and now that he wanted to stretch out, he’d like to keep the streak alive. Shedding his clothes, he pulled on flannel pajama bottoms and a t-shirt. Settled on the lumpy, single mattress, body exhausted, yet Sam’s brain wouldn’t turn off.
The last time Sam’d read in bed, he and Dean had ended up on a trip to Dean’s future, courtesy of the Ghost of Future Yet to Come. Actually more like courtesy of the trickster, but still, Sam wasn’t ready to try it again. And thinking of the trickster wasn’t going to help him sleep.
Clearing his mind, Sam concentrated on relaxing his toes, his ankles and then his knees. Breathing deeply in, breathing deeply out…
A noise startled Sam and he bolted upright in bed.
Only he wasn’t sitting up in bed, he was standing next to the bed. Watching himself sleep. His transparent self; he could see the navy blue blanket on the bed through his recumbent body. Almost like a shadow.
I’m insane. There was no other explanation as far as Sam is concerned.
“A bit of a drama queen, aren’t you? Relax. You’re not going crazy. It’s just me. I’m a part of you. You're just sticking your head in the old sand again. Like always. Didn't work out so well before, did it? What makes you think it will this time around? Bang up job you're doing here, Samuel. Denial is it, huh? That little nagging thing in the back of your head, or in your case - flagging its arms right in your face - not gonna shut up before you face it. Not gonna just fade away, and that's a promise.”
The whisper was sibilant, setting Sam’s teeth on edge. His temper ignited, smoldering. “Leave me the hell alone.”
In his mind the words had been forceful; spoken aloud they sounded indecisive.
“Remember what you did in the warehouse? That’s what I would’ve done. Win the battle and forget the war.”
Sam clapped his hands over his ears but the taunting whisper wouldn’t leave him alone. “I’m the dark side of your nature. You’ve rejected me, repressed me, but guess what? I’m not going anywhere.”
Strong hands ripped his hands away from his ears. Under Sam’s breath he chanted, “No, leave me alone.” Over and over.
But no, the shadow was in his face. He clenched his eyelids closed but the words didn’t stop. “You know what you have to do. Face yourself. All of you. Otherwise I’m just going to take control and then where will you be?”
Rough hands shook Sam. “Enough already. Open your eyes. Sam?”
Sam’s eyes flew open at the raw concern in Dean’s voice. Dean was shaking him. Dean’s eyes were wide, his features pale in the dim glow of the small lamp on the nightstand between the beds.
Sam was sitting up in bed. Not standing next to it.
His head whipped around, seeking out every crevice and corner in the room.
No shadow.
The tension fled his body, leaving him drained. Dean’s tight hold on his arms eased. “Are you okay, Sam?”
Sam. Not Sammy. He was pushing Dean’s patience and he couldn’t blame his brother at all. He was a wreck, awake or dreaming.
Dean was perched on the edge of his bed, hair sleep rumpled, eyes tired. “You were sitting on the bed, talking to yourself. And it didn’t sound like it was a friendly conversation. What’s going on with you?”
Sam’s eyes dropped to stare at his hands fidgeting on top of the blanket. “I guess I was dreaming…there was something in the room and…”
The intense scrutiny was getting to him and Sam swung his legs off the bed, climbing to his feet. Dean had to get up to let Sam pass in the cluttered room. “Sam, it’s okay. It was just a dream. There’s nothing to worry about.”
Nothing to worry about. Nothing except shadows and his incipient insanity. “I need a…go downstairs…sorry I woke you…”
Sam was out of the room before Dean could call him back. He made his way to the kitchen where he found what amounted to half a cup of coffee in the pot, so strong it could probably double as paint stripper. Sam heated it quickly in the microwave before sinking into a chair at the table.
Cradling his head in one hand, Sam sipped the strong brew.
He needed a plan. A plan to the kill the shadow, end this once and for all. It’s not necessarily a rational plan but at three thirty in the morning he didn’t have anything that met the definition of rational.
Sam knew he’d either lost his mind or something was haunting him. It was easier to deal with something haunting him and with that decision made, he moved into the living room to find his laptop. He wanted to make sure he was armed with whatever knowledge he could muster for the next time he meets the whispering shadow.
-0-
Dean would be lying if he said he wasn’t worried about Sam. His brother had the look of someone seriously sleep deprived and his behavior-detached and vague-matched the look. “Come on, Sam, Bobby said he needed some stuff from in town. Why don’t you and me make a supply run?”
