Chapter 10 - Escalation
Sam hated hospitals. He'd hated them even before he'd been taken away, but now, there was nothing about the place that he could stand. It was always simultaneously too quiet and too loud. Too scentless and yet, noxious with smells. Too bright and void of color at the same time.
Sam sat in a stiff plastic chair, looking at the square tiles on the floor while Mary, John, and the doctor talked outside of their crowded ICU room. Crowded because of the many machines that were taking up floor space. The cardiac monitor because the doctors weren't sure that his heart wasn't going to give out at any second. The IV and PIC line because he wasn't eating on his own. The ventilator because he couldn't even breathe.
Sam glanced up at his older brother, who had always seemed larger than life, lying still and silent on the too-big hospital bed. Pillows were stacked comfortably under his neck, cotton blankets pulled up to his armpits. His arms rested easily on top of the sheets. His eyes were closed, and if it weren't for the giant tube erupting from his lips, Sam might have just been able to assume that he was sleeping.
They had been here for over twenty hours now, and the only thing that the doctors could tell them was that Dean was "extremely lucky". Something Sam was finding hard to agree with.
"Lucky" was something that happened to the people that won the lottery. "Lucky" was someone who found twenty bucks in the couch cushions. "Lucky" was running into the president at the grocery store.
There was nothing "lucky" about being stabbed in the chest.
Sam listened to the doctor talk to his parents, explaining that there wasn't anything more they could do for Dean, that now it was up to him to fight the infection and wake up again. If he was going to wake up. It set his blood boiling the way that the resident was talking, as if Dean might not be strong enough to overcome this. Like he wasn't going to make it out and be fine.
"There isn't anything else that you can do?" Mary whispered desperately, glancing over at Dean. "I mean, is there a specialist that we can talk to?"
The doctor glanced at the clock on the wall of Dean's room, obviously eager to leave this bleak situation and move on to something else. "You can if you want to, Ma'am, but they're only going to tell you what I have. The infection entered his bloodstream and made its way into the brain. He is receiving antibiotics and anticonvulsants to hopefully counteract the seizures that put him in this coma. At this point, there is nothing else that we can do but observe and react as needed."
Sam clenched his fist at the doctor's blase tone. He glanced over at the man, who was edging toward the door, clearly trying to make his exit. A sudden surge of anger overtook him, and he forced his gaze away, only to see a glass of water on the overbed table begin to shudder and rattle. Sam's heart jolted, and the glass burst, sending shards skidding to the floor.
Sam shot to his feet, as the doctor gasped and looked over.
"Are you alright?" The man asked sharply. Sam jerked his head in a nod, watching the man carefully. He didn't seem to realize what happened, and with another glance at the clock and some mumbled assurances that he would alert the nurses, the resident ducked out of the room.
Sam stared at the floor as the doctor left, feeling John's stare on the back of his neck.
John took hold of Sam's shoulder, steering him toward the door. "Why don't you and I take a walk?"
Mary took Sam's place at Dean's side. She reached over and placed her hand over Dean's, one thumb compulsively running over his wrist. Her eyes were filled with worry, her shoulders taut with tension.
John lead Sam out into the hallway. They walked down a few paces until they reached a tiny sitting room with no one in it. John pushed Sam ahead and closed the door behind them. He turned to face Sam slowly, with a face lined with weariness.
"Sam." John began. "What is going on with you?"
Sam avoided his gaze. "I don't know what you're talking about." He said stiffly. "I didn't mean to do that, that guy just made me… angry."
"You don't think I haven't noticed everything that's been going on the last few weeks?"
Sam looked up sharply, confused about which thing his adoptive father was now aware.
"Sam, I've seen the ways your powers have been acting out recently. It wasn't hard to figure out." John sighed as Sam looked at the floor again. "I just wish that you'd trusted us enough to talk to us about it. Did you think that we were going to turn you in?"
"No!" Sam interjected. "I just couldn't…"
"Couldn't what, Sam?"
"I couldn't admit that I was losing control of them. That I am losing control of them." Sam admitted. "It feels like every other day something's flying off the shelves or getting knocked off the walls and I hate knowing that it's all me! That I can do this thing that can hurt people when I can't control it, because I can't control it!"
