Disclaimer: none of it is mine, I just love it!
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Dean watched as Sam turned and began to make his way across the café's greasy floor. His brow furrowed slightly in concern as his brother swayed unsteadily with each step.
"Damn it, Sam," he said under his breath. "What the hell is wrong?"
A man turning away from the counter caught Sam's shoulder, and Dean automatically stood up. The man glanced at Sam flippantly.
"Sorry," he muttered.
Sam's face drained of any colour it had left as he stared at the man's face, his eyes wide. Alarms went off in Dean's head and he rose to his feet, his eyes narrowing.
"Sam?" he asked warily.
The man was looking freaked now, raising his eyebrows. "What?" he asked, taking a step backwards.
"Sam?" Dean said again, louder this time.
Without warning, Sam's legs buckled and he dropped like a stone towards the ground. Dean lurched forwards, his heart jerking in panic, and just managed to get there in time to catch him on his way down.
"Sam! Hey!" Dean lowered him to the floor, kneeling to pillow Sam's head on his lap. He checked his brother's pulse to find it strong. He must have fainted or something. He looked up at the man, his eyes narrowing, but the man was already ducking out of the door. Dean stared after him for a second, his eyes flickering with confusion and anger. Then he looked back at his unconscious brother. "Sam?"
"Is he okay?" a woman nearby asked. "What happened?"
"Should I call an ambulance?" the elderly woman behind the counter asked, her eyes wide with shock and worry.
"No!" Dean swallowed hard and tried to calm his voice as much as he could. "No," he repeated, slightly less panicked this time. "He's just really tired, that's all. He'll be fine."
"Are you sure?"
"He looks sick…"
"What happened?"
"Is he epileptic?"
Dean closed his eyes, more questions from other people in the shop battering him from all sides. One thing was certain: he had to get Sam out of here before they attracted any more unwanted attention. He rose to his feet and dragged Sam up after him, staggering under his brother's weight.
"Jeez, Sammy, help me out here," he wheezed, low enough so that no one else could hear.
Still, Sam, hanging limply from Dean's grasp, didn't hear either. Dean pulled Sam's arm over his shoulders and curled his other arm around his brother's waist, managing to pull him into a half-comfortable position. He took an unsteady step towards the doors, clenching his jaw. Abruptly, Sam's weight eased slightly and Dean looked up to see one of the women from the café taking Sam's other side.
"Its okay, I've got him," he said quickly, a protective flare leaping up in him at the sight of a stranger trying to lift his brother.
The woman gave him a disbelieving look.
"Yeah, right," she said, pulling Sam's other arm over her own shoulders. "You'll move faster this way."
Dean opened his mouth to argue, but then caught sight of the waitress dialling urgently on the café's phone behind the counter. He didn't want to run into the emergency services again so soon. Gritting his teeth, he nodded and began to move again.
At least they had parked the Impala just outside the café. It didn't take long for Dean and his new helper to lay Sam down on the back seat. Dean took another glance at the woman. She was very young, nineteen at the most, and she had vibrant red hair cut in a fringe over one eye and clipped up at the back so that it stood in thin spikes. She blew her fringe out of her face and smiled at him. She had a nice smile.
"I didn't catch your name," she said.
"I didn't say it."
"Well, mine's Ursula."
An image of the villain from The Little Mermaid leapt into Dean's head and he held back a snigger.
"Dean," he said, still a little wary of whom he talked to right now.
"Are you sure he's okay?" Ursula asked, nodding at Sam.
Dean nodded closing the back door quickly to hide his brother from her sight. "He's fine. Really."
She looked a little stung at his sudden movement, but nodded.
"Okay. Well, if you need any help you can call me if you want. You know, since it was my friend who seemed to cause this."
"Your… friend?"
"Yeah, Matt. The guy with the long hair?" Ursula took Dean's hand, pulling a pen out of her pocket with her free hand, and scribbled a number on his palm. "There. If there's anything I can do…" she shrugged, allowing her voice to trail off.
"Yeah, thanks," Dean replied, pulling his hand free. "I'll see you."
Hurt flashed across her face at his abrupt dismissal, but she shrugged and turned away. He watched as she crossed the road to join Matt, who was waiting for her on the other side. He handed her one of the two drinks he held, giving Dean a glare as he did so. Dean glared back at him, and then got into the Impala. He twisted to look at Sam.
"Sammy? You hearing me?"
Nothing. Dean took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to calm himself.
"You can't keep doing this to me, kid," he muttered. "It's driving me mad. Or at least give me a warning next time."
Sam turned his head towards Dean's voice, his brow furrowing, but didn't wake up. Dean sighed and turned back to face the windscreen, shoving his key into the ignition.
As he pulled away from the café, he considered calling Bobby, but then thought better of it. Bobby didn't know about Sam's visions yet. In fact, no one but Dean knew. And Dean wanted to keep it that way. It wasn't that he didn't trust Bobby, or even Ellen and Jo. It was just that… if anyone tried to find out about Sam… well, how did he know that they wouldn't cave in under torture? The thought sent a shiver down his spine, but he tried to ignore it.
"What you need, Dean," he muttered to himself, "Is a beer. Preferably now."
He glanced at his brother in the rear view mirror, and his stomach clenched with anxiety once more.
