Malcolm's Kitchen…
"Oh look, Dad's long lost brother." Dean snorted.
Sam grinned, "Our uncle is Burt Gummer, greaaaat." He drew out the final word until he had to inhale again. "Maybe if we run away now he won't notice us?"
Dean grinned back, loosening the hard knots in Sam's chest a bit. The irrational, abject terror he'd felt the day before on the roadside lingered still. Though he tried to cover it, he knew Dean sensed or saw it was still there, lurking beneath Sam's surface. Sam didn't mind Dean saw these things, in a way it made him feel better, he didn't have to explain much to Dean. Yet they'd been through so much recently, he struggled to not add one more worry to Dean's list of things to worry over.
Casually laying one arm over the back of his booth, Dean twisted, propping one bent leg on the seat, he watched as the man paced the diner, every few seconds glancing back at Sam. Sam knew it wasn't the man that had Dean's rapt attention. It was the rifle in his hand.
A second, smaller figure slipped through the door just before it swung shut. Peter. Sam watched Dean's eyes shift to the boy, follow his progress through the diner to a stool at the counter, near Ernie.
"Dammit, Ernie, you're scarin' ma customers. Now stop yer yelling, put that gun down and explain yerself."
"Everything is gone." Ernie repeated.
Sam smiled when Dean snorted softly. "Skeptic."
Dean rolled his eyes, shook his head slightly and turned his attention back to the conversation going on with Ernie and the cook.
"Mal, listen to me. There's no communications from the outside, from anywhere outside this town. My generators don't work, other than the old one I kept, those new ones I got last month are nothing but stupid pieces of crap. I got the old one cranked up. There's nothing on my Collins wireless radio, it just gives me static. I can't raise anyone, anywhere."
"Don't make 'em like they used to." Dean chuckled, just loud enough for Sam to hear. Sam grinned, but still shoved at Dean's foot with his.
"Do you think it's the aliens?" Peter asked.
Sam bit down on his lip to keep from laughing out loud. Dean turned to face him completely, ducked his head and stared into his coffee cup to hide the foolish grin spreading across his face.
"Aliens, Peter, despite what Mr. Adaey says, there's no such thing. The power is out." The cook, Mal, poked at Ernie's shoulder. "You stupid fool, it's just a power outage, now stop scaring the kid."
"If it's just a power outage explain to me why cars aren't running, generators aren't working. Those things don't depend on power lines and electricity." Ernie swept the diner with a meaningful, and Sam thought somewhat smug, gaze.
"Pulse bombs can cause that sort of disruption." Someone said from the counter.
"Those are urban legends, you know that." Ernie countered.
Someone else called out, "Or CME cloud."
Dean's toe jabbed at Sam's leg and he mouthed CME? Rolling his hands so his palms were up, Sam tilted one corner of his mouth up, shrugged and shook his head mouthing back, hell if I know.
Bomb. Sam's got a bomb. Sam glanced around half expecting to see Ruby hiding amongst the diner's patrons, or the flash of solid black eyes.
"Terrorist attack, the TVA would be a primary target, and most the technical staff lives in this town." A woman a few booths over raised her voice to be heard, others nodded in agreement.
Sam is a bomb. There was no source Sam could identify for the words popping through his head.
"Possibly some sort of germ warfare, and we've been isolated?" Counter guy piped up.
Ernie shook his head. "You people refuse to see the truth. None of that is going to cut us off completely, not like this. This is something much bigger."
I've got a plan for you, Sammy, and all the children like you.
"Like what, Ernie, the aliens?" Mal asked.
"You got a better explanation?"
Collateral damage. You'll have to go against that gentle nature of yours.
Sam started when Dean reached across the table, fingers skimmed over his wrist, pulled his arm from the back of his head and down to the table. "Sammy." It was Dean's 'do what you're told, stop drawing attention' tone of voice, though Sam had done nothing he was aware of.
Two men staggered through the door. The older of the two was panting, trying to talk and catch his breath, sounding panicked. "There's an abandoned county utility truck just outside of town, on Ridge Road. Joe Phillips, he's gone. We were driving behind him, a few feet beyond where the truck was left his car…it just…it…"
"Disintegrated." The other man finished for him.
A low murmur traveled the diner, heads nodded, some turned to gaze out the windows.
What happens to bombs, Sammy?
"In any kind of war or attack, TVA is a prime target. We've know this for years, been prepared." Mal raised his voice, tried to rein in the unrest Sam felt starting to course through everyone there. "We have protocols."
"Not for something of this magnitude." Ernie said.
Smile sliding off Dean's face, his eyes met Sam's.
Bombs go boom!
Again Sam turned a bit, looking for the source of the voice. His stomach knotted, his breath caught in his chest, squeezing his eyes shut for a few beats he tried quieting the whirlwind in his head. Opening his eyes, he took a quick look around again. No one other than Dean seemed to be paying attention to him.
