Sam had never been so happy to see the Impala, sitting in a parking garage, waiting for them near one of the center support columns. Dean's hand on the back of his neck steered him toward the car, Sam just trudged along, mostly moving his feet on autopilot, picking up the pace when Dean's fingers pressed against him with a bit more urgency every few minutes.
He tossed the duffels he carried into the back seat as soon as Dean had the car unlocked, then turned and slid to the ground, leaning against the back tire. He let his head thump back against the car's cool metal.
"Sam. Come on."
Sam's eyes snapped open, he'd fallen asleep, or so he supposed. It took him a few seconds to figure out why his arms were being tugged on, why Dean was pulling on the sleeves of his jacket. "You got a jacket." He protested feebly, more because he should than because he wanted to.
"Sam." This time a kick to his foot accompanied the jerking of his jacket sleeves. "You're soaked. You need to get on dry clothes."
Cracking open an eye…when had he closed them again?…he tried to glare at Dean, which was pretty much impossible since his brother was now hopping around on one foot pulling off boots and jeans. He's shucked his own jacket and shirts; they lay in a damp heap on the ground. He looked too silly to be glared at.
Sam grumbled and straightened, tossing off his own shirts, toed off his boots and wriggled out of his jeans. Even though they were in the sub-tropics in a hurricane, the threat of hypothermia from damp skin was real and deadly. Most people assumed since it was warm and humid your body stayed that way too. Sam had once found out the hard way, that was not always so. The parking garage offered them protection from the rain. The wind still blew straight through, but the overhang along the sides of the garage dampened its effects, and the fact they were in the center, next to a support column nearly as wide as the Impala was long. It was dark, shaded and cool enough that as soon as the air hit his bare skin Sam shivered. The sensation set off fireworks of aches and pains from the muscle spasms earlier. He didn't think he'd ever stop hurting.
"Here." Dean dropped clean, dry clothes; sweat pants, t-shirt, hoodie and socks onto Sam's lap.
"Thanks." He offered up a small smile when Dean held out one hand for him to pull up against. The driver's side door to the car stood open. Sam made short work of dressing and slipped in, scooting across.
Dean finished changing. Before he shoved into the car, he rummaged in the trunk for a few minutes, shut it and tossed their clothes in the back seat to dry. Reaching across the foot of space between them, Dean bumped Sam's chest with something. "I know you're beat, but not yet, you can't go to sleep yet." The something bumped his chest again, more insistent this time.
Sam's hand fluttered up, felt along Dean's arm until finding the object he was being poked, rather demandingly, with. Fingers wrapping around, Sam looked down, smiled again. Taking the bottle of water from Dean, he unscrewed the top and chugged down half in one go. Surrounded by water, soaking wet, Sam hadn't realized he was so thirsty! It wasn't cold, but it was pleasantly cool and revived him a bit.
Rolling his head to the side to look at his brother, "Thanks."
Dean had left two more bottles between them, and was busy slurping down his own water. He nodded, slurped some more before letting the bottle rest against his leg and wiped one hand over his mouth. "Running around in the middle of a damn demon makes a man thirsty."
"I don't ever want to do that again."
Dean snorted a laugh, "Oh hell no." He turned his head, looked Sam up and down then bounced a fist off Sam's knee a few times. "You okay?"
Nodding, Sam twisted around, most the joints he owned popped and snapped, heartily protesting the action. He grabbed one of the duffels they'd carried from the back seat, pulled it forward and dropped it between his feet on the floor. "I hurt."
He did, and right now he wasn't too proud to admit it. Rummaging through he pulled a few packs of beef jerky and a bottle of ibuprofen out. He tossed Dean one of the beef jerky packs, then sprinkled a few of the pain pills into Dean's waiting palm.
Sam chewed on a few pieces of beef jerky and finished his bottle of water before carefully resealing it all and setting it on his lap. He let his hands rest alongside the bottle and half eaten packet of jerky. Ever since Battersfield he'd wanted to tell Dean, to explain how it felt, what had happened, what had been done to him. However, he couldn't. It wasn't for lack of trying. He'd tried so desperately in the past few weeks. He simply didn't know how to form the words, what to say, how to make it sound like something other than gibberish.
Everything spun around in his head, and he just wanted it to stop.
Maybe he just needed to take the plunge. "It…um…I'm not sure how to explain. It made me see things, forced me to see and feel how it took everything important to me, everything I loved and changed it into something vile and wrong. When it was Meg, she only let me see what she wanted. It was like watching my body do something in a movie. I didn't feel any of it. I was disoriented a lot because one minute I'd be somewhere, doing something. Then in the next be somewhere completely different, doing something different. Does that make sense?"