John stopped Sam by pulling him into a tight embrace. Sam was horrified to feel tears welling up in his eyes, and swallowed hard to keep them at bay. "Sam, I understand that things are difficult for you right now, and that there isn't much we can do to help, but I need you to be strong, all right?" John stepped back, looking firmly into Sam's eyes. "Things like what just happened, up there? They can't happen when we're here, you understand? Not only will they keep you away from Dean, but they might just decide to call up the DPA and order a reassessment of your abilities." The thought of it chilled Sam to the bone. "So you do whatever you have to do. Take a walk, go get some food. But you need to keep yourself in control."
John looked at Sam solemnly. "Understand?"
Sam nodded, eyes still on the floor. "I understand."
John sighed, his worries slightly eased, and leaned forward, pressing a brief kiss to Sam's head. "However we can help, son, we will. You know that."
"I know, Dad."
Taking John's advice, Sam found himself wandering through the halls of the hospital, mostly following the smell of hot food. He ended up in the food court on the ground level, which was surprisingly not as busy as he'd thought it might be.
Without any money, Sam took an empty table, watching the counter and the people behind it as they grabbed food for ragged patrons, who looked like they might as well be eating cardboard for all they cared. Sam wished he couldn't relate to them so easily.
"Sam?"
Sam stood up and spun around, a smile lighting up his face when he saw her. He pulled Maia into a hug, holding her tightly.
"How did you get here? When did you get here? How did- Did my dad-?"
"He called me." Maia interjected. "He figured you might need me. I took a bus."
"You took a bus all the way from Lawrence?"
Maia shrugged like it was no big deal. "A few buses. It really wasn't that bad."
She took a seat next to where Sam had been sitting, pulling him down next to her. "How's Dean?"
At the words, everything came rushing back. The weight of the last few days resettled on his shoulders, somehow heavier than before.
"They don't know. He's in a coma, I guess, but they don't know when he'll wake up or if he'll wake up. Or what he'll be like if he does. Basically, they know nothing."
Maia reached over and wound her fingers through his. "Shit."
Sam squeezed her fingers, eyes focused solemnly on the tabletop. "Shit."
They sat that way as time melted away, thick as syrup. Sam knew that at some point he would have to go back up to that stark, hopeless room, and face Mary's desperation, John's silent worry, the doctors' ignorance. But not yet. For the moment, it was enough just to close his eyes, hold her hand, and pretend the rest of the world didn't exist.
"Sam?" Maia's voice was lowered, and Sam opened his eyes, a smile already on his lips, prepared for her encouragement or words of wisdom. But her eyes were fixed across the room, slightly widened with worry. Her hand tightened slightly around his fingers.
"What?" Sam straightened and followed her line of sight to a woman sitting at a table just like theirs. She had nothing in front of her, but then, a lot of people didn't. She was unassuming, with a modest pencil skirt and soft pink cardigan wrapped around her shoulders. Sam would have asked Maia what the problem was if she had not been staring directly at the two of them, with a blank expression.
When Sam made eye contact with the woman, ice spread down his spine. Her face was bland enough, but her eyes… they were cold, intelligent, piercing… With a jolt, Sam recognized her from weeks ago, when he and Maia were kicked out of the diner.
Almost as if she read his recognition, a little smile spread across her face. She cocked her head to the side, blinked, and stared back at them with eyes completely coated in darkness.
Maia shot to her feet, Sam scrambling up alongside her. "We need to get out of here."
Sam nodded, holding her hand as tightly as she was holding his. He held eye contact with the demon, as if that would keep it from attacking. Sam turned around toward the exit, only to stop short at the sight of a man in jeans and a cowboy hat leaning against the wall. The man's eyebrow twitched in challenge, and he offered a cocky wave with one hand.
Sam's gaze darted around the food court, frantically searching for an exit. They could try and make it out through the kitchen, out the back door… But the way that one of the servers was eyeing them, with a single-minded coldness, made him nervous. This was the ground floor, any window could be an exit… But any person could be a demon. And there were a whole lot of those between them and any way out.