"Sam?" Dean's voice was low, quiet, an anchor and warning all at once.
Pulling a stack of the paper napkins close, Sam twisted and twined them in his fingers. "Look at the booths along this part of the diner." He was barely able to get his voice above a whisper.
Dean reached with both hands this time, placing them over Sam's to still his fingers, stop his shredding the paper napkin. Ducking his head, he tried getting Sam to look at him. When Sam refused to do anything other than stare at the table top and his hands under Dean's, his brother sighed deeply, leaned back and looked around.
Sam watched the realization spread across Dean's face, completely sobering his expression. Dean's eyes took on the flat, calculating appearance of him working out details in his head, putting together a pattern, sizing up an adversary.
They sat along the long side of an 'L' shaped section of the diner. Booths lined the two walls. Farthest from them on the short part of the 'L' was a booth with two people seated in it, the next two booths also two people, the booth at the corner had one person, next was an empty booth, then theirs, with he and Dean, two people. The two booths beyond theirs had one occupant a piece.
Dean quietly pulled a pen from his jacket pocket, took one of the napkins Sam hadn't managed to shred yet and wrote 2 2 2 1 0 2 1 1. "Four two's, three one's and a zero." He turned the napkin for Sam to see, but Sam didn't bother to look at it, choosing instead to keep his eyes fixed on his brother.
"Do you think it's related?" Sam whispered, leaning across the table to be sure only Dean heard him, still wondering who here was projecting voices at him. He wasn't sure how to bring that up to Dean, knew he should but was inexplicably frightened to his core to do so.
What would Dean think if he knew? That you're nothing but a freak?
Dean sighed, "I really don't know. I want to get a look at the road. We need to check some things out, do a little digging."
"No internet."
"Then I guess we spend some library time before the daylight gives out."
Freak, freak, freak. Put down the knife. Useless freak.
"What do we look for?" Sam rubbed his forehead, he couldn't think straight.
"You okay? You haven't asked what to look for since you were like twelve."
"Yeah, I'm…I just…I can't concentrate…I think there's someone possessed here."
Turned on your own kind.
Dean blew out a breath. "Of course someone is, Sammy, we just have to find out who. No way this is aliens, or CME's whatever the hell those are. That man had one thing right, this is bigger, and these people need to know that."
"Uh, Dean, do you know how crazy that'll sound to them? Maybe we should just, ya know, keep that to ourselves?"
"Yeah," Dean tipped his head side to side, "You're probably right. Never worked out so well for us before anyway, telling people."
Opened the Gates of Hell so they could all get out.
Sam looked up, meeting Dean's eyes, not caring if he looked desperate and too young. "Can we get out of here? Please? I need some air."
"Sure." Dean slid from the booth, eyeing Sam suspiciously. As soon as Sam had pushed to his feet, Dean laid a hand on his shoulder, peering more closely at him. "Go on, wait in the car, I'm going to pay this, no matter what Kathy says." This time Dean spoke with the tone that said he'd watch out for them, take care of everything. The tone Sam alternately hated and loved.
Today he was appreciating it, and grateful beyond words.
The Impala was a welcome haven, safe refuge from his racing thoughts and too many voices assaulting him. He relaxed into the seat, leaned his head against the passenger window and felt the pain and tension from his headache slither away.
Dean opened the door, climbed behind the wheel, holding out one hand to Sam. The two receipts and the napkin he'd written the order of the numbers on earlier. Sam nodded his thanks, stuffed the papers into his pocket. He flinched, startled when Dean's fingers wrapped around his wrist, pulling his hand out of his hair.
"Sammy, quit doing that."
Sam looked at his hands, now in his lap. His eyes were hot and stung with tears. "I'm sorry. I didn't even realize I was doing it." When he turned his head enough to face Dean, his brother's face and voice softened.
Dean let out a deep breath, rubbed the back of Sam's head a few times, then curled his fingers around Sam's neck and squeezed. "It's okay." His voice was kind, patient in the way only Sam was permitted to hear.
Ridge Road…
Driving to the edge of town, to another road than the one they'd come in the night before, Dean followed the directions he'd gotten from Ernie just before leaving the diner.
Just as the man had said, there was an access road to his home, a solitary bunker, which made Dean snicker with amusement. He got a glimpse of the low building from the road. Ernie was definitely colorful. It was a half mile or so beyond Ernie's private road the other men said the utility truck had been abandoned. The truck, an orange pickup sat at the roadside, flashers blinking, doors standing open.
There was no sign of anyone.
Without looking at Sam, or giving it much thought, Dean reached over for the second time since they'd left town, pressed against his young brother's shoulder to still the slight rocking, then pulled Sam's hand out of his hair. The kid was going to be bald before they got this figured out if he kept this up, and he'd for sure blame Dean.
