Darkness.
Nothing but darkness was all he could see.
The last thing he remembered was Sarah shooting him in the stomach, then the explosion (the impact knocking him on his back), and then...nothing.
Was he dead?
"Harry and Red Hood aren't here."
The ringing in his ears answered that question. He seriously doubted that, if he was dead, his ears wouldn't be ringing. He could even feel the wood and small stones that left him unable to move anything except his head, arm, and hands.
He heard the sound of someone breathing through a gas mask, along with footsteps walking his way.
Sam and Dean, maybe?
Sam probably would've wanted to leave him behind no matter what she—
That was when a light shined on his face, making him squint his eyes before it moved away.
"Hey, come here!" a male voice called. "You better check this out!"
It didn't sound like either one of the Winchesters to him.
The footsteps resumed their trek towards his unmoving body. Once the man was close enough, he said, "Hang in there, buddy! Help's on the way!"
Tom opened his eyes and saw a man standing in front of him, wearing a red jumpsuit, a helmet with a light on it, and a gas mask. He groaned, subtly searching for the pickaxe while keeping an eye on the man in front of him.
Poor guy didn't even notice it as he stepped toward him before turning his head back the way he came and yelled, "Hey!" He looked back at him and said, "Help's coming, okay? We're gonna get you outta here. Can you tell me your name?"
The pickaxe was in his hand, and he swung it, the blade breaking the glass and stabbing him in his right eye. Once the man collapsed, Tom struggled to lift up the wreckage before standing up and staring down at the body.
The man was dead by his own hand.
He winced in pain as he bent down and unzipped the jumpsuit and removed it from the corpse, putting it on himself before doing the same with the mask and helmet. He then started limping out of the mine, avoiding the places he knew for a fact had men that probably knew the guy he killed.
All the while, he kept his hand on his open wound.
Once he was out in the morning dawn, he glanced over at the entrance and saw that Sarah was watching the ambulance take Axel away.
He almost scoffed.
Of freaking course his and Aline's actions only strengthened Sarah's love for the douche, probably elevated him higher than he had been in the past ten years. She probably now believed that he and Aline were insane. She'd probably give Axel kisses and apologies for not believing him or some other shit like that.
He clenched his jaw and glowered before continuing his long trek up the hill.
Once he was past the ambulance twenty minutes later, he glanced back, took off the helmet and the mask, and took in a shaky breath before sliding the mask onto his shoulder and dropping the helmet onto the ground.
The truth of his actions struck him in that very moment. He and Aline had murdered people while dressed up like Harry Warden and Red Hood. Even carved their hearts out and put 'em in candy boxes. And pinned every single one on Axel...
...but the thought didn't bother him as much as it should have, as much as it had when Sarah practically suggested the idea in the truck last night.
"Axel wants you to think that it's us, but it's not. Okay?"
"We don't think you know what he's capable of."
The truth had been staring everyone in the face the whole time, and they hadn't even known it.
"Oh, they're here. Aren't you, Harry and Red Hood? You been living inside Tom and Aline?"
"Oh, I'm right here."
He'd decided to keep his truck until he hit South Carolina two days later. Gatlin, to be exact. As for his bullet wound, he'd done the best he could, using what skills he'd learned from Aline whenever she'd had time to teach him.
Which turned out to be not too often, all thing considered.
He checked in to the Terminus Hotel and sat down on the bed, popping pain meds he'd picked up a few states back in a town he knew nobody would recognize him. He flushed the drugs he'd been taking in Harmony down the toilet. He even burned the bottle.
No point in keeping them if you don't need 'em at all.
His cell phone was in his hand before he even realized hit, Aline's number highlighted.
Could he call her? Should he call her?
She probably thought he was dead, but he didn't want it to stay that way. She only had so much time left before going to Hell with Dean, and there was no point in letting her wonder about the what-ifs.
That was why he texted her.
'I need your help, Batgirl. Room 248. Terminus Hotel. Bring your first aid kit.'
And the wait began.