The Spark and the Force
Summary: Sam's powers attract the attention of a power-hungry empath. He's unwilling to give Sam up. But then, so is Dean…
Notes: This is going to veer into quite dark territory, with some disturbing imagery and situations. So if you like your Winchesters with a side order of fluff, this probably isn't the fic for you. For those who like Sam in peril, Dean doing everything he can to save him, and a (hopefully) believably sinister bad guy; make yourself comfortable, we're just getting started. In terms of time frame, I place this sometime later on in Season 1 – after Sam is aware of his powers, but before John dies. Yes, John will make an appearance later on, but not for a few chapters.
- 1 -
Arguments between brothers on the road were wholly unavoidable, but inadvisable nonetheless. They often started for oblique, petty reasons, prolonged themselves beyond all reason, and picked up heat through other tiny factors that didn't even belong in the same ballpark. Dean stared across at Sam, refusing to eat the stack of pancakes in front of him, and felt irritation stir inside him again. He kicked his little brother, hard, underneath the diner table.
"Hey, Sammy, what do ya say you eat that tasty food I just paid a dollar ninety nine for?"
"You didn't pay for anything, Dean, unless you count wallet-stealing as a viable source of income these days."
"So you loaned me a couple of bucks," Dean said, shrugging lazily. "You know I'll hustle it back tonight."
Sam had perfected a number of looks, but 'incredulity' was apparently his favourite. He used it with particular relish, whether the occasion called for it or not. Dean conceded that it probably did call for it now; hustling was still a sore point for both of them, and had been the chief cause behind their latest fall-out.
"Fine. Go and hustle. It's fine, I don't care anymore. Just don't expect me to rush in anymore to back you up. I'm done with your scamming. I've got the bruise to show for it, remember?"
"You can't even see the bruise anymore," Dean muttered. Sam huffed loudly and stood up. Dean yanked at his arm. "Sit! I haven't finished here yet. And neither have you."
Sam sat down gracelessly and drummed his fingers against the table. Finally figuring out that Dean wasn't going to let him leave until he'd eaten something, he began cutting his pancakes with an alarming degree of violence.
"We'll drive to the next town. I'll drop you off at a motel and I'll go get us enough money to, y'know, pay for our accommodation. Then we'll think about another way to earn some money for the time being. Okay?"
Sam ignored him, swallowing the pancakes like they tasted like rubber. Dean hated to witness such obvious disregard for tasty baked goods, but he bit his lip. They ate the rest of their food in silence, listening to the sounds of the diner; the crazy old kook propped up at the counter, telling the bored looking waitress about the time he'd met the President, the pretty college girls in the booth behind Sam, giggling loudly at pictures on an expensive looking camera (Dean had tried and failed to attract their attention, finally declaring them lesbians and giving up), and the hum of the coffee machine as it filled the hot Texan air with strong blasts of a bitter smell. When Dean was in a room, however unthreatening, he accounted for everything; every sight and sound in the vicinity. Which was why he was surprised when a male waiter, of not insubstantial height and build, asked if he was finished, or did he want another refill on his coffee. Dean blinked. Had he fallen asleep? He hadn't even seen this guy approach. Sam was looking up with equal bewilderment.
"No, that's fine," Dean said. He pushed his mug away. "We're just going."
The waiter shrugged and turned away, his wide shoulder brushing against Sam's. Sam jumped slightly in his seat, his eyes brimming with confusion and something else – something Dean didn't recognise.
"Are you okay?" Dean said, leaning forward. Sam stared at him for a second, and then shook his head like he was trying to clear something from it.
"Are we gonna go or what?"
"What happened?"
"What? Dean, let's go. You need a reason to go into big brother mode, okay?"
Sam stood up and looked at Dean expectantly, until Dean followed him, wondering if he'd really seen Sam act – what, freaked? – by the apparent touch of a stranger. By the time they'd reached the dusty exterior of the diner he'd forgotten it entirely, and inside the Impala he was simply back to being pissed at Sam – pissed at the sullenness of his little brother, the unreasonable expectations Sam levelled at him, and the weight of responsibility he felt towards him. He glanced sideways at Sam's face, slumped against the car window, and saw the bruise underneath the unruly bangs of hair – it hadn't gone down, and Dean tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach every time Sam pushed his hair to the side to rub at it.
He thought back to the fight. It had started with the hustling, of course. Always the hustling. Usually Sam's job was to pull Dean out of the bar, but this time it had turned nasty, with two guys unwilling to drop it, and a barman who had turned a blind eye. Sam had come out of it the worst. When Dean tried to apologise, Sam had turned his face away and told him to keep driving. They hadn't spoken properly for three days.
"Maybe we could do a paid job next," Dean said quietly. His brother looked at him passively. "We could, maybe. Some little lady getting spooked out in Utah. That sort of thing."
"Sure, if we find one," Sam replied. He didn't sound hopeful. His eyes drooped. Dean put his foot down, the Impala humming happily on the open stretch of road. Dean didn't notice the car directly behind, lights off, keeping up the same steady speed. When he dropped Sam off at the first cheap-looking motel they came across, car door slamming behind him, he didn't notice the vehicle holding back in the shadows.
"Hey!" Dean shouted after Sam. His brother turned around, looking tired. "You better have stopped acting like a brat by the time I get back, okay?"
Sam rolled his eyes at this final dig and stomped into the motel lobby. Dean pulled away. The car in the shadows stayed put.