The Wrong Side of Eternity

Chapter Two

XXX

The second time Sam wakes up in the alley, it's two days after the first time and they're no where near figuring out what that was about, despite their thorough research into the motel, the alleyway itself and the surrounding streets and buildings.

They had looked into the haunting that had brought them to town in the first place, even though they'd wrapped that up the day before Sam turned up in the alley, and disposed of the locket the ghost was attached to. There was nothing more than the faintest flicker of EMF detected in the previously-haunted house. Dean had checked it out thoroughly while Sam was at the library, finding out a whole bunch of nothing.

The alleyway itself was located in a pretty nothing part of town, within walking distance of the towns only club but far enough away that not many people hang around there. The factory that makes up one of the alleyway walls shut down a couple of years ago for entirely non-supernatural reasons and the building on the other side is apparently a ballet studio that's closed for the holidays. Behind them is a small field and beyond that is what could optimistically be called a forest.

Further down Argentine Street is a smattering of houses, and there's nothing at all about any of it that raises any red flags or causes any kind of suspicion or answers any of their questions.

Sam had been, rather pointlessly, hoping that it was some kind of freakish one-off, never to be repeated and hopefully with some sort of rational explanation that they would soon find if they kept looking, which, he concedes when he wakes up in the pouring rain in the dark and pungent alleyway, really was pointless, because seriously, when does he ever get that lucky? (If you can call only magically teleporting to a random alleyway once lucky.)

This time Sam doesn't get pissed because he knows this isn't Dean's fault. It's probably his fault, if he's honest with himself because he's the one with the freaky powers and, because he can never catch a break, this is probably something to do with them. Because it's been a while since he moved that cabinet with his mind, since he saw things happen before they actually did, so obviously it's about time something else stupid and crazy and not normal happened to him, because apparently that's just what his life's going to be like now.

Sam rubs rain water off his face, his sigh misting the air in front of him as he draws himself out of the puddle he's been lying in. The alleyway seems colder than it should be for the time of year but then, he's not usually wandering round soaking wet in the middle of the night (well, sometimes he does but he tends to be dressed in more than a t-shirt and sweatpants), so feeling colder than normal is to be expected, and his throat hurts, like he's been screaming. Which he hasn't... he doesn't think. He supposes that he can't really be sure of anything. He's probably getting sick from sleeping in the rain, which is just fucking perfect.

Sam wonders, as he trudges towards the phone booth, how he went from being a college student with a promising future in law and a girl he was going to marry, to being the kind of person who wakes up in alleyways with no idea how he got there.

It's just not fair.

XXX

Dean is pulled from a perfectly acceptable dream involving a voluptuous red-head and a giant tub of vanilla ice cream by the tinny sound of his cellphone trilling out the beginning chords of Smoke on the Water, and as reluctant as he is to leave Michelle alone and... moist as she is, he's wide awake at the first vibration and a glance at Sam's empty bed has him on his feet in an instant, phone pressed to his ear.

"Sam?" Where the hell are his boots? "Where are you?"

"Phone booth on Argentine Street. Again." Dean can hear Sam's teeth chattering through the phone lines, even over the sound of rain pounding on the phone booths roof.

"You okay?" Dean stumbles over one of his boots while he's lunging for his jacket, cursing in his head. He leaves the laces undone and Goddamn, is it pouring outside.

"Yeah. Just... Dean, what's happening to me?"

Dean can't give Sam answers. All he can do is drive.

It takes what feels like an eternity to get across town. He doesn't like the idea of Sam being alone out there. Sure, Sam's not exactly defenseless. He's managed to take Dean down a few times while sparring, but the things that lurk in the darkness don't exactly fight fair and hand-to-hand isn't enough if you're actually fighting hand-to-claw and dealing with something that needs silver or salt or fire to be taken out, and Dean has no idea what it is they're actually dealing with here.