Dean looked at him, steady and sure. "Yes, it does."
"With this thing, it wants me to know, to feel. It forced its way in to every corner of my mind, and tried to make me want to feel that way. The more I resisted, the more it forced, the more it tried to turn my memories and feelings into something evil." Sam stopped, taking in a few deep breaths; grateful Dean sat waiting, quietly. "It hurt, the more I said no, tried to not believe what it forced me to see, the more it just hurt. Every part of me, this all encompassing pain."
Dean's hand rested heavily on his shoulder, when Sam looked over, his brother didn't say anything, just curled his fingers around and squeezed. It was the most reassuring gesture Sam had ever experienced.
Dean managed to stay awake for a while after Sam finally dropped off to sleep. While he could hear the winds outside, and occasionally a strong enough gust blew through to push against their car just enough to be felt, they were protected and safe from the brunt of the storm. He sat staring out at the empty garage, mulling over Sam's revelation. He didn't wonder how and why the children affected over the years had become what they'd become.
This thing was tearing Sam to pieces from the inside out, and he was a grown man, one trained to deal with the supernatural. A child would be utterly defenseless.
They'd learned a valuable lesson today. Get it out of its haunting place, then place the wards to keep it out. Trapping it had nearly proved deadly. Dean doubted it would have been able to escape without the extra energy the hurricane leant. What destruction it might have caused, trapped in the school, Dean could only guess.
Hand still resting on his brother's shoulder, feeling the warmth from Sam gave him comfort, he let himself relax.
When he woke up, he was alone in the car. Sam's form was easily seen a few yards away, near the edge of the garage. He was looking out. Sun shone through, and if Dean ducked down just right he saw a hint of blue sky.
Climbing out of the car, Dean stretched. Sam turned, and pointed to a corner of the garage. Dean's eyes followed, and he smiled. At least they'd holed up in one with public bathrooms. Ten minutes later he was ambling across to where Sam stood, still gazing out.
Bumping his arm against his brother's Dean yawned and leaned over to look outside too. "The eye?"
Sam nodded. "Guess we slept through landfall." He turned so his back was to the outside, quietly closed his cell phone and put it in a pocket.
"You got cell reception?"
"No. There was a text message saved from Concha. I sent her a description of the hunters we ran into."
"Well, we're gonna be stuck here for another day at least. We can get some work done. She give you any leads?"
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Tell you what, Sam?" Dean twisted and turned, cracked his back. One hand against the wall he did a few deep knee bends, not really looking at Sam.
"They didn't go to jail."
"Who didn't go to jail?" Genuinely confused now, Dean straightened and faced Sam. Then it clicked. "Oh."
"Yeah. Oh. Is that all you say, is oh?"
"What do you want from me, Sam?"
"You lied to me, Dean!"
"No, I didn't. You came to the conclusion Dante turned those men in, that they were in jail. The only thing he said to me was they were taken care of, and wouldn't be contacting anyone."
"Why didn't you tell me? You always do this. You keep shit from me because of some need to protect me. I'm not a little kid. Those men died because of me. I had a right to know."
"Yeah, they died. What do you want me to say?" Dean tried to calm the shaking he felt inside. "Grow up, Sam. Do you think they were going to listen to you, to either of us? They were plotting premeditated murder, Sam. Yours!" He paced away a few steps, meaning to drop this, then changed his mind. He was going to say what he thought for once. "Did you ever stop to think I didn't tell you because I didn't want to have this conversation? Because I didn't want to see that look you have on your face right now? That who I was protecting was myself?"
Sam drew back, blinked at him, stood for a few seconds with his mouth hanging open before he smacked it shut. Dean had obviously thrown him off guard.
"They're not going to listen to you, to either of us. They don't care about anything other than your face is who they saw. Don't forget Sam, most of these guys, they don't seem to care about the victims, if they live or not. You're the one telling me all the time everything isn't black and white with what we hunt. Things aren't so black and white with the hunters either. They intended to hunt down and execute an innocent man. I'm sorry, but I can't find it in myself to feel the least bit of regret that they died."
He didn't give Sam a chance to argue. Turning away Dean went back to the car. He scouted the area, finding a metal trashcan, figuring he could make a fire in it. Dragging it closer to their car, he positioned it near the support column, giving it cover from the winds that would restart again shortly. Next he turned his attention to their supplies. They had some canned food, plenty of dried beef, fruit and bottled water. Satisfied they'd be fine for a day or two if needed Dean shifted his gaze to Sam for a few seconds.
