Part 7

It ended as abruptly as it had begun. He'd been woken up by Angelo, smiling down at him. Dean's face was blank, had been for what seemed like ages, and the only sign that showed any reaction, any emotion, was the way he'd softly jerked back, away from Angelo's touch, before he realized who he was.

"It's time," he said, and that was it. Dean flipped around the room, thinking he couldn't leave anything important behind, the old habits of a life on the road still engraved in his soul, before realizing that he didn't own anything he held dear to his heart. Hadn't for a long time.

Angelo led the way in the airvents, and Dean was hesitant to come with him at first. He wondered where Jarod was; wasn't he supposed to be the one getting him out? Was this all a trick, some kind of test? Was he going to screw everything up and ruin what little he'd achieved?

He was still trying to figure it out when Angelo gave a gentle tug on his sleeve, motioning for him to move forward. His mouth was silent but his eyes spoke a million words: sounds of the open, smells of the outside.

So Dean did the only thing he could think of. He stopped thinking, and let his body follow his guide.

They crawled into tiny vents for what seemed like hours. The air was damp and hot, his skin moist, the sweat not drying off. His clothes were clamped to his skin, his eyes blinded by the drops of sweat. His hands were losing their grip on the smooth metallic walls of the airvents, and he was growing tired.

Was it the journey that was so difficult, or had he really lost more muscle than he'd thought? Angelo didn't seem to have as much trouble, but he didn't look anything like a human between these walls; this place he'd been crawling in for the better part of his life; his kingdom.

They finally reached a dead end, and Angelo gently and soundlessly removed the grid, giving them access to an empty room. He crawled out of the vent, and reached back in to give Dean a hand.

Dean almost fell to the floor from exhaustion. He had no idea how long or how high they had crawled, but he hoped this was it. He wasn't sure he had it in him otherwise to make it to the top.

He was getting his breath back when he noticed someone else in the room, watching him, coming to him.

Crap! He shouldn't have trusted Angelo!

His first thought was to run, but there was nowhere he could run; they'd find him in the vents, and the other body was blocking the only other exit out of this room. He was fucked.

And then, just has his breathing came back to normal, he managed to calm down to assess the situation and came to realize that the man in front of him was awfully familiar, and extending a friendly hand to him. Huh.

"Hi," he smiled genuinely, his dark eyes shining with malice and intelligence. "I'm Jarod. It's so good to finally meet you."

Dean took his hand, letting out a heavy breath out. He briefly shook it before understanding that it was meant as a help to get him back on his feet. He grasped it tightly and let Jarod pull him back up.

Standing, Jarod wasn't much bigger than he was, but his shoulders were broader and he stood straighter. No doubt the times of abuse Dean had endured had changed the way he stood.

Jarod gave him a slight friendly tap on the shoulder to get him out of his reverie and smiled at him.

"You okay?" Jarod seemed to be looking straight through him, just like Sydney had done the first time they'd met.

"Yeah. Huh… Thanks."

"Don't thank me yet. Wait until we're somewhere safe." He smiled at him and turned his back, opening the door, leading the way.

"Right."

They were barely out of the room when Dean realized Angelo wasn't following them. Had they lost him? Had he been caught?

"Angelo's not coming. We've discussed it for a long time, and nothing I can say will make him change his mind. I'm sorry."

"But… no!" Dean objected. So this was him, the great Jarod, the man he'd been told to catch, leaving people behind? Was Jarod only breaking him free because he'd been so close to catching him?

"Listen to me, Dean," he said in a commanding voice that resembled… well, everyone else he'd ever met in the past few months, probably. "This is neither the place, nor the time to discuss it. If we stay here one more second, we'll both get caught. Who will break us free then? Angelo made his decision. He wants to help from the inside. Don't worry, he'll be okay. They won't put the blame on him."

He tugged on Dean's sleeve, hurrying him up to a big iron door, leading to a gigantic heating room, probably the heating unit of the whole building. Hot pipes were running everywhere, steam was coming off half of them, and the path to the exit seemed narrow and dangerous.

But they had no choice.

"Cover your face, and be careful."

It took them twice as long to cross the room as it should have. Frankly, Dean would have been faster, but it looked like Jarod was watching for every blow of steam, every unexpected turn.

They finally reached the other side of the room, leading to – oh, great – another vent. Jarod pulled the grid open, and climbed in.

The air was cold, so cold in contrast to the hot air of the heating room, and Dean was having trouble breathing all over again. But the conduits were wider, and the air was fresher, which had to be a sign. They crawled for a while, and at some point the conduits stopped going further and started going up. A ladder was sewn into the concrete walls, and its bars were cold and rough. Dean thought it was funny how it had begun with cold, rough iron bars, and would end with them too.

Hopefully.

They made their journey up, bar after bar, Dean trying not to think too hard about what would happen if he fell. Or if a welcoming committee was waiting for them at the end.

Finally they reached the top, and Jarod used his shoulders to push the heavy slab away. At first, the only thing Dean could see looking up was Jarod's body, but already his heart had stopped beating. His hands were grasping the bars tightly and his mouth was turned into a thin line. But then, Jarod got out of the way, and tears of joy started streaming down Dean's face. The night was moonless, and the stars were high in the sky, shining with all of their beauty.

Even after a good hunt, or a good fuck, or just a good night, Dean had never taken the time to admire them, these stars. And he'd thought it was the reason why he'd forgotten what they really looked like, how beautiful they were.

Jarod appeared back in his line of view, motioning for him to keep climbing up, and out of the vent. The breeze was gentle and cool on his skin, in his greasy hair. He shivered a bit, ran his hands up and down his arms, looking around, looking back.

He saw the Centre from the outside for the first time, an imposing, huge building, much like an iceberg, only displaying a tenth of how big it really was. On the other side, a vineyard was hidden by a thick, very low fog sprawled out across the ground, result of the heat of the ground meeting the moist of the vines.

Lights were going on and off afar, dogs barking and voices shouting. Word was out. He was out.

"We have to run to the car. Now!" Jarod urged, not waiting for him to follow, already taking off, cutting across the fog.

Dean started running, at first not sure if he'd remember how to run at all, then realizing his body wasn't even waiting for instructions; his legs were moving on their own, his heart racing, adrenaline running through his veins. He felt heady. He felt alive again.

He did not look back. Blocked out the sound of the dogs approaching, the whistling of the alarm in the silent night. Jarod was a bit ahead of him, and would start the car before he got there; he'd make it, he had to.

His limbs were lacerated by the vines, his cotton pants turning into rags. He'd probably end up watching them burn, anyway. He could not wait to get rid of them, or the shoes, which were too soft, too flat for that fast a run, and were hurting his feet.

Finally, the car was in sight, Jarod already turning the ignition, fastening his seat belt, opening Dean's door for him. The motor was already on, warming up.

A dog on Dean's trail, barking after him, running and raging. Dean felt like he had when running for his life during a nasty hunt, a monster after him. This was just one more battle, he repeated himself, one more battle he could not afford to lose.

He dived into the car as Jarod hit the gas and took off, gaining distance on the dog which stopped running eventually and just watched the car fade away in the night, barking after it.