It's not hard to spot Sam curled in the bottom of the phone booth, even through the rain. He's only wearing the sweats and black t-shirt he went to bed in, wet clothes sticking to his skin, and his new multi-coloured hair is plastered to his forehead. Dean feels a small pang of guilt at the sight. He would have gotten Sam some dye to fix it by now if they hadn't been so distracted (well, he would have at least thought about getting some, or thought of something hilariously cruel that he could convince Sammy to do by using hair dye as a bribe). Sure, it had been funny at the time – seeing Sam stomp around in full on bitch mode was always amusing – but right now it only seems to make the kid look more miserable.

Sam struggles to his feet and is opening the Impala's door before Dean even has it pulled to a complete stop. Kid must really be cold, or scared. Dean wouldn't blame him.

"You okay?" Dean asks, eyes shifting up and down but he can't see any blood and Sam's not moving like he's hurt.

Sam nods distractedly as he tugs the blanket around himself.

"That's twice now," he reminds Dean needlessly as they drive back to the motel, streetlights causing the rain on his skin to glisten as he shivers. "There must be something about that alleyway."

Dean clears his throat, watching the road intently as if it's not 3am with fuck all traffic, "Maybe we should just leave town. We finished the hunt, there's nothing keeping us here. We could just... go." And no, he's totally not suggesting that they run away. Just... if it solves the problem then what's wrong with that?

Sam's drying his hair with a towel he's found under the seat, frowning absently at the golden bangs that hang in his face. "Might just mean you'd have further to drive to come get me. We need to figure this out."

Dean snorts his discontent as he pulls into the motel parking lot, trying not to imagine being hours away from Sam and that stupid alleyway. "Well, I'm all for that. You got any info you're not sharing with me? 'Cause I'm drawing a blank. If you want to hang around we're gonna have to start tying you to the bed."

"You're not tying me to the bed," Sam says, sounding unimpressed.

The conversation halts briefly as they both exit the Impala and make a dash through the rain to their room.

"You got a better idea?" Dean asks when they're safely inside, picking up where they left off. "You can't keep this up, Sam. Wandering around in the rain at night – you'll get sick, or hurt. What if you end up somewhere different and have no way to call me? Or if whatever's causing this decides it's time to meet up? We don't know what this is. Anything could be hanging round that alley, or in the forest across the field. We can't just risk... What the hell?"

While Dean's been talking, Sam's been wrestling his way out of his wet clothes. He's just pulled his t-shirt over his head and tossed it towards the bathroom when Dean notices the dark marks around his neck.

He ignores Sam's bewildered half-protest as he drags his brother closer to the lamp so he can see better, and there it is. He's seen this kind of bruising on Sam before – too often, because Sam apparently has some kind of choking fetish or at least, every second monster they come across seems to think so, and Dean can make out a clear imprint of a thumb and the rest of a partial hand print across his throat.

"What?" Sam asks, "What is it?"

"You forget to mention the part where someone strangled you?" Dean asks, trying to play it cool as he wills his heart to stop the frantic pace the marks have inspired.

"What?" Sam spins away from Dean and strides to the bathroom, flicking on the light. Dean follows and stands in the doorway as Sam inspects his reflection.

"I don't..." Sam starts, confused frown turning to Dean and he trails off with a shrug. "I don't know, Dean." He bites his lip anxiously, hand raised to lightly skim his throat. "This is freaking me out."

Dean stands up straighter. It's a subconscious thing, this 'big brother mode' that Sam teases him about. Sam says he's freaked and Dean reacts by automatically acting like he's not.

"We're gonna figure this out, Sammy," he soothes, all casual confidence that he doesn't quite feel. "Just get changed and get some sleep. We'll sort it out in the morning."

Sam gives the mirror one more long glance, before he sighs and heads out of the bathroom. Dean claps him on the shoulder in a way he hopes is reassuring as he passes and they both go about getting ready for bed.

Neither of them get any sleep.

TBC