The men in the diner said there was no reason for anyone to stop, for the car to disintegrate as they'd described what happened. Dean, however, could see a very tangible reason. He could see exactly where the road, and the world, ended.
Taking his foot off the gas pedal, Dean let the car coast gently to a stop before shifting into park then finally shutting down the engine. He let his gaze travel to Sam, who leaned forward, staring out the front window, one hand touching the dash, his lower jaw dropped slightly down. Maybe sensing Dean watching him, Sam turned to him, eyes a bit too round, skin a bit too pale.
There wasn't much to say, so Dean said nothing. He eased from the car, keeping one eye on the end of the road, the other on Sam still sitting in the car, watching him intently. As soon as Dean stepped clear of the Impala's front, the passenger door creaked open, Sam was out, moving fast to his side.
They stopped a few yards from it, necks craned back for a complete look. Dean took a step back, turned to follow the gray mist from horizon to opposite horizon.
"Do you see it?" Sam's whisper was barely croaked out of his throat.
Nodding, turning back to his brother, "Yeah. I do." He drew in an unsteady breath, "It's gotta be some weird weather front, fog or something."
Sam tossed him a yeah right look and took a few steps beyond him, moving closer to the gray. It rippled ever so slightly, shimmering from light refracted off its surface, though Dean could see it wasn't from light coming through. This was what Sam had seen the day before? No wonder it'd shaken the kid to his very roots.
"It's like we're inside a bubble." Sam's voice shook, he moved forward, though seemed hesitant with each step taken.
Dean watched, unable to move, speak, or do much of anything other than watch Sam waltz right up to the gray wall. It'll take him, take him, take him.
As Sam neared the phenomenon, Dean felt something similar to a low level electrical charge course through his torso. Staring down at his feet, he tried to work out where the sensation came from. A thunderbolt slammed through his brain when his eyes landed on his amulet. It was tingling, tingling! The thing had never tingled before. Ever.
Sam's arm moved slowly up, fingers extended until his hand was level with his shoulder.
Tingling, freaking goddamn tingling.
Sam was within touching distance of the thing, leaning in toward it, fingers out. Too close, too close. He's going to touch it. Sam's going to touch the gray cloud. It'll take him.
Terror as Dean hadn't felt since he'd watched Hellhounds bolt through an opened door at him and grab him. Terror he hadn't felt since Hell. A clear, vivid memory flashed through his mind, then was gone, leaving in its wake paralyzing fear. Something I should know. Drops of cold sweat oozed down his neck, between his shoulder blades. Heat. Alone.
It was going to take Sam, take him and swallow him whole. Take him to a place Dean would never reach him, no lifeline to Sam as had been provided by Sam to Dean. No rescue, no second chance, no nothing. Nothing. Alone. Gone.
The tingle escalated to a buzz that worked itself from his chest to poke into his ears.
Stop him!
It was going to take Sam, take him and never give him back. He'd be lost in the gray forever. Lost. Lost without me. Lost. Two not one. Sam would be lost.
Stop him!
A sharp jolt coursed from the point on Dean's chest where his amulet rested, coursed a path along his ribs, then straight back to his spine. "Sam!" Closing the distance in a few strides, Dean's fingers wound around Sam's arm and yanked him back.
"Huh?" Sam turned wide, panic-filled eyes on him. Color dropped from his face as he looked between Dean and the gray barrier between them and the rest of the world.
Moving backwards, Dean tugged Sam with him. They stopped just in front of the car. He pulled Sam back until his arm was tucked against Dean's chest.
"Do you think it's from me?" Sam rasped, so softly that if he'd been a foot farther from Dean he'd have never been heard.
A weapon is only as good as the man who wields it.
"What the hell makes you think and say something stupid like that?" He didn't mean for the question to come barked out so harshly it made Sam cringe.
"I just…maybe it's that…the thing Ruby said I have…am…"
Dean's fingers clamped down on Sam's arm. Can't have him, not this one, not Sam. Can't have Sam. "No!" Dean snarled out.
Sam turned wide eyes on him, his face crumpled. It wasn't Sam's normal childlike expression he'd wear, it wasn't childlike at all. Dean suddenly realized Sam's expression was more like he was a child. Glancing away, at the gray nothing, Dean's attention snapped back when Sam squirmed, didn't try to pull away, but jostled his shoulder up and down and twisted his arm slightly, hissing an inhaled, "Dean."
Dean's eyes dropped to his hand on Sam's arm. His fingers were colorless he gripped Sam so tightly. There were going to be bruises on the kid's arm in a few hours. "Sor-sorry." Softening his grip, though Sam still hadn't tried to pull free. Dean drew in a deep, shaking breath, gazing again at the gray completely surrounding them. "We gotta figure this out. We gotta get out of here."