"Sam," Maia whispered, and Sam's attention snapped back to the woman, who had stood up and was slowly walking toward them. Sam stepped forward slightly, angling himself in front of Maia, and slowly pushed her back. He glanced back, noticing Cowboy Hat closing in as well. A fat man in a suit was winding his way through the tables, and the server made their way around the counter and strode toward them, followed by, heartbreakingly enough, a little girl in a blue cotton dress.
They were hopelessly surrounded.
For as loudly as Sam's pulse was pounding in his ears, nobody around them seemed to have noticed the danger. He was torn for half a second between shouting a warning, causing a stampede for cover, or just sprinting for it, when the decision was made for him. A woman shrieked loudly, and Sam looked over to see a woman batting her hands at the little girl that was climbing over a man in a wheelchair to get to them faster. The man was gasping and grimacing in pain, but the girl paid him no heed. As she clambered down, the woman grabbed her by the arm and yanked her back, screaming "You ought to have-"
No one could be sure what it was the little girl ought to have, because in that moment, the girl spun around, her eyes inking over, and thrust out a hand, sending the woman flying over the tables and into the wall with a horrific CRACK. There was a moment of stunned disbelief before the room erupted into chaos and everyone sprinted for the open doorway.
"C'mon!" Sam shouted, taking hold of Maia's hand and running for the exit. The other twenty or so patrons were all around them, running in a frantic herd like deer run from wolves. The first, an Asian man not much older than Dean, was just crossing through the breezeway when the knife came flying across the room and buried itself in his neck, followed quickly by a two-pronged meat fork that caught the next woman in the shoulder. She went down screaming while he fell without so much as a gurgle, and everyone else halted in their steps.
A security guard came huffing down the hallway, firearm clenched in both hands. He raised it at the server, who held another three improvised weapons in suspension above her fingers. In response to his threat and orders to put down the weapon and get your hands in the air, the woman in the cardigan simply smiled and twitched her fingers in the guard's direction. In half a second, the guard's neck twisted back at an inhuman angle and he collapsed to the ground amid exclamations of fear and horror.
The woman waved her hand again and everyone scrambled away reflexively, but the only effect was a large metal door tumbling down in front of the doorway. The room fell silent, save for a few whimpers.
Sam and Maia were standing behind an overturned table with a few other people, watching the demons rally with a mounting sense of helplessness. The woman in pink, Cowboy Hat, the server, the fat man in a suit, and the little girl stood in a line, staring at their group of now silent captives.
"Well," The woman chuckled in a voice like honey. "That was quite the spectacle wasn't it? Much more dramatic than it needed to be. But, such is the way with humans. Making mountains of molehills, as the saying goes, hm?"
She turned her piercing gaze on Sam, and something about her clicked in his mind, bringing him back to a few weeks ago, the smell of greasy food, a tense confrontation, an unceremonial ejection.
"You were at the diner," he said, thankful his voice remained strong and steady.
"Why, Sammy, I'm simply touched you remember me." She pressed on hand to her chest in mock humility.
"How do you-?"
"Know your name?" The woman finished for him with a too cheerful smile. "Well, you are the famous Sammy Winchester, aren't you? Who doesn't know your name nowadays? You can't tell me you're surprised, really. A few stunts like the ones you've pulled and some of us are bound to become interested."
Sam swallowed, eyeing the other people, who were now edging away from him in self-preservation. He couldn't really blame them. Anytime a demon singled you out in a group, there was a good chance that those around you were in danger of being hit by the fallout.
"What do you want?"
"We wanted to get a look at Azazel's child prodigy." The server explained with a haughty expression, looking him over. "Not that there's that much to look at."
"Well, you came, you saw," Sam said tightly. "You can leave now."
The woman in pink stepped forward, breaking away from the group to circle Sam. Sam shifted to keep her in sight, one arm braced protectively in front of Maia
"What makes you so powerful, Sammy?" The demon asked silkily. She paused for a moment, inhaling deeply. When her eyes opened, they were filled with a manic energy. "I can smell it coming off of you in waves. Teeming scores of infinite energy, just waiting to explode."
"Stand down, Regalia," The little girl spoke up, the voice of a child mangled by the authority and confidence of a creature of many more years. "You know the orders. Leave Azazel's pet be."
Regalia fixed a hungry stare at Sam, ignoring the demon's commands. "I won't hurt the little thing. I'm merely looking. Azazel's pets aren't truly more than glorified apes, are they? So fragile, so easily broken." There was a sick eagerness to her tone, clearly displaying how much she desired to prove this theory.
Sam felt Maia shudder at the demon's words, and he entwined her fingers with his, squeezing reassuringly.
Regalia craned her neck, trying to see around Sam. "Who's that lovely creature you're hiding, Sammy?" She purred, stepping away from the group to get a closer look at Maia.
Sam glared at the demon, staying firmly planted in front of Maia.
"Regalia…" The girl warned, her tone tense.
"Please, Angeline, dear, you worry too much." Regalia simpered. "I only want a look." She beckoned to Maia with one hand. "Come here, dear one."
Maia stiffened at the gesture, and she took a ridged step around Sam, with a choked protest lodging in the back of her throat.
"Maia, no," Sam held her arm, trying to pull back, but she yanked her arm out of his grip, taking halting steps toward Regalia. Sam's heart lurched, and he reached for her, prepared to charge the demon if need be.
Regalia seemed to sense his intent, and she raised a hand, palm out. "No, Sammy, you can stay there."
Sam felt his feet fix in place, as if fastened by cement. He gritted his teeth, struggling to move forward, even though he knew it was futile.
"So, is that your name?" Regalia purred as Maia approached. "Maia." She drew out the word, sounding out every syllable on her tongue. Placing her slender hands on Maia's shoulders, Regalia spun Maia around so that she was facing Sam again. Even from ten feet away, Sam could see the terror in her eyes.
"It's okay, Maia," Sam said in a calm voice, even though both of them knew that it wasn't.
"Of course, everything is fine," Cooed Regalia, tracing a finger up Maia's neck. "Right, Sammy? You'll make sure that everything is fine, won't you?"
"What do you want?" Sam asked.
"Well, my associates merely wanted a glimpse at you. See the Chosen One for themselves. But me? I'm in the mood for some carnage. Some bloodshed." Regalia grinned maliciously, gazing down at Maia, running one hand down her dark curls.
"And I was thinking of starting with this lovely specimen."
Blood rushed in Sam's ears, and his vision ran red. "No!" He growled, feeling the bonds that held his feet in place fracture and fall away as he forced his foot forward.
Angeline stared at him with wide eyes, her mouth falling open into a rosy O, and the other demons drew back slightly, watching him with a shocked wariness.
Regalia simply smiled, as though a theory of hers had been proved true. "Teeming scores…" She murmured quietly, almost to herself.
"Let her go," Sam growled, staring at the demons in anger. "Or I swear to God, I will make you pay."
Regalia narrowed her eyes at Sam, as though assessing his threat's validity. She stepped to the side, still gripping the back of Maia's neck tightly. Sam followed her with his eyes, tensed for action.
"Let me cue you in on a little secret, Sammy," Regalia said, her voice suddenly hard as steel. "God doesn't care."
Regalia turned and beckoned the man in the cowboy hat, who seemed all too eager to approach. She leaned forward, whispering in his ear, a seductive smile on her face as she stepped away. The male demon took her place, gripping Maia's neck tightly.
"We might not be able to touch a hair on your head, Sammy," Regalia purred, her flighty manner returning. "But this pretty little thing was never mentioned." She grinned wickedly at him. "And I do want to give you a little show to remember me by."
The male demon suddenly seized Maia's hair, holding her still forcefully. With his other hand, he pulled out a long, gleaming knife out of his suit pocket. Slowly, he brought the edge of the knife so that it was poised just over her heart. Maia's eyes were wild with fear, and as she met Sam's eyes, he heard his promise to her echo through his mind.
I won't let anything happen to you. He felt an overwhelming desire to keep his promise, but he felt so helpless. He tried to summon the defiance that he had felt a few moments ago, but the only thing he felt was terror.
Regalia was watching him with anticipation in her eyes, but when nothing happened for a few heartbeats, the light died down in her eyes, and she took on the demeanor of a child that had woken up to find no presents under the Christmas tree. "I'm tired of this," She snapped. "Finish her."
A wicked grin spread across the man's face, and he raised the knife, swinging it down toward Maia's pale, vulnerable skin. Though she was frozen, terror screamed from her eyes as loudly as if she'd been able to vocalize it.