Sam’s legs were crossed Indian style on the couch, laptop perched precariously. Sam nodded his head in agreement but didn’t stop the keystrokes, his fingers tapping away.
“Sam?” His voice was louder that time and punched through the haze surrounding his brother.
Sam ground the heel of his hand into one of his eye’s before closing the laptop and setting it aside. “Sure. Let’s go.”
It was like Sam was here, going through the motions, but he wasn’t really here. First he’d done his freaky sidewalk show on the way to the bookstore, then he’d practically fallen asleep over pizza and beer, followed by a nightmare complete with arguing with himself that made Sybil look like a mild case of split personality in comparison.
Dean didn’t know what Sam needed but he’d start by getting him outside for some fresh air. After grabbing the list from the kitchen table, Dean waited for Sam to unfold himself from the couch. He had to hand it to Sam, for a big guy he was flexible, but Dean didn’t think his brother was meant to bend that way.
The sunlight glistened off the black paint job and Dean thought maybe he’d wash his pride and joy when they got back from town. Sam muffled a yawn with his hand and Dean thought maybe the wash job would have to wait. Dean planned on sticking close to Sam today and it looked like a nap was on the afternoon agenda.
They cruised down the little used two lane highway and Dean let the Impala stretch her legs. He thought about turning on the radio but maybe Sam would doze in the car. He’d certainly done that when he was a kid. He chanced a glance at Sam and found him frowning in the side mirror. “Problem?”
Sam startled, guiltily. “What? No.”
Dean wanted to press Sam but his brother was pretty ragged at the moment. Ragged and twitchy. His shoulders kept bunching and unbunching and the kid’s knee jangled up and down, no easy feat in the confined area beneath the dashboard.
The sun played hide and seek with a cloud and Dean tried to enjoy the ride. The sun made its way from behind the cloud, dazzling Dean with its brilliance.
“Look out!”
Sam’s panicked voice caused Dean’s foot to hit the brake. He expected to see an animal perched on the side of the road, ready to leap out.
Nothing.
Except Sam contorting in the passenger seat, face white and eyes wide. Sam’s arm jerked out and static electricity filled the enclosed spaced.
The steering wheel locked in Dean’s hands and the Impala went into an uncontrolled skid. Dean tried pumping the brakes but the vehicle wasn’t responding. The smell of hot wires and burnt plastic filled Dean’s nostrils as the car bucked and jerked under his hands.
Dean's heart thundered as the Impala's skids tugged violently at the steering-wheel. The brakes squealed and he tensed his body to keep the car on the road. Sam's hand was on the steering wheel, aiding him but all Dean saw was Sam's head dangerously close to the windshield. If they went over, he might end up with his fucking stupid brother's head coming loose and landing in his lap.
He finally managed to slow the car down enough to steer it to the shoulder and stop. Taking a deep breath he loosened his fingers from the wheel and looked at his stupid ass brother who was lucky he still had a head on his shoulder and not rolling on the asphalt.
Sam's face was white from shock and his lips were a thin line that barely moved when he asked: "You ok?"
Dean slapped him over the head. Hard. "What the hell, Sam?"
The regret was immediate at Sam's reaction. It wasn't what Dean had expected. Sam flinching, arms coming up as if he expected more abuse and then the frantic grappling for the door-handle and the 'M'so s'rry' before he scrambled out the door in such a haste that he almost face-planted and had to sustain himself on his palms before he got back enough momentum to right himself up.
Dean followed the staggering gait to the side of the road while the guilt tore at him.
Sam dropped to his knees, stomach rejecting and spewing what little contents it held.
Dean got out of the car, not even minding that usually the sight of someone else vomiting was enough to make his stomach roil. Still slightly shaky on his legs, he approached Sam and squatted right by his side, trying not to join in with Sam's retching.
"I don't think this road side needs more fertilizing, Sammy," he quipped.
When Sam showed no signs of letting up, Dean put his hand on his back, rubbing lightly
Sam sat back on his heels. “I almost killed you…I can’t believe…never meant…God, Dean…how can you trust me?”
So Sam had used his powers. The raised arm, static electricity and burnt smell in the car had tipped Dean off but until Sam had confessed, he hadn’t known for sure.
This was the tricky part. Dean got to hear angels, and sure, it was confusing and made him doubt his sanity. But Sam’s powers were dangerous. The damage Sam could do, even unintentionally, was staggering. Dean couldn’t really begin to understand how Sam felt but he knew one thing-Sam wasn’t alone in this.
