Dean's feet hurt. He'd been wearing his work boots when the angels had snatched him at Bobby's, and they had always been better at kicking demon ass than for going on day hikes. They'd been walking for hours, and he was feeling every mile of it. There was something humiliating about surviving a face-off with the heavenly host and Lucifer but being stopped in his tracks by a couple of blood blisters.
Sam had been lagging behind, not saying much, but Dean kind of expected that. It was enough that Sam was still with him.
"We're almost there," Dean said because someone needed to say something every now and then, even though he had no idea where "there" even was. They'd been following a footpath that twisted along the river. Dad had taught them that civilization goes where water flows. A river would always take you somewhere. But Dean felt lost without a highway to guide him.
Dean had stopped for a minute and was trying to pick a rock out of his boot, when he felt something brush against his lower back. Sam was going for his gun. Instinct and training kicked in before he had a chance to think about what was happening. Sam had been brought up with the same training. They knew each other too well.
But Sam wasn't at the top of his game. Dean drove his elbow back, hitting his brother hard between the ribs. Sam doubled over, and Dean took the opportunity to throw his full body weight against his brother, knocking them both to the ground.
"Damnit Sam, stop it!"
Dean had him pinned, but Sam was still fighting, trying to reach around for the Colt tucked under his belt, but there was no way in hell Dean was going to let him get at it. Dean would bet his life that he wasn't in any danger from Sam.
Sam's stamina had taken a hit, and Dean could feel his struggling start to ease up. Dean didn't like the way Sam was wheezing, like he'd cracked a rib. Shoving him back, Dean scrabbled out of Sam's reach toward the riverbank and pulled out the gun.
"Dean, don't!"
Dean held the gun over his head. "Be cool!" he demanded. "What the hell are you trying to do, Sam?"
Sam wasn't going to give up. Dad had given him the nickel-plated Colt when he'd turned sixteen and it went against all his instincts to go unarmed, so Dean swore under his breath as he hurled the gun into the river.
Panting hard, Sam collapsed, lying flat on the ground. "I was trying to keep you from having to do it. Damnit Dean…"
Dean wanted nothing more than to punch him again.
Furiously, he said, "Okay, maybe I wasn't clear before. I'm not killing you, Sam, and you're not killing you, not today, not ever." Dean wiped sweat out of his eyes, suddenly exhausted. "I let you go your own way before, and that was my mistake. I'm not making that mistake again, so I guess you're stuck with me."
Sam was desperate – Dean could see that, but there was something else in his expression, something he couldn't so easily identify.
"You were right before. I'm a monster, a freak. I can't go back. Let me end this now. Please let me go."
"Bite me, Sam."
And then there was only the pissed off Sam that Dean knew so very well. For some reason, Dean found it comforting.
"You're full of shit, Dean."
"Bitch."
Sam threw an arm over his face, but Dean could see that he was crying again.
Terrific.
***
When it came to signs and wonders, an earthquake was pretty much routine. All the same, it knocked them both off their feet while the ground thrashed for what felt like an hour.
It was most likely only a couple of minutes.
When it was over, they were all right. They'd seen worse, and it was a hell of a lot better to be caught in an earthquake outdoors than in a building. Besides, Sam shoved Dean out of the way of the giant chasm that had yawned open right underneath him, and the landslide had missed them by at least ten feet. It had been more than a little bit awesome to watch the entire side of a cliff groan and convulse before it crumbled to the ground. It would have been epic if Dean had been in any kind of mood to enjoy it.
But with Sam gone all sulky and bleak, it was kind of hard to get excited about anything.
"Hey, Sam. Am I gonna be talking to myself all the way to South Dakota or are you gonna help me out a little?"
"Why are we going to South Dakota?"
Dean was surprised that Sam actually answered. "Gotta pick up the car. I left it at Bobby's."
Sam's eyes widened. "You left without the Impala?"
"Not of my own free will, trust me. Kind of a divine appointment."
Sam didn't ask. Dean was grateful for that. He didn't feel like explaining about the green room and all Zachariah's revelations about the upcoming showdown unless he had to. There were lots of things he'd gladly never talk about again.
"You'd think we'd have run into someone by now."
It was eerily quiet. Whoever had snatched them out of the convent had deposited them in the middle of nowhere. They'd finally found their way to a road, but in the several hours they'd been walking, not one car had passed them by. Dean had often thought he'd be fine in a world without people to screw it up, but this was the kind of quiet that made his teeth ache.
There were other things that just didn't feel right. Dean could swear the temperature kept going up and down by a good thirty degrees. Dean knew his portents better than anyone, and temperature fluctuations were a sure sign that something was wrong. Normally, he'd have asked Sam what he thought was going on. But this Sam he'd gotten back was anything but normal.
Dean reminded himself that he'd told Cas that he'd take Sam back "as is." Be careful what you swear to an angel. Dean of all people knew that.
They needed a way to get back to Bobby's. He'd been trying his cell phone every couple miles, but there still wasn't any reception. Dean had no idea what he'd do if Sam needed a fix before he could get him somewhere safe. Even though he was willing to admit that the cold turkey thing hadn't gone all that well, he wasn't sure what he could do this time that would work out any better. It wasn't exactly like you could score a hit of demon blood on any old street corner.
"What's that? Do you hear that?" Sam asked suddenly, startling Dean out of his reverie. He didn't hear a thing.
"What?"
"That noise. God, it's so loud."
Dean was about to tell Sam he was hearing things, when he heard it too. It was a distant rumble first, a little like the Impala on a cold morning, but then it intensified into a roar like thunder. For a wild, panicked moment, Dean believed Lucifer had found them.
"What is it?" he shouted at Sam.
Sam stood so close beside him that their shoulders were touching. "Sulfur." He turned to Dean, clearly terrified. "Dean, I think it's sulfur."
Smoke was billowing across the sky, turning the sun into a red-glazed sphere. He couldn't tell where it was coming from. Holy crap, this was it. Dean started looking wildly around for some place to hide his brother. And he didn't even have his gun, not that it would be any help against Lucifer and his minions.
Sam grabbed his arm. "Over there."
Then Dean saw it – lightening was cracking and flashing around the peak of a nearby mountain.
"Man, this can't be good."
"I think it's Mount Shasta. I spent a summer at the lake on my friend's houseboat."
There'd been a time when it would have irritated Dean to think about his brother having a life without him. It seemed so incredibly naïve that he'd once believed he'd lost Sam to Stanford.
"What's happening?"
Sam rolled his eyes. "It's a volcano, Dean. It's erupting." Dean could almost hear the words, you idiot that Sam didn't say out loud.
"I know that, smartass. Why's it happening now?"
"I think the wind's blowing the other way, but this isn't good. We gotta get out of here."
"No kidding genius. Where do we go?"
"I know where we can find a car."
"And you're telling me this now?"
Dean pulled his jacket over his face to try and protect his lungs from the hot, choking ash, and he insisted that Sam do the same.
He hardly could make out Sam's reply. "The car belonged to someone else before."
Dean really, really didn't want to know how Sam knew that.
To be continued….
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