Five Hours to Broken Arrow
Chapter 2
"Rumble strip!" Dean shouted…
Sam jolted awake – pulled the wheel a little too much to the left – frightened the crap out of an oncoming vehicle who vehemently blasted his horn in retaliation.
His heart kicked out a quickened beat – so he slowed down to park at the side of the road to collect himself for a moment.
He pulled out his cell. Flipped the numbers until he saw Jennifer's.
He had a hundred questions he should have damn well asked her at the time. But he guessed a follow up chat at 4:40am wouldn't exactly be appreciated. He folded his cell and put it away.
One hour, forty minutes. That's how much he'd slept over the past two days. No wonder he was dozing off at the wheel.
Still, things were looking up. The first sighting of Dean in…well, in two days.
It was the Shapeshifters.
He knew it like he knew his brother was in terrible danger.
He'd waited for nearly two hours for Dean to pick him up outside the Library. He'd sat on the bench in the town Main Street just as Dean had suggested he do. He'd even snagged a bottle of Soda in the cool of the afternoon.
After six calls to Dean's cell he'd gone into the Library just to check with the assistant.
The guy had huffed at the prospect of standing up and walking all the way to the counter to speak to Sam like it was a three mile hike.
"Uh…Hi again. I'm waiting for my brother and I've been hanging outside –"
"Yeah, and then you waited inside, and then he came in and then you both left," he'd interrupted sarcastically.
"Er…well, no. I'm…I'm still waiting for him."
The guy pursed his lips. "Look, champ – no offense, but you aren't that hard to miss. You might have forgotten, but you came back here and waited for your brother over there." Sam followed the man's nod towards a set of chairs in the corner. "You had a chat, you both left. There ain't no more."
Sam's blood chilled immediately.
"Listen, would you mind telling me what…what he looked like. This…this guy?"
The Librarian raised his eyebrows. "Your brother?"
"Yes. My brother," Sam snapped back.
"Fair hair. Couple of inches shorter than you. Olive green jacket…I dunno."
Sam jolted awake. Again.
He glanced at the time. 5:15am.
Thirty minutes.
Better than nothing.
He rubbed his eyes and turned the key to start the car.
Just over two hours to Broken Arrow.
He'd try for one and a half.
Two days earlier:
Silence.
Dean decided he preferred the silence.
Jeremy Psycho was taking a coffee break. Hopefully a long one.
And while concrete floors were never very good for conducting noise, he couldn't even hear the sound of traffic, or planes or even a train from outside.
He did think he'd heard a cock crow once. But that could've been a dream. Or a nightmare.
His left hand stung like a bitch, but with his good hand, he braced for the pain, and pushed himself up into a sitting position. No one heard him groan. His new elevated position seemed like a privilege and he allowed himself a sly grin at the achievement.
The room was packed to the rafters with…with stuff.
Old and broken furniture, chairs, bedsteads, wardrobes, stacks of papers, an old refrigerator, magazines, books. Wire shelves, wooden stands, high chairs and what looked like a baby cot. Above all that, the rafters hung heavy with spiders webs and years of grime.
There was a work bench, bolted to the floor, a ragged blanket in the corner and the water barrel in the other.
The floor around it was still wet. Bits of sawdust floated in pink puddles of water and blood.
The bastard probably tried to drown him. His jeans were still wet. Either that, or he'd pissed himself.
The high slit window offered a dim light and he squinted up at the cloudy sky outside. A shiver ran through him along with a sudden onset of exhaustion.
He looked over towards the blanket and wondered if it was worth dragging himself over there to get it before Crazy Krane returned.
Krane.
The name didn't ring any bells. Nothing in Dad's journal, but then he did say Dad had attacked his family six years ago. That would be a few months before Dad died.
Sam would know.
He considered the assortment of furniture and junk banked dangerously high against the wall and wondered how he'd never noticed any of it before. Plenty there to scavenge from and break into smaller, weapon-shaped items.
But not now.
In his mind he wanted to energetically kick Jeremy's ass every time he had the misfortune to see him. But his body felt nothing but apathy and weakness.
A combination of raw violence and starvation probably.
He turned to gaze at the blanket again. Somehow, it just seemed too far away. Instead he leaned over and lay down onto the cement floor. His hand stung, his ribs ached and his head thumped, but he just had to rest for a while…just a little while…
"DEAN!" Sam roared.
Two hands around Dean's face, jostled his bones, strained his muscles.
"What are you doing!" Sam shouted. Spittle and breath making Dean blink hard.
"Wha…what?"
"No rest for the wicked, dude," he boomed, letting Dean's head drop back hard onto the workbench. "And boy, you is wicked."
Dean quickly orientated himself.
He was back on the workbench. Face up to the rafters. Arms down by his side.
Only he wasn't wire- tied to it, like last time. In fact, his right arm was free.
Sam stood up straight and stepped back.
As he did so, his entire form changed back into Jeremy. A silver light of change, as smooth and graceful as liquid.
The sight of it made Dean hold his breath.
And it wasn't until Jeremy gestured towards Dean's left arm that he noticed the pain. The unremitting, gnawing ache of it.
He raised his head and looked down at his hand.
"Isn't she beautiful?" Jeremy grinned.
"Was gonna shell out for some hand cuffs but then thought, 'what the hell, let's break out the ol' gal and put her to work."
Dean gasped in realization. His arm was trapped inside a steel box vice.
Smooth edges bit into soft flesh, tender nerves and crumbling bone. The pain emanating from it was agonizing.
"It's the one my Dad used to fix our skateboards, " Jeremy added cheerfully.
"I'm sure he'd be proud," Dean gritted out.
Jeremy nodded in complete agreement.
"Anyhoo…" He turned back and reached into an old hessian sack on the floor by the door.
"…I gotta dash. But don't think I'm forgetting you, bro',"
Dean closed his eyes. Beads of sweat slid down his temples and dripped onto the bench.
When he opened them – he saw Jeremy holding a fine tooth hack saw. Obviously another family heirloom, the way he was gazing at it.
Dean felt the urge to laugh.
This day was just getting better.
This twisted, psychotic, shape shifting bastard was going to start sawing limbs off. When, or…let's face it, if Sam ever came across the remains, he imagined a little heap of arms and legs atop a bloodied and battered torso.
He swallowed hard and licked his lips. No point in going out feeble.
"So, what now, Jeremy? You think you've got the balls to saw my arm off?"
The shapeshifter flicked his gaze away from the hack saw and approached the bench.
"Hell, no," he said with a snort. "You can do that yourself." He laid the hack saw onto Dean's chest.
"I'm outta town for a few days," and with that he flipped Dean's cell out from his back pocket. "I got me a little brother to hunt."
"Jeremy…!"
He approached the door, unlocked it and turned back to look at Dean.
As he did so, the silver light engulfed him again – revealing a shapely, but small woman. She flicked her dark hair and waited for Dean to recognize her.
He blinked hard at her familiar features.
He knew her. Or knew the person that Jeremy had shifted into.
Jamie…no…Jane or Jemma or…
She was a hunter.
Got into the business when her Mom was killed by a Rugaru.
Jerry…or Jennifer.
Jennifer Blain.
The bastard had shifted into…
"Jennifer Blain," Dean rasped.
Jennifer lifted her hand and blew him a kiss.
Then she smiled, and left the room.
TBC