There was a roar in Sam's ears and red crashed over his vision. Heat flooded through his body like fire coursing through his veins, and he thrust out, striking with an invisible hand. His vision cleared and he saw Maia stumbling a few steps away, appearing unharmed but shaken. The man in the cowboy hat was standing rigid, knife slightly lowered.
"My, my," Regalia said. "Kitten's letting out his claws, now, isn't he?"
"Leave," Sam grunted through the effort of keeping the demon still. He felt the demon's will battling against his own, fighting for control, but held firm. He could do this. "Now."
Regalia giggled. "Sammy, you might be able to hold one of us- an impressive feat, no doubt- But what reason have we to leave? If anything, you've just made it much more profitable to stick around."
"Then. Let me. Give you. Some. Encouragement." Sam's teeth were gritted, but his heart beat intensified along with his intentions, as if the latent power inside him excited with exercise. The other demons were watching him with interest, but no real fear. Cowboy hat stared at him in hatred, but while he felt Sam's strength, it seemed even he doubted that Sam could do anything substantial with it.
We'll see about that. Sam thought, closing his eyes and mentally surging forward with his powers. He had no idea what he was doing or what effect it would have, but he knew that it would do something. And that the demons would not be fans.
There was a choking sound, some murmurs of unease, and Sam kept pushing, even as pain built in his temple, like the pain he used to experience with visions.
I have Azazel's blood in my veins. I'm part demon. I have power, and right now, I can put it to some good use.
He thrust out with everything he had, even as it drained him, and opened his eyes to see the demon gagging in his hold. His eyes were wide, panicked, and his jaw opened wide as a black mist bubbled at his lips. As Sam pushed, the smoke began tumbling out of his mouth, faster and faster, like a river undammed, until the last tendrils slid to the floor and sizzled into the tile, slowing sinking through the floor and fading away.
Something trickled down Sam's face, and he reached up, his fingers coming away bright red with blood. As his concentration fractured, the man collapsed to the ground, eyes rolled back in his head. The patrons screamed in helpless fear and the demons, frozen at first in shock, seemed to recover and regain some sense of self-preservation. Columns of smoke erupted in the room as they fled, smashing through windows and walls in their haste.
Through the chaos, Sam stumbled for Maia, only to see another form reach her first. Regalia grinned wickedly at Sam as she seized hold of Maia's shoulders.
"Until next time, dearie," She called gaily, her voice barely audible over the tumult of whipping wind. Maia reached desperately for him before black fog exploded under their feet, whirlpooling rapidly up under their feet until they were swallowed by it.
"NO!" Sam sprinted for them, only for the fog to dissipate as soon as his fingers reached it. He was left staring at empty air, the last traces of Regalia's poison wisping away in the breeze from the shattered windows. "No, no…"
Sam whipped around, ignoring the patrons that flinched away from his gaze, and ran for one of the open windows. He vaulted through it quickly, ignoring the glass crunching under his feet and snagging on his clothes. Sam sprinted down the street, searching the sky for traces of the smoke, but there was nothing. Nothing.
His feet slowly stopped underneath him, but his mind was still racing, grasping frantically for ways to find her. It churned but brought up nothing. What did he know about hunting demons?
John. Was the only helpful thing he could think of and turned back to see that he'd come nearly five blocks in that short time. He noticed an ancient pay phone on the street corner and hurried over. Sam fished through his pockets for a few quarters and punched in John's number, gripping the receiver like a lifeline as it rang.
"Winchester speaking."
Sam blew out a sigh of relief. "It's me."
"Sam?" John's lowered voice was both furious and relieved. "The hell happened to staying low? The entire hospital's in an uproar, all the patients are in lockdown, and people are shouting about demons and a murderous psychic on the loose."
Everything Sam had been about to say lodged in his throat. "Murderous?"
"What happened, Sam?"
Quickly, Sam gave John the rundown of what happened, aware that time was ticking and he didn't have any more quarters. "It took her, Dad. I have to find her and I don't even know where to start."
"I hate to say it, Sam, but we might have bigger problems on our hands."
"What do you mean?"