Dean moved his hand to the back of Sam’s neck and gave it a squeeze. “Sam, you’re the strongest person I know. You can do this. You’re in charge of your powers, not the other way around.”
More than anything, Dean wanted to know what had set Sam off in the car. But now wasn’t the time.
Sam’s shoulders sagged and he took some deep breaths. He eased himself to a standing position, straightening his posture, standing tall. When he turned to face Dean, his face was blotchy and snot still ran from a nostril. Sam’s throat was filled with phlegm as he spit out a terse, “Gross.”
Dean reached into his pocket and pulled out a bandana and a pack of gum. He threw them up in the air and watched Sam snatch them deftly. “Clean yourself up. I want to make it into town and back by sundown.”
Sam tried to smile but it faltered and died. The gratitude in his eyes stood firm.
-0-
Sam couldn’t believe he’d almost crashed the Impala. Dean could’ve died.
He walked through the grocery store, never letting his brother out of his sight. Seeing Dean, having proof that he was living and breathing was the only thing keeping Sam from dissolving in a puddle on the floor.
Dean hadn’t laid into him either which made Sam feel all the guiltier. Dean thought Sam was in charge of his powers. He couldn’t even convince himself of that right now.
They turned the corner of the aisle and Sam saw the metal refrigerated cases gleaming at him. His eyes skittered away but not before he caught sight of something. A blur of movement.
Sam was so busy not looking at the refrigerated cases that he plowed into Dean’s back. His brother whirled around, took one look at Sam’s face, and didn’t say a word. But he did physically take Sam by the shoulders and move him to t he cart, even going so far as to curl his fingers around the handle. With a slight push to the middle of Sam’s back, he and the cart were propelled softly forward.
He’d never realized how hard it was navigate when you weren’t looking where you were going. He almost clipped a display full of cans in his efforts to avoid the shadow and Dean didn’t say a word; he just curled his hand around the cart handle so they were both pushing the cart.
At some point in the not so distant past, Sam would’ve been worried about how this looked. Two guys, big guys, simultaneously pushing a cart down the aisles. But having Dean next to him was doing a world of good for Sam’s nerves. The shaking had almost ceased and he could breathe normally, without shuddering.
They made it through the check out and outside without incident. That’s when Sam’s luck turned for the worst.
The shadow, not just a blur or a movement out of the corner of his eye, but the image of himself, faded and dark around the edges, was waiting for him in the parking lot. Sneering at him. Waving him over.
Sam abandoned the cart and stepped forward, intent on catching the shadow. A horn blared and Sam found himself airborne, his head cracking painfully against the cement.
“He’s okay, thanks for your concern. Sorry he scared you like that. He’s a little slow, if you know what I mean. We’ve got it.” Dean’s voice was babbling in the background and the other voices dissipated gradually.
Sam kept his eyes tightly closed, willing his heartbeat to slow down, his head to stop throbbing.
“Hey, you are okay, right?”
As much as Sam wanted to stay curled in a tight ball on the ground, he couldn’t do that to Dean. He pushed himself over and sat up to find Dean sitting on the back of his heels.
Their shopping cart was on its side, contents spread far and wide.
Dean reached forward and pushed Sam’s bangs out of his face, ignoring his flinch, wincing at the scrape and bruise Sam could feel blossoming there. Sam knew he was lucky that only the cart had been upended. He very easily could’ve been splatted across the parking lot.
Dean stood up and extended a hand. “Come on, let’s get you settled in the car.”
Sam’s hand was ensconced in Dean’s sure grip and he easily hauled Sam to his feet. The world spun lazily for one rotation and then righted itself. By that time Dean had snaked an arm around Sam’s middle and guided him toward the parked car. “What about the groceries?”
His brother actually smiled at the question and Sam was pleased to see the lines of worry ease on his face. “I think I’ll handle the cart if it’s all the same to you.”
Sam allowed himself to be bundled into the passenger seat without protest. He watched Dean tip the cart back on its wheels and gather up their purchases. When Dean flashed a concerned look at Sam on his way to the car, Sam managed a feeble smile and small wave.
All the while his brain was stuck on one thing and one thing only…he had to either ice the shadow or find a way to live with it.
He couldn’t risk Dean’s, or anyone’s life for that matter, and that meant getting gaining the upper hand. And fast.
END OF PART THREE