Disclaimer: The only thing I own are the ridiculous situations in which I've placed these boys.
"Okay," says Bobby, back in the thick of things now that he's gotten the other hunter's law enforcement issue straightened out. "So, we know where you were going. Now we just to need to know why."
"What, you don't think I was just headed there because I missed my geeky little brother?" Dean asks, smirking when he sees the eye roll directed his way by the subject of his comment.
"Well, you didn't bother to come see me at Stanford before," Sam says, his eyebrows raised in a steely challenge. "So why would you have decided to start then?"
Dean whistles under his breath and mumbles, "Wow, touchy," he says, rolling his own eyes at Bobby who just shakes his head in exasperation, the muttered "Idjits" equally directed towards the younger Winchester's barely contained emotional turmoil and the older Winchester's cluelessness regarding his brother's feelings.
"I mean, I'm away at school for a couple of years, don't even get a card for my birthday, and I'm supposed to believe that all of a sudden you decide to take a joyride out to see me?" Sam continues, feeling his blood pressure rise as he begins to work himself up.
"Hey," Dean says, his voice a warning to his younger brother, "the phone lines go both ways, you know. I don't remember getting any calls from you either," he adds, his own eyebrow raised in challenge.
"Alright, cool it, you two," Bobby says, physically stepping between the brothers who are eyeballing each other like they might throw down right there in the middle of the study. The older hunter glances between the two Winchesters, points his fingers at each one in turn, and makes sure to get a nod of agreement from them both before returning to his chair behind his desk.
"Now, I think Sam may be on to something," he says, giving a warning glare to Dean when he lets out a derisive snort, and then continues. "Because somehow I just don't think you were going out there for a friendly visit."
"Yeah? Well then what the hell was I doing?" Dean asks, his tone deflating from one of challenge to true bewilderment.
"You remember any more about that day?" Bobby asks, nodding towards Dean's empty T shirt sleeve. "Specifically, what the demon said?"
Dean crosses his arms in a subconscious response to Bobby's mention of his accident and shakes his head. "No," he says with a huff of exasperation, "but I know what you're getting at. I have a feeling that whatever she said might be kind of important."
"Ok," says Sam, having replaced his emotions with more rational reasoning. "So how do we figure out what she said to you?"
"Bobby, you got any tricks to get up your sleeve?" Dean asks. "Any hoodoo potions? Memory spells?"
"I could try to beat it out of you," Sam says, a little too hopefully for Dean's liking. "What? It could work," he says defensively at his older brother's steely glare.
Bobby just rolls his eyes and scratches his head, then searches the bookshelf behind his desk until he finds the book he'd been looking for.
"I might have something," he says, trailing off until he gives an "Aha!" when he reaches the proper page. "Yep, here we go." He spends a few moments silently perusing the page and then turns the book around, Sam and Dean huddling close together in order to read through the incantation he'd managed to find.
"Yeah, okay," Dean says, swallowing convulsively around the sudden lump that's taken up residence in his throat.
"Bobby," Sam says softly, the concern evident in his voice, "you sure about this?"
"No," Bobby says, with an apologetic shrug. "But I don't know that we've got much else to go on right now."
The brothers reread the page in front of them, careful to take in the nuances and details that can spell disaster if overlooked. Sam's pretty sure he can manage the Latin phrasing – it had always been his job anyway, given his ear for languages. He's just worried about Dean's role. Because although he doesn't have to do much, Sam doesn't envy his brother one bit, the necessity of having to return to the scene of the accident that cost him his arm not likely to be high on his priority list.
o()o()o()o(O)o()o()o()o
"You okay over there?" Sam asks, the incessant jiggling of Dean's left knee for the past thirty minutes finally beginning to get on his last nerve.
"Uh huh," Dean answers noncommittally, his focus solely on the road ahead of him, not even aware of the intensity of his leg workout.
"Dean!" Sam barks several minutes later, the harshness of his voice causing his older brother to flinch, a sheepish look crossing his face once he realizes what he'd been doing.
The brothers had just crossed over the Colorado state line when Dean's leg had taken on a life of its own and Sam's pretty sure that if he has to put up with the nonstop motion the rest of way, Dean might just lose that leg as well.
"Yeah," the older Winchester drawls, sliding a glance towards the passenger's seat where Sam's face is projecting his little brother's mixture of concern and exasperation. "So, I might be just a tad bit on edge about this."
"Think maybe I should drive?" Sam asks, well aware of what his visions do to him, not knowing if Dean might get hit with something similar.
"I'm okay for now," Dean replies, not wanting to give up his job as driver since that would give his already smoking brain even more time to drive itself crazy. At least while he's behind the wheel he has to keep his focus on the road.
"So, you really think this will work?" Sam asks, trying to keep his brother engaged in conversation.
"Don't know, Sammy. I guess we just wait and see." In truth, he's torn between really wanting to know what that thing said to him and hoping he just gets a whole lot of bupkis; he's not sure which outcome would be worse.