"The cops are crawling all over this place. People are saying things, blaming you for it all. I haven't heard much about the guy that you exorcised, but I know he ain't in good shape. Anything wrong with him's gonna come down on you, and I've heard people saying that the DPA will be here within the hour."
Sam suppressed the shudder that rocked down his spine. "What do I do?"
"God, Sam, I don't…" The receiver was silent for a few seconds, and Sam frantically checked the dial, sure they had been disconnected. Finally, his voice came back. "Get to camp, Sam. Castiel will give you safe haven, and I'll come by when it's safe to figure this out."
Sam swallowed and nodded, though John couldn't see it. "Okay. I can do that."
"Just be careful, okay? Be safe. Be smart." A few short beeps signaled that their time was almost up.
"Safe. Smart. I got it." Sam pushed down his panic now that he had a plan. The guilt of what he was putting his parents through crushed down on him. "I'm so sorry, Dad. I don't know how… It just… I didn't mean…"
"I know, Sam," John sounded weary. "Just be safe. I'll find you."
As Sam hung up the phone, he became aware of how completely alone he was. No Dean to back him up, no John on the way. This time, he had only himself to rely on. While that thought was panic inducing, he also found himself strangely reassured by the fact. No chance of him hurting someone else that he loved.
First things first, Sam knew that he needed a ride to camp. Who knew how long it would take him to walk there, and with the DPA hunting him down, he wouldn't make it far. But he could hardly risk public transportation. Bus stations were the first places that DPA agents searched when hunting down a fugitive psychic. Which was all he was now to them. A public menace.
He headed south down the quiet main street, trying to keep a low profile. Nothing screamed guilty like a ducked head and barely controlled sprint. As he walked, he imagined how Jenna was taking this whole thing. Good luck to her if she was going to try and put a positive spin on this whole nightmare.
The bus station was located near the edge of Orthe, outside a rusty diner named "Spuds". Sam couldn't tell if the name was supposed to be plural or possessive because of how nearly illegible it was from time and the elements, but one glance inside told him that it didn't matter much to anyone.
Pushing open the door, Sam cast a furtive glance around, looking for anyone that might be a DPA agent or over-inquisitive informer. The diner was sparsely occupied, with an old couple sitting in the booth nearest to the bar, a young woman and her child at a table next to the window, and a man in a rumpled business suit, necktie loose and askew. The typical mid-morning Sunday bunch.
Sam was so busy watching the little boy tracing a cartoon rabbit on his menu that he didn't notice the waitress approaching.
"Mornin', Doll," The woman greeted him. "Booth or table?"
Sam hesitated, unsure of how to respond, and the woman tutted. "If you're lookin' for a spot at the bar, I might warn you it's mighty early for all that nonsense, and Erl's still got a keen eye for them cards."
Sam shook his head. "No, I'm not- There's, um... A booth would be fine." He managed, and the woman gave him a sympathetic, if curious, look.
"Sure, thing, honey. Follow me."
She lead him to a booth a few seats away from the elderly couple, and Sam sat down gratefully. Looking around the diner, he didn't see any screens, only an old-fashioned boombox radio, quietly playing country hits among bursts of static. He let himself relax slightly, figuring he had enough time to sit for a minute. He could ask about the bus schedule, keep an eye outside, and duck out the back door if he saw anyone suspicious.
"What can I start you with, hon'?"
Sam fumbled through his pockets, patting them down with an awkwardness that seemed to scream (deception!) in his mind. He looked up at the woman with a face of embarrassment. "I must have left my wallet at home. Too much of a rush, I guess." His voice rang with fabrication, tasting sour on his tongue, but the woman, Margaret by her nametag, didn't seem to notice.
Margaret chuckled. "Oh, I know the feelin'. My Larry'd lose his head if it weren't screwed right on his neck. Why, seems every day he's runnin' home after only a few hours at the office, havin' forgotten somethin' or other. And yet, that man's never forgot a date his whole life. Days are just stuck in his brain, tacked up there like white on rice." She offered a long-suffering sigh and shook her head good-naturedly. "Anyhow, I'd be happy to offer you a drink on the house. Too hot a mornin' out there not to drink somethin', and I just couldn't live with myself if I let you go out there in the blazin' sun with nothing in your belly."
