The Spark and the Force - Chapter 10

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 got back from my holiday yesterday, so here's a short chapter to tide you over until we pick up on the action. No warnings for this part, just plenty of Dean angst, if that's your thing. ;)

Chapter 10

"Jeez, hun, you look terrible. What d'ya say you do yourself a favour and go on home for the night, hmm?"

"Thought it was your job to serve drinks."

"At my discretion," the barmaid said. "And you're awful close to scaring away my regulars."

Dean made a point of looking round the half-empty bar. He slid the chaser glass across the sticky bar. "'nother one, please." The barmaid looked pained. Dean stifled a yawn. "I'm gonna be leaving in a bit, alright? Just pour me one more lousy whiskey, sweetheart."

"Must be a girl that got you this way," she said as she poured a shot of Jim Beam. Dean snorted.

"Don't happen to know a Rob Taylor, do you?"

"Lotsa Rob Taylors in the world, I'll bet."

"Not like this one."

"What's he done?"

"Can't go into details," Dean mumbled. He took the shooter, deposited himself in a dark corner of the bar, and took his phone out for the hundredth time that day. John's voicemail would be pretty full by now, but his surly answering message was the only link Dean had to just about anything.

"Dad," he croaked. "I'm taking a break at the moment because I almost crashed the car into a brick wall earlier, and my head is spinning like a motherfucker. I probably won't sleep, but I needed a little R&R so I'm in a shitty little bar, thinking about how much I fucking hate you for not being here and helping me find your son. Call me, before I get myself killed, or he kills Sammy. Whatever." Dean hung up the phone and assessed his trembling hands. Three days. Had Sam given up hope? Dean was pretty close himself. He'd been all over, gone through every Taylor in the phone book, asked everywhere in Texas, it seemed; had even tried drawing a picture to offset the blank expressions he got when asking for a goddamn Rob Taylor, but he was no artist, and even if he had been, Rob was a gaping hole of nothing. The guy you saw everywhere and never remembered. The perfect criminal.

He downed the shot, only his third, but coupled with lack of sleep and food it went straight to his head, and he felt the room spin slightly as he headed for the exit, grazing his hand on a nail sticking out of the doorframe. He bought his palm up to his mouth as it started to bleed, finding the salt trace reassuring. It focused him briefly enough to sink into the front seat of his car. Dean, you can't drive like this, he heard Sam warning him. Dean, for once, agreed with his brother. His head fell forward, hitting the wheel, and he was

searching

just a plain room. a plain fucking room. nothing to distinguish it from any other room.

"haven't given up, sam. gonna find you."

"you're gonna be too late. it's too late. it's happening."

A phone rang. Dean blinked, eyelashes brushing the steering wheel. A phone. His phone. Blood stuck to the keys as he pulled it from his jean pocket. "Fuck, that hurts," he growled. He brought the phone to his ear, forgetting to press 'receive'. The phone blared angrily, deafening him. He winced as he pressed the button.

"Yeah?"

"Dean?" Oh sweet mother of God. "It's your father."

"I know who it fucking is."

"What's happening, Dean?"

"Listen to your fucking messages," Dean snapped. He swapped the phone to his other hand, bringing the bloody palm up to the moonlight to inspect it. "I've had my tetanus jab, right, dad?"

"You've been drinking?"

"I've been searching. Day and night. What the fuck have you been doing?"

"I couldn't get to my phone. I'm sorry." (Didn't sound sorry. Not sorry enough. Though he hadn't reprimanded Dean for his language yet.) "I'm driving to Texas now. I'll be there by the morning."

"Forget it. Texas is a dusthole. No intelligent life here. Nobody knows where he is. Nobody knows who the fuck Rob Taylor is."

"What can you tell me about him, Dean?"

"Nothing," Dean said. "Nothing that will help."

"Everything helps." Dean just about noticed the frantic tone to his father's voice. He sat up slightly.

"Met him at a diner in Texas. He was serving. Diner's burnt down now. He did it, must've. The first time he took Sam," Dean's voice shook. First. Second. You don't learn, you just don't learn, he heard John thinking, "he didn't get too far. I found 'em. He could move objects with his mind. And when he touched Sam, there was some kind of weird energy between them."

"Energy?"

"Yeah, energy. Sam said it was like a force. He said it felt good." And I told him to go to sleep.

"What else?"

"That was it. Over. I shot him full of rocksalt, Sam freaked out, I didn't have time to make sure I'd killed him properly. Few days ago, I…" walked out on Sammy. "Left Sam at the motel, got a phone call from him a little while later, freaking out, saying he was coming to look for me. We crossed paths on the highway. And when Sam got to where he thought I was –"

"Rob got to him?"

"Yeah."

"You've exhausted every avenue in Texas?"

"No stone unturned, sir."

There was a pause. John was thinking. Dean watched the blood drip down onto his jeans.

too late

it's happening

His father's voice came through strong in his ear. He'd made a decision.

"Dean, can you get to Kansas"

"Why? They could be anywhere. We gotta think…" what was the word? "Logically. We gotta think logically about this."

"I know. We need a lead, Dean, and you're telling me you can't find any. That's why we need to get to Missouri. Maybe she can detect something we can't."

Missouri Mosely. Idiot, Dean scolded himself. If anyone can help, it isn't dad. It's the crazy psychic lady. "Fuck. Of course. I'm driving there now."

"See you when you get there. Oh, and Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Watch your language."

Dean was tempted to scream fuck you down the phone, wondering if it would help, wondering if it would make him feel better. He clamped his teeth together and hung up. After a fruitless interior search for his car keys, he found them still hanging out of the car door on the other side. "You're losing it, Winchester," he said. "Losing it like a goddamn rigged poker game." He glanced at the seat next to him, something he'd been avoiding doing.

too late

it's happening

"Just a dream," Dean said. But the what if was persistent in the space between him and Sam. All that space between them. What's happening? Why's it too late?

The seat was empty. It would stay empty until Dean found Sam. "Fuck you, Rob Taylor," he said, starting up the engine. "I'm gonna find you and I'm gonna rip your fucking head off. It's not too late for that, asshole."

He drove too fast, windows wound down in the vain hope that the cold night air would keep him awake. Two miles out of Texas, sleep took him completely.

find christopher harris find him find him dean find christopher harris

He woke up with his head slumped forward again, brain pounding at the limits of his temples as he assessed the damage. The road was empty. The car wasn't wrapped round a tree. "Thank you God," he wheezed.

Christopher Harris. Who the fuck is Christopher Harris?

"Get to Missouri first," Dean whispered. "Keep driving, Winchester. Keep driving."

The name was important, he knew that. But it meant nothing to him at the moment, and he couldn't afford to waste more time searching for a name that probably belonged to a few thousand people in the States. Not without some help.

The road swallowed up underneath him as he floored the gas.