"I'm scared." It was Sam's voice, Dean was sure, but not like he'd ever heard.
Yes you have.
The tone, inflection, Dean had heard it all before, lived with it every day of his life. It was Sam, more to the point a prepubescent Sam, before his voice deepened, before Dean had to teach him to shave, and he'd shot up in height nineteen feet.
Sam stood quietly shaking in Dean's grasp. Staring at Dean with round, desperate eyes, the right half of his lower lip dragged between his teeth didn't stop it from quivering every so slightly.
Fear swirled around him, around them, washing over and between them, invisible waves that dampened Dean's skin, ones he could almost feel as if they were water dropping down on them. Sam felt it too, the waves radiated off him to roll between them. Every nerve in Dean's body ramped up, prickling to life, creating almost a hum beneath his skin.
Sam never moved, stood stalwart and defiant against the onslaught despite his fright, unwilling to leave Dean's side, even if Dean did let him go. That part of Sam was familiar as he'd always been. The rest of him was a brother Dean hadn't seen in fifteen years at least. The little brother who'd face anything, no matter how terrifying, for nothing more than the glimmer of hope for approval from his older brother.
Another twist of his arm, "Dean, ow, come on man, that hurts."
As fast as that, Sam's voice, his entire demeanor was back to Sam. Twenty-five and very much himself.
Unbending his fingers, feeling how they popped and pulled from his efforts to hang on, and the return of circulation, Dean's hand fell from Sam's arm. Definitely poor Sam was going to have bruises to show for their encounter.
Dean's hand dropped to his side. They both stood there, watching the grayness, feeling it. He heard Sam swallow, felt his body jerk ever so slightly. The back of Sam's hand nudged Dean's shoulder. "Dean. Look."
Following Sam's finger as he pointed to the scene around them, Dean's mouth dried. He tried swallowing, but his throat was too tight, too dry. The utility truck's flashers still clicked on and off, but that wasn't what drew Sam's attention, or Dean's. The vehicle had been parked so it appeared to sit between twin sets of trees, two pines near the front, two flanking its rear. Next to the front set of trees were two rocks; near the back tires of the truck, on the road's edge was a single rock. Dean's eyes came to rest on the side of the truck, in large, block letters was the number one-zero-two.
12221102
"Four twos, three ones and a zero." Dean wasn't sure he'd actually spoke out loud until he felt Sam's nod.
"Just like the other times." Sam shifted his weight, stepped closer to Dean, surprising him. Sam stepped into Dean in a way he hadn't done since he was a small child.
Dean stole a glance at Sam, expecting to see again the child inside the man. Sam's eyes met his, clear, lucid, normal, adult. What the hell, just what the freaking hell? He considered the possibility maybe he was starting to hallucinate. What wasn't hallucination was the gray blob of nothing surrounding them, things lined up in numbers they both saw, or Sam's weight pressed against his side.
"Let's get back." Dean pushed the words out of his mouth with more effort than it should have been.
"Yeah, good idea."
Once back in the Impala, Dean pulled deep breaths into his lungs, trying mostly unsuccessfully to settle his stomach and nerves. Without taking his eyes off the scene in front of them, he reached over, grasped Sam's wrist and pulled his hand from his hair. At the same time he flattened the rest of his arm against Sam's chest, ceasing his brother's slight rocking motion. "Sam, stop it." He'd kept his voice low and calm, but still a shudder ran through Sam.
"It's me."
"It's not you." Dean twisted far enough to look at his brother.
"How do you know? How do you know it's not me, that it's not the…bomb? That I'm not doing this somehow, or making all this happen?"
A weapon is only as good as the man who wields it.
"Because if it was you, I wouldn't be afraid of it, I'd have no reason to be."
Sam swallowed, pulled his eyes up to meet Dean's, looking relieved and grateful and scared all at the same time.
"Sammy," Dean returned to staring out the front windshield. "What did you do? How did you bring me back?"
"I didn't let go."
Dean studied him for a few seconds before pulling his hand away, cranking up the car's engine. It wasn't the complete truth but wasn't a lie either. There was more to it, whether Sam remembered the specifics or not was irrelevant, Sam knew far more than he was telling. It was obvious Bobby had some clues considering the way Sam acted around him. Ever since Dean 'came back', Sam avoided looking Bobby in the eye as if the man could shoot him down with the plague using nothing more than a mere glance.
Easing the car into gear, turning back toward the town, Dean pulled Sam's hand from his hair a second time, this time pressing Sam's hand to the seat, and holding it there for a few seconds to make his point. He was quite certain that somehow this concerned Sam and he, they were involved in it, and probably far more deeply than either suspected. He was equally certain Sam hadn't caused this, whatever this was. Dean knew Sam wasn't the cause.
He worried the effect, however, might be something they'd never encountered and had no experience with.