Sam's head spun with how quickly she was talking. "Sure, um, I'll have a Coke, I guess."
"Would you be interested in giving our lemonade a try? Sweetest thing you'll have all day an' pink as a rosy sunrise."
"Sure," Sam agreed. "Lemonade is fine." Crushed ice, slice of lemon. His throat tightened, and he turned his gaze out the window so she wouldn't see his expression.
"Alrighty, hon', comin' right up."
A small paper with bus route information caught his eye as Margaret walked away. A one-way ticket to Lawrence would cost him fifteen dollars (not including tax), and Sam doubted that the bus driver would buy his whole "whoops, left my wallet at home" routine. Maybe he could hitch a ride…? Glancing around, Sam didn't think that anyone looked particularly threatening, but the problem was, there was no way to know who was safe for a psychic to approach. If the wrong people got wind that he, a psychic, was on the run, he'd be turned in for sure. Or worse.
The cheerful music cut out with a burst of static, and Sam looked over to see the short-order cook fiddling with the dial. He settled on a different channel and disappeared again behind the counter as a new, tinny voice buzzed through the silent diner.
"...attack on St. George's earlier this morning by a rogue psychic who is now on the run. Authorities on the scene can confirm two deaths and at least three others who were seriously injured in this incident. At this point, it's unclear if this was the act of a single person or a coordinated attack. The suspect in question is an adolescent male, 5'11'', with brown hair. Last seen wearing jeans and a gray hoodie. Police are asking anyone with information regarding the attack or any suspicious persons in the area to come forward. In other news, the Dodgers…" The news broadcast moved on to something else, but Sam felt frozen, waiting for someone to notice him, put two and two together. Or maybe they already had, were calling right now, telling the DPA exactly where he was so they could come pick him up-
Sam couldn't stand it and quickly cast a glance around the room. The elderly couple was still quietly talking, the old woman kindly patting her husband's hand. The mother seemed to have heard the news, but had a frown of sympathy on her face. No phone, no fear in her eyes.
"Damn shame what things've come to, eh?" The man at the counter offered in a ragged voice to Margaret, who was bringing him a refill of coffee in one hand, Sam's drink in the other. "Huntin' 'em down like rats. Damn shame."
Margaret tutted. "Well, yes, frankly, it's quite-"
"Shoulda all been exterminated from the beginning," The man interrupted her, knocking back the last of the dregs before putting his mug down for more. "Only good haffer's a dead haffer, am I right?"
Margaret pursed her lips, keeping silent as she poured. When the man waved her off and resumed drinking, she smiled tightly at him and put the coffee away. She offered a bright smile to Sam as she brought him his drink, and Sam searched her expression for any sign of wariness or guilt, anything to indicate she'd called him in, but she didn't seem to have recognized him.
"Here you are, sugar," Margaret said. "Now, you just flag me down if there's anything else that you need, you hear?"
Sam nodded and went back to looking out the window as she circled around to check on the elderly couple in front of him. Outside, a few people were gathered by the bus stop, fanning themselves in the rising heat. Sam glanced at the clock hanging on the wall, realizing that the bus would probably be arriving soon and he still had no idea how he was going to get on it. Could he ask one of the people out there to give him a twenty, maybe spin the lie again for them? There was no telling how many of them had heard the news, but he almost had no other options. Staying in Orthe certainly wasn't one.
As Sam was deliberating, two SUV's, sunlight glinting off their charcoal shells, pulled up to the curb next to the diner, and Sam felt his stomach drop into his feet. Two people stepped out from each, two men and two women. They strode toward the diner with purpose, like dogs on the scent.
Sam stood up from his seat and made for the bathroom, trying his hardest not to look like a frantic psychic playing hide-and-seek with the DPA. He made through the push door and closed the door just as he heard the bell ring from the front entrance. He wanted to breathe a sigh of relief but knew that he was hardly home free. Anyone could have seen him come in here. Hell, maybe the DPA agents had themselves.
He heard the murmur of voices outside the door and pressed his ear against the crack. He couldn't make out any words, just the low tones of a man and Margaret's voice ringing back
Hell. Margaret. Sam realized with a jolt. There was no way she wouldn't match him with the agents' descriptions. She would put two and two together, figure out where he must've