His brother had silently moved away from the edge of the garage, and was now settled on the ground, leaning against the car, he sat cross-legged with files in his lap. Sam stared at them, fingered the edges of some of the papers, but Dean could tell he wasn't paying attention to what was written.
"Hey, Dean?" Sam's voice was soft, when he finally looked up at him, his eyes lost their anger.
Dean stopped and stood looking down at Sam.
"Stop lugging this stuff around by yourself okay? Tell me from now on, that's all I'm asking. Okay? Please?"
"Yeah—"
A clunk near the opposite end of the garage had both them looking that way. Eyes dropping to meet Sam's, Dean raised his eyebrows. Sam shook his head just the slightest. He didn't see anything either.
"Hey!" Dean barked.
"You probably just gave some homeless guy a heart attack." Sam whispered, standing and brushing off his jeans. He moved quietly, but on guard toward the sound.
Dean skirted around the other side of the column, edged along the side of the garage. The wind pushed at his back, he could see the sky darkening. The eye wall of the hurricane was moving in for round two. Sam stopped near one far corner, turned in a circle, looking around. He turned back to face Dean, held his hands out, palms up and shrugged. He mouthed the words, nothing here, the wind?
About to agree, Dean glanced down over the side of the garage. Frowning, he turned back toward Sam, motioning with one hand at the outside. At once Sam moved silently to the far side of the garage, peering out. He turned back, shaking his head and shrugging. He opened his mouth, about to say something when a shadow slipped from behind another column.
"Sam!" Dean hissed, but Sam must've caught the movement. The hair on the back of Dean's head bristled and rose.
Turning to his right Sam registered shock on his face for the briefest instant before it morphed to anger. He'd barely moved when something thin and strong wound around Dean's neck, jerking him down and back. He was driven to his knees as his air supply was being cut off.
"Dean!"
He caught a glimpse of Sam darting at him. Coming in from his left was the older hunter from the orphanage. The man he'd tied, gagged and left in the hall stepped up behind Sam, shouting, "Stop!"
Sam, of course, ignored him. The man used a metal rod across the back of Sam's legs, bringing him down. Rolling to the side, howling with pain, but back on his feet, Sam spun to confront the man. Dean felt a swell of pride, his little brother wasn't going to give in.
"Think again, kid." The older hunter barked out.
Sam whirled around to face him and Dean. The color dropped from Sam's face. He froze, eyes shifting from the hunter to Dean and back. Dean closed his eyes for a beat, swallowed the bile rising in his throat and suppressed the shudder from inching down his back when the pistol a foot from his head was cocked.
Dean moved his head the tiniest amount, do what he says, Sammy. Sam responded in kind, no matter what I won't watch you die. The rope around his neck loosened. Lurching forward, catching himself from falling face first onto the cement with his hands on his knees, Dean coughed and gagged. Even though he knew the answer, he asked anyway, more in a bid for time.
"What do you want?" He slid his fingers under the rope and pulled it away, heaving out another coughing fit.
The old hunter ignored him, attention on Sam. "Here's how it's going to be, boy. I'm after something, two somethings, one of which is you. Saw another one the other day in that beat down building. So, until I get that other something, I got you. You're gonna do what you did before and bring it to me."
He moved away from Dean and toward Sam, pulling something from his pocket, holding it up for them to see. Satellite phone. He and the man next to Sam traded places. He tossed the satellite phone to his partner, then held up a second phone.
"His phone," the man nodded to his partner, now behind Dean, "Rings, and your brother gets a slug right through his head. Understand?"
"Yeah." Sam's voice came out harsh and tight.
Moving behind Sam, he yanked Sam's arms behind him, cuffing him. A jerk on Sam's hands tore a hiss from Sam and a growled, "Hey," from Dean. The older hunter paid no attention to Sam, eyes locked with Dean's.
The skinny kid, his arm in a sling and one of the men Dean had seen in the diner, but not the orphanage, moved in from near the garage entrance. Sam was shoved into their hands. The more recently arrived man pushed Sam ahead of him, turning long enough to smirk and nod at Dean.
Sam went willingly, but not before he too turned and looked over his shoulder. Eyes locking with Dean's he nodded a bit, pulled his lower lip between his teeth, visibly struggled to keep his mouth shut and his breathing even.
Once Sam and the men were out of sight, the leader stepped closer to Dean, glared down at him for a minute. "Filthy traitors." He ground out. Without taking his gaze from Dean he spoke to his partner. "Give me an hour head start, then he's dead."
A sadistic chuckle rumbled behind him, close to Dean's ear. "You got it."
Dean watched the hunter follow the others, follow Sam. They could go a long way in an hour. Dean could do a lot of damage in an hour.