The Spark and the Force - Chapter 7
Summary: Sam's powers attract the attention of a power-hungry empath. He's unwilling to give Sam up. But then, so is Dean…
Notes: I do not condone crazy driving of brotherly rage. Drive sensibly, guys!
Chapter 7
Sam hit the ground running. He didn't stop to pull on shoes, or a jacket, or to grab the room keys. The only thing he pocketed on the way out was the Berreta gun, tucked underneath Dean's mattress.
It was raining heavily. Had it been raining during Dean's murder? No, he didn't think so, but that didn't mean anything. Rain could stop, dry up, especially in this heat. He was thankful for the bad weather, because the roadside outside the motel was empty, cars glistening in the droplets of water sliding off the bumpers. It wasn't an affluent area, and he broke the window of the oldest car he could see along the strip; a beat-up Corona with the dashboard already hanging open. He touched the red wires together, breath misting up the windows. The car spluttered, dying once. "Come on," he begged, and then the engine maintained. He was too fraught to yell triumphantly, but the adrenaline gripped his body, for the moment eclipsing the sleepiness remaining from the pills.
He floored the gas pedal as soon as he was out on the highway, overtaking cars and trucks, ignoring the horn blasts and visual insults. The car was shitty, and rattled all over the road like an angry snake, but it was speedy enough to not leave him feeling completely helpless. He pulled out his cell phone and hit speed dial one. He wasn't sure what to expect. He held his breath tightly until Dean picked up.
"Yeah?"
"Dean," he started, and then paused. What the fuck should he say? He started again. "Dean, you need to turn back. And if the car breaks down, if anything happens, stay in it. Don't get out. Don't turn your back."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"Dean, I'm coming. I'll explain when I'm there. But turn back. I'm heading down Highway 24. I'll be near Limon in an hour and a half. Please, Dean?"
"I'm almost here, Sam," Dean said, and the tone of his voice suggested Sam had finally gone batshit crazy. Sam flinched, fighting a wave of tiredness. "I'm half an hour away. Not even that, probably. And it's just stopped raining, which means I can finally see where I'm going. I'll see you in Limon, okay?"
"Dean!" Sam screamed, and he heard Dean's breath hitch. Hot tears rolled down Sam's cheeks. "Oh God, please Dean. He's going to kill you."
"Who are you talking about?" Dean asked. And then he answered himself, finally understanding. "This is about Rob?"
"Just listen to me. Turn around. And if your car breaks down, stay in the car. Get your gun ready. Don't…" Sam blinked himself awake again. Fuck. This was bad. "Will you just listen to me? I'm not crazy, Dean, I swear."
"Right," Dean said, after a short pause. Sam pressed the phone closer to his ear. "I'm turning back."
"Thank you," Sam said. He glanced down at the flashing gas meter. The car was almost running on empty. "I'll catch up with you soon. Keep driving. No matter what."
Dean hung up. Sam fought the waves of sleep building inside him. He scanned the roadside for a gas station. The car would give out soon, and he wouldn't be able to find another vehicle out on this main stretch of road. The absurdity of the situation was like a slap in the face. He was going to be stranded somewhere in southern Colorado with no shoes, no socks, a gun tucked into the back of his sweat pants, a hotwired car under his possession, still suffering from the effects of three sleeping pills taken an hour ago. He laughed loudly, hysterically, hoping that Dean would see the funny side when he finally caught up with him.
The car was almost ready to collapse when he finally spotted a gas station in the distance. Pulling up outside the front, an attendant ambled over. Sam checked the compartments of the car quickly, and underneath the seats. He had no money.
"Hi," he said. He managed a weak smile. "A litre, please."
"Sure thing," the attendant grunted. He nodded at the gas meter. "Looks like you found us just in time."
"Sure did."
The attendant disappeared round the back of the car. Sam's phone buzzed on the passenger seat. He picked it up frantically.
"Dean?"
"Sam?"
"Are you okay?"
"Fine, fine. What about you? Feeling okay, buddy?"
"Dean, don't –" Sam checked the mirror. The attendant was taking off the gas cover. "Don't patronise me."
"I just – well, that was a weird conversation we just had. And I'm driving out on a job on your say-so, and I think I deserve an explanation."
"I'll explain everything when I see you," Sam said, and he knew that he would. But over the phone, fighting another wave of drowsiness, when he was about to break the law again – hardly seemed like the best of times. He could almost hear Dean rolling his eyes. "Please, just trust me?"
There was a loud beep over his voice. His cell phone battery needed charging. "Dean, my phone is going, and I don't think there's a charger in this car."
"What car, Sammy?" Dean asked, sounding distinctly amused.
"Get lost, Dean. Just call me if there's an emergency, okay? I'll keep an eye out for the Impala."
"Fine, fine. I'll talk to ya later, jail boy."
The attendant shut the gas cover. He began to walk round to the window. Sam took a deep breath and hit the gas.
Halfway to Limon, Sam turned into the dirt track road he recognised from his vision. Marks in the ground signified the cars that had been down this route, but now the road was empty. He drove a little while longer, hoping to cross Dean's path, but found no sign of the Impala. Maybe this was a good time to call him.
There was no signal inside the car. Sam stepped outside, warmed through by the haziness of the late afternoon sun. His bare feet sunk into the moist dirt. A small signal bar appeared on his phone. He got through to Dean after two rings.
"Is it an emergency?"
"Where are you?"
"Out on Highway 24."
"I've just come off," Sam groaned. How had he not seen the Impala? Maybe he'd gone a different way. Or maybe he'd fallen asleep at the wheel. It didn't matter, Dean was safe. "Right, well I'll meet you back at the motel."
"Fine," Dean said, exasperated. "You better have a good excuse for this, Sam."
Sam was about to hang up when he heard a crack behind him. He reached for his gun, but a hand slammed over his mouth before he got the chance. A jolt of energy surged lucidly through his body. Before he blacked out, he heard Rob's voice, now instantly familiar to him, especially in the dark time before sleep. "I'm sure he does, Dean."
And he heard Dean's roar of desperation.
It took every inch of control Dean possessed not to crash the car, but he couldn't suppress the guttural sound deep at the back of his throat, filling the space between him and Rob like static electricity. The highway was quiet; it was the time before the end-of-work rush, and Dean checked the mirror once before doing a U-Turn in the middle of the road. The world spun, but he didn't hit anything.
"Leave him alone," Dean said, unsure if Rob was still there. Rob hummed tunelessly on the other end. And underneath that, Dean could hear a soft creak. He's moving him into the backseat. Fuck fuck fuck.
"No, I can't. But you can."
"What?"
"Leave us alone, Dean. You've had your time with him. You got all of those years. It's my turn now."
Dean drove faster. "Fuck you to hell, you son of a bitch."
"It's for his own good," Rob said, sounding almost earnest. "I won't hurt him, Dean. I promise. But leave us alone, okay, otherwise I'll have to kill you. And that will hurt him, won't it?"
There was a series of rapid beeps. Sam's phone was dying. "Rob, please. Don't do this," he begged, but the line was gone by the time he'd finished the sentence. Dean slammed his phone against the window. He sped the Impala further forwards, covering the same route he'd already taken that day. There was nothing to say that Sam had even driven this way. They'd missed each other the first time.
He scanned the roads as he approached the end of the highway, looking for another turning. Where the fuck did he get you, Sam? Angry tears blurred his vision. He blinked them away, scanning wildly. And where the fuck are you now?
He thought of Sam in the backseat of a car. Rob standing over him. Dean's hands gripped the wheel tighter, until his knuckles were white. His chest burned. White rage drummed against his brain, until he was forced to pull over. He was shaking, nauseous, and he couldn't block out the images in his head. Rob's got Sam. He's got my Sammy. And they'll be miles away by now.
Dean headbutted the window. He kept on, until he felt blood pool at his forehead. It was the wake-up he needed. He started the car again, and pulled out. His head ached. He let the pain drive him forwards.
