Firstly, Thanks to everyone who has reviewed! Every little comment is worth its weight in gold to us writers. :)
Secondly, I'd like to say sorry for not having this finished before Hunted airs. I had planned on my version of the "secret" coming out before Mr. Kripke's did, but alas the story was just too big! If the secrets are even close, sorry! I really have had this story planned and outlined for weeks, and it's just unfortunate if it mirrors the show too much (although I doubt it) Anyhow, thanks again for sticking with me!
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Something smelled like it was burning. Toast maybe?
Sam's nose twitched mechanically, his mind drifting slowly back towards consciousness. As the odors became more distinct he winced. Definitely not toast. Just what is Jess cooking this time..?
Images of the girl he'd once loved, maybe always would danced inside his skull, invading his mind, torturing his soul. Except, Jess wasn't cooking, at least, not in the culinary sense. She was pinned to the ceiling, flames engulfing her perfect form as she screamed out his name over and over again…
Sam's limbs felt like lead. The room was burning around him, but he couldn't leave, not without Jess. Someone was pulling him, no dragging him away, but he didn't want to go. He cried out, arms outstretched as the overpowering stench of burnt flesh assaulted his senses. "Dean, no…"
Dean was ignored the pleas, heaving his brother's almost dead weight towards the door, towards safety…
Dean!
Sam's eyelids snapped open as the sudden realization hit home that the burning building he was in wasn't at Stanford. Jess was gone, and maybe now Dean was too.
The lofty hunter's vision skewed at his abrupt awakening and then slowly began to refocus. He tried to move, but his arms felt like they were pinned to his sides.
Sam tried again, realizing the thing that was holding him down was soft, fleshy…
Dean!
Not dead weight…please…
An elbow jutted into Sam's ribs as Dean rolled unexpectedly. "Sweetheart, do you always take up both sides of the bed…"
"Dean?" Sam exhaled at the sound of his brother's voice and carefully pushed his still groggy sibling clear so he could check on him. "Man, did you have to land on me?"
"Huh?" Dean blinked uncontrollably as Sam took him by the shoulders and looked him over. The back of his favorite leather jacket was scorched, but amazingly, it looked like he'd escaped the fireball relatively unscathed. "Dude, give me some credit. I needed something soft to break my fall. Just be thankful it wasn't your funky head…"
Sam cringed, rubbing at the back of his skull. Maybe Dean hadn't exactly landed on his head, but it certainly felt like he had. "You okay?"
Dean stumbled to his feet, grabbing the wall until the passageway stopped spinning and the buzzing in his ears died to a weak thrum. "Considering I just had a demonic fireball up my ass, yeah, I think so. You?"
Sam took the hand his brother offered and clambered up to join him in the corridor. "Considering I just had my brother's fat, firebombed ass land on me, yeah." He smiled slightly, just for a second forgetting what they had been through.
They were alive. Dean was alive. That was all that mattered.
Dean scowled and he tugged open his coat as if to convince Sam he was wrong. "Hey! I don't have an ounce of fat on me! Pure toned muscle, dude."
Sam almost believed the look of hurt pride on his brother's face when he simply cocked his head and smiled. "Whatever, man, but you eat more crap than a Billy goat." He pointed to the stairwell as sirens began to wail outside. "We better haul ass before the emergency service get in here…"
Dean's expression immediately returned to "all business." Talking to the cops and fire department right now was something they hadn't time for. And besides, explaining what they were doing in Tim DaNozza's apartment might prove a little tricky, especially with his track record. If the police printed him after the fiascos in St. Louis and Maryland, his butt would be tossed in jail and the key lost for a very long time.
"I hear ya, little brother."
As they reached the stairwell, Dean looked back, seeing the remnants of Flauros' work for the first time. There was nothing left of the interior of DaNozza's home except a blackened husk. Miraculously, though, the inferno that had engulfed it had already diminished, only a few burning embers remaining alight.
Just as amazingly, the fire had stopped at the doorway, only blackening the frame without touching the outer wall or corridor at all – just like Mark Connors apartment.
Dean huffed at the thought of Flauros and the amount of control he had over his "element." That sonofabitch is good…
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Outside Tim DaNozza's Apartment Building
10 minutes later…
By the time Dean and Sam had quietly exited the building, a crowd of onlookers had already gathered outside. Some pointed skyward, gossiping even though there was no outward evidence of a fire. Others simply gawked and were being held back by two young cops who looked like they needed backup.
Firefighters milled around the scene, no urgency to their actions. By now there was little left for them to do, save to find the cause of the blaze.
Lights whirled absently, their bright colors suggesting the incident was under control, but with Flauros still on the loose that was far from the case.
The scene reminded Sam of the night Jess had died. The night he had vowed to find her killer and make it pay. In all their months of hunting had they discovered so little? Flauros had teased them twice now, but had divulged a minimal amount of information considering the spell they'd used on him. Your brother is the key to everything…
"Hey." Dean waved a hand in front of Sam's face, positive his mind was far from concentrating on their next move. "You wanna stop daydreaming and head for the car before someone decides to question us? I mean, dude, we look like a pair of sweeps that crawled up the chimney while the fire was still lit and got our asses fried."
Sam pinched his nose and blinked, casting a quick glance downwards to check out his attire. His jacket was covered in grimy soot marks and the left leg of his jeans had somehow gotten torn. "I guess…" What about the demon?
Dean frowned, but stole a look across to the nearest cop. He seemed to have noticed the brothers through the crowd, and if he got the chance, Dean was sure he'd be over to ask a few questions. No doubt the rookie was looking for a few brownie points and the Winchesters just might be the ticket to getting them. "C'mon, we already got a cop finding us interesting, besides a demon…"
Sam nodded absently and they headed for the Impala. Luckily, the apartment block had its own parking area and Dean had used it and a fake permit to hide his "baby" away nicely.
As they quickened their gait, Dean turned around every few seconds, checking to see if they were being tailed. He sorely wanted to bring up the conversation with Flauros and the whole Sam was the key thing, but somehow he just didn't have it in him. Instead, he turned to his usual mirth. "Of all the forms Flauros could use it had to be the fugly cat dude…"
"Huh?" Sam felt distracted somehow, but still compelled to answer his brother.
"You know, Flauros' other guise, Haurus?" Dean made the shape of the perfect hourglass figure with his hands. "Supposed to sometimes appear as one gorgeous chick demoness with all the right assets…"
"We get our asses kicked TWICE by this thing and you wanna flirt with it? Man, you're something else."
Dean's lopsided grin appeared. It was fun to tease Sammy. It relieved the tension that was practically crackling through the air if nothing else. "They might be evil sons of bitches, but they're hot kissers, that much I can tell you…better than that vamp chick back in Colorado…"
"You kissed a demon?" Sam spun around, suddenly amazed at just how far his brother would go. "When did this happen?"
"Lloyd's bar that night…" Dean's mind snapped back to the crossroads, to the demon's taunts and to its offer. Maybe this was one joke that wasn't so funny after all. But still, the thing definitely had known what to do with its host's rather sensuous lips. "It kissed me to seal the deal for Evan's life," he admitted, abruptly not wanting to look at his brother.
Sam shot him a sideways glance. There had been strain between them about that night ever since Dean had all but confessed to almost taking the demon's offer of their father back for his life. Sam would never condone that, and he'd made it clear. Maybe his reasons were somewhat selfish, but he just didn't want to lose Dean. He'd come too close already in Missouri.
"Just as long as that was all it was for…"
Dean held his hands up; somewhat annoyed that Sam still didn't trust him. "Well, hell, I don't see Dad around here, do you?" At his words, Sam grew silent, signaling the conversation was over. When the Impala came into view, Dean sighed contentedly, forgetting everything else. His refuge, his haven. The thing he had so lovingly rebuilt with his own bare hands.
"Bastard!" The word was out of Dean's mouth so fast Sam almost didn't catch it. It was quickly followed by several more colorful phrases that would have made a Hell's Angel blush.
Dean's fast walk turned into a rapid jog as he suddenly noticed someone had scrawled bad graffiti right across the Chevy's trunk. It looked like the message had been painted on in bright red paint by a kindergartener.
"What the..?" The irate hunter rubbed at the message, but it was already dry. "If I need a paint shop, I'll kill the freakin' idiot that did this! Is that blood?" He rubbed harder, using the cuff of his shirt sleeve in annoyance, even though it was likely to do more harm than good.
"Dean, wait!" Sam grabbed his brother's forearm and tried to stop the frantic swirling motion he was making. "We need to read this. I think it's another message from "them.""
"Dude, I don't care if the Pope wrote it! Their ass is gonna be grass…" He stopped rubbing and scrunched up his eyes, trying to discern the hastily scribbled words. "Well yeah, that's really helpful! Out On a Dream? What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
When Sam didn't even hazard a guess, Dean turned to see him hanging onto the open passenger door for support, one hand clutching his temple like earlier when he'd received the phone message. "Sam? A vision, the mothman, what?"
Sam pressed harder until his fingers left a momentary impression in his forehead. "It's…it's neither. More like…I don't know…a familiar feeling."
"Get in the car, Sammy. Time to regroup back at the motel. We can figure this thing out there." Dean tried to pry his brother's free hand from the car door frame, but Sam didn't budge. He was holding on so tightly even his knuckles were turning white from the pressure.
"No, wait…"
"Sammy, you're scaring me!" Dean's voice raised an octave as he abruptly realized he had no clue how to help his brother. He grabbed Sam's collar, steadying him as he seemed to teeter slightly.
"Hey! Sam and Dean Winchester?"
Dean's heart almost doubled its pace in his chest, and for a second he didn't turn. The newcomer was bound to be the young cop he'd seen watching them, and that could mean real trouble. He was on so many wanted lists these days it wouldn't take two minutes for his mug shot to appear if the cop did a search. The fact that the mystery voice seemed to know their names didn't bode well, either.
tbc...
