Jimmy Novak opens his eyes on a bus heading to nowhere.
His head hurts and there is a healing scar on his stomach that looks like a bullet wound. He scratches at it, rubs at the puckered skin and wonders.
His family aren't where he remembers they were and he sits on the porch of his old house staring at the boarded up windows and trying to work out where he has been these past few years. He remembers some of it, remembers boiling water, prayer, a bright blinding light and lots of pain. He can also remember two guys – one as tall as any man he had ever seen, the other broad and stocky. Who they are he has no idea and he reaches into the pocket of his old, smelly trench coat and pulls out a scrap of paper.
Bobby Singer it reads and then a list of numbers. Jimmy doesn't know who Bobby Singer is or was but he does feel that he should, so he gets some change, goes to the local booth and makes the call.
****
Bobby is pretty old; he sits in a wheelchair in the wreckage of his salvage yard and watches Jimmy as he sips hot, black coffee. His eyes are as alert as a hawks and Jimmy feels uncomfortable, ill at ease. Bobby knows something, maybe everything and yet he isn't telling. Jimmy is a patient man – he doesn't appear to have a home or family anymore so he has plenty of time and he is going to wait.
The sky is always blue and the sun always seems to shine bright and hot. Jimmy takes off the trench coat and wrinkles his nose, takes off the tie and flings it away. Beneath the shirt his skin is pale, old scars making patterns across white flesh. Bobby huffs and shakes his head.
"So," he says, finally, "we should go on a trip – can you drive?"
Jimmy nods, trusting this man for no reason whatsoever.
"Then we should go to Detroit," Bobby says and he smiles, satisfied as if that is that.
Jimmy feels sick at the thought of Detroit but he doesn't know why and he stares at Bobby, wondering how to put his worries into words.
"They saved the world," Bobby states and Jimmy swallows, mouth as dry as sand, "and you helped them – not that you will remember much – guess Castiel has gone now – guess he had other work to do," he grins, shark-like and confident, "we have to find them – even if it is just to salt and burn their bones – but they won't be anywhere else but Detroit."
"Who?" His voice is worn, feels unused, "who is in Detroit?"
"Our saviours," Bobby says, proudly and Jimmy is more confused than ever.
****
Jack doesn't eat; he can't or won't and there is barely enough flesh to cover his bones. John sits across from him and stares at his own greasy burger and fries. The nurse has that look in her eyes, it is a look that says i'I'm gonna put in the tube if he doesn't start chowing down soon.'/i and John wants to do something, anything to stop THAT from happening.
"Come on," he says, spearing a piece of burger on his fork, "come on Jack – you need to eat."
Jack's jaw is slack and his eyes are watery; he shakes his head and one single tear trickles down his thin cheek. John holds the burger up and lifts it to Jack's lips.
"Come on," he says, "let the train into the tunnel."
It is a totally stupid ass thing to say but it seems and feels right. Jack lifts his eyes and he stares at John, a smile playing on the edge of his lips. He opens his mouth slightly and John pushes the burger inside. Jack pauses for a moment and then he starts to chew, head to one side, dimples appearing in those hollow cheeks.
"Again," John says and it is like they have done this before, years, decades ago, a distant foggy memory where John can see a small toddler, hear sobbing, see an older man with angry, tired eyes; hear a voice stating 'Leave him Dean – he'll eat when he is hungry'
****
Jimmy pulls the truck into the motel parking lot and then goes around helping Bobby out and into his wheelchair. The sun is still hot on his neck even though it is late in the evening and the wind is growing colder. Bobby sits in his chair and flicks through his cell.
"Are you ever going to explain everything?" Jimmy tries not to sound frustrated, "like who the fuck Castiel is? Who our saviours are and what they are doing in Detroit."
"You don't remember anything?" Bobby sounds disappointed.
Jimmy shrugs – what he does remember is faint and fuzzy and hardly worth recounting. Bobby sighs.
"We better go inside and get the coffee brewing then cos it is gonna be a long, long night."
****
Jack opens his eyes in the dark and sees nothing. He can hear John breathing in the other bed and the sound is comforting. He puts his hand to his head and rubs his fingers through his hair, his mind whirling as he tries to recall his dream.
He can hear John – he thinks it is John – begging him to stop. He can hear another voice; a woman's but he can't see a face, recollections of long, brown hair and the rich taste of blood. He feels like being sick, his stomach clenching with a guilt he doesn't understand. He can see vague outlines in his mind, hear the flutter of wings, feel the cold steel of a knife against his throat. He coughs and rubs at his neck, there is a scar there and it hurts when he rubs it, a phantom ache.
He wants to sleep again and he knows he won't do it in his own bed. Instead he crawls into Johns, wrapping long arms around John's waist and curling a leg over John's hip. John grunts and moves a little closer, his voice soft and warm when he mutters,
"Sammy…,"
Jack feels warm inside then and he nuzzles his nose against John's spiky hair.
"Dean," he whispers and he falls into a deep sleep before he can wonder anymore…
TBC