"Maybe it can wait," he finished quietly.
"You won't get him back."
Dean raised his head, and Sam's stomach lurched as he caught sight of his brother's face. Dean's skin was ashen, and his eyes had lost their life. He gazed up at the pretty red-haired girl who was standing before him, a gun hanging from her fingertips at her side. He stood up, letting his own gun fall to the floor and spread his arms slightly.
"What are you doing here? I have nothing left for you to take," he said quietly.
His voice was so soft and broken that it made Sam call his name, knowing that Dean wouldn't hear him. Dean took a step towards the girl, staring into her eyes.
"You've taken everything I have," he whispered. "Everyone I cared about. You've won. So leave me alone."
He turned away abruptly and walked to the window on the other side of the room. He leant against the wall, staring down at the street below him.
"I don't think so." The girl took a slow, steady step forwards as she spoke. "We haven't taken everything. There's still one thing left."
Dean lifted his head but didn't look at her. "Oh, really?" his voice was dead and tired. He clearly didn't care about what she was about to say. "And what would that be?"
She strode forwards so that she could stand close behind him, close enough to embrace him. She rested her free hand on the side of his face and her chin on his shoulder on his other side. Sam wanted to scream at her, to tell her not to touch his brother, but he couldn't find the words.
She smiled, as if she knew about his pointless efforts, and curled her free hand down over his chest so that she looked as if she was hugging him from behind.
The girl lifted her gun and pressed the barrel of it to his forehead, moving her own face clear but still keeping it on his shoulder. "Why," she said softly. "Your life, of course."
"Of course," Dean muttered, not even bothering to look at her.
She smiled again, sweet and slow. And then she fired.
Sam jerked awake, his eyes snapping open. He bolted upright, panting.
"Jeez, even when you're unconscious you have nightmares," Dean said from the table across the room. "How does that work?"
Sam stared at him for a few moments, convincing himself that he was real. That they were safe in their motel room, not in an abandoned warehouse in the middle of the night. Then he let out a long breath and lifted his hands to his head, rubbing his temples.
Haven't had that dream for a while…
"Sammy?"
"What happened?"
Dean sighed and stood up to move over to him. "You passed out in the café. Gave me a pretty good scare."
"Sorry, Dean."
"And I had to carry your freakish weight out. Do you even know how heavy you are?"
Sam knew that Dean was joking, trying to make him feel better, but he was failing this time. Dean seemed to notice the expression on Sam's face and took a step closer to him, his smile fading.
"Sam?"
Sam looked up.
"This dream was different, wasn't it? You weren't screaming and thrashing around as much, at least not until the very end."
Sam shook his head, a lump rising in his throat. If he didn't say it out loud, it wasn't real.
"Sam, tell me. What happened in this one?"
Sam swallowed hard and looked into Dean's eyes. He imagined the girl leaning over his brother's shoulder, lifting her gun…
"Nothing," Sam whispered. "Nothing happened."
Dean's eyes narrowed. He could easily tell when he was being lied to, and Sam knew that, but Dean would forget his suspicions soon if they started talking about something else. Hoping to turn Dean's mind away from his dreams, Sam asked him a completely different question.
"That man, in the café. Did you see where he went?"
"No, he and Ur… some hot chick met up outside and left. I couldn't follow them 'cos you were still out cold. Why? Was he important?"
Sam sighed. "I don't know. He looks a little like one of the guys in my dream but… I can't be sure, I guess."
"Yeah, well," Dean said, moving over the room to retrieve his mobile. "Maybe we should check it out."
"What're you gonna do?"
"Call a friend. I think she might have a pretty good idea who this person is."
"Why?"
"Just trust me."
Sam gave in, too tired to argue. Instead, he lay down again and rolled onto his side, shutting his eyes. He wasn't going to sleep, he just wanted to close his eyes for a few minutes… or ten…
SWDWSWDWSWDWSWDWSWDWSWDWSWDWSWDWSWDW
Dean watched as Sam's body slowly relaxed. He probably should wake him up, but at the moment Sam needed all the sleep he could get. Sighing, Dean turned back to the table and picked up his mobile. He wasn't entirely sure why he hadn't told Sam about Ursula. But then, the thought of being friends with someone who might one day try to kill them both didn't seem like the best of things to talk about at a time like this.
People say that Sam's gonna go evil someday. And, as a matter of fact, you don't talk about that much either, do you?
He pushed the thought away and dialled the number scrawled over his palm. He waited while the mobile rang, and then Ursula's voice came on.
"Hi, I can't get to you right now, leave a message!"
Dean winced at the cheery, bright sound of her voice. So, this girl was friends with a man who was planning to attack them? Great.
"Uh, hey, Ursula," Dean said, trying not to sound too awkward. "I was just thinking that maybe we should meet up again sometime. You know, for a coffee or something? Okay, uh, call me when you get this message. Bye."
He hung up. So now he was going on a date with her. Joy. He scowled and shoved his mobile into his pocket. At least he could try to find out about her a little more, and about Matt. He turned to look at Sam, who was already twitching and muttering in his sleep. Dean would have gone to wake him, but he was still supporting a bruise from the last time he'd tried to interfere. So, sullenly, he leant against the table and waited until it was over.