The tension in the Impala heightens with each passing mile marker, and when they start seeing the road signs for Denver International Airport, Dean pulls over onto the side of the road, the shaking in his hand evident as he puts the car in park.
He leans his head back against the seat, closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths, then gets out of the car and paces along the shoulder of the divided highway before silently making his way over to the passenger's side of the car and opening the door for Sam.
"Yeah," he says, his face pale and tight, "I think maybe you should take it from here. Not far now, maybe ten more miles or so."
"Yeah, okay," Sam says, nodding eagerly as he scrambles out of the car and into the driver's seat in order to complete their little impromptu Chinese Fire Drill, glancing over at Dean before pulling back onto the highway.
Dean takes a few seconds to try to compose himself, fighting down the panic of having to come face to face with the scene of his accident and pushing it back into the box with all of his other worries – his fear about what their little experiment is about to uncover; his fear that with only one arm he won't be able to protect Sam like he'd been taught to do; his fear that his disability will force him to retire from the one thing he does well.
Once he's given himself a stern talking to, his father's voice telling him to "suck it up and get the job done," he turns his attention back to the passing scenery, eyes peeled for the mile marker noted in his accident report.
"Okay, here. Pull over," he says dully, seeing the appropriate number at the side of the highway, his already pale face taking on an unearthly countenance when he sees the concrete barrier responsible for his crushed arm.
"Oh, fuck," he says under his breath, trying to swallow past the lump that's once again formed in his throat, his chest tightening in sympathy as well.
"It's okay, Dean," Sam says, trying to draw his brother's gaze away from the barrier that's holding his attention. "We'll get through this."
"Yeah," Dean says unconvincingly, swallowing a couple of times and nodding, finally tearing his eyes away from the large structure and latching on to Sam's face instead. "Okay."
"Ready?" Sam asks, giving his brother a nod of encouragement before unfolding himself from the car and collecting the necessary equipment from the trunk, waiting for Dean to join him before making their way over to where the Impala had finally come to rest against the large concrete structure.
The brothers work in well-rehearsed tandem to set up the intricately patterned protection circle where Dean will stand, as well as the rather boring circle that will contain Sam, placing the necessary bags of herbs around the circumference of Dean's protective ring.
By the time the groundwork has been laid, the last vestiges of daylight have burned off, the darkness comforting at least in the anonymity afforded the brothers, cloaking them from any curious passersby.
They take their positions in their respective circles, catching each other's eye and nodding in silent agreement to get this little party started. Sam pulls out the piece of paper that contains the words to the incantation he's painstakingly copied out of Bobby's book, penlight trained on the paper as he reads through the phrases he's rehearsed in a clear voice, his attention breaking every so often to make sure his brother is still okay.
When he reaches the end of page, he glances up, again catching Dean's questioning glance, both brothers giving a brief shrug when the night air around them remains quiet and still. Neither of them had been sure what to expect, but they'd at least thought something would happen.
But before Dean can utter any kinds of snarky complaints about Bobby's failed idea, he falls to his knees, raising his arm over his head in an attempt to protect himself from the onslaught of sensations swirling through his body.
Because while before he was getting brief flashes of images, now every sense is getting bombarded with memories of his accident.
Not only is he able to see the events as they unfold in real time, but he's able to hear the groaning and grinding of the car as it's pushed across the road and the scraping/crunching sounds of the concrete barrier indenting the car door.
He can smell the burning rubber from the tires as the Impala performs its reality-defying party tricks, just as the rotten egg stench of the demonic presence brings his gag reflex to life.
And he can once again feel his arm being crushed between the concrete barrier and the Impala's dashboard, the pain causing him to curl into himself and clutch at his residual limb, trying to pant through the pain and the panic washing over him in continued waves of unwelcomed memories.
This time when the woman leans back in, he can hear her words as clearly as if she were standing right next to him. Dean shivers reflexively, throwing a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure that she's not actually there, her words also causing his stomach to churn even faster than it had been.
And just as quickly as the sensory overload began, it dissipates, Dean sagging to the ground in a boneless heap, Sam rushing over to his side to check on his brother.
"Hey," Sam says, shaking Dean's shoulder. "Hey! You okay?"
Dean groans, slowly rolling over and taking a few deep calming breaths before holding out his hand in a silent request for Sam to help him back to his feet.
Sam acquiesces, making sure Dean's not in danger of taking a nose dive back to the ground before releasing his grip, his eyes glued to his older brother, searching Dean's face for any clues as to what the hell just happened.
"So? Did you hear what she said?" he asks, prompting Dean, who still looks shell-shocked by the whole experience.
Dean slowly raises his eyes to Sam and takes another deep breath, torn between wanting to share his newfound information and wanting to protect his brother from the content of the demons' words. Because even though he clearly heard every word she said, he now wishes he hadn't.
Working hard to keep his voice even, he keeps is eyes locked on Sam's face as he repeats her words.
"She said, 'You stay out of this. We need Sam.'"
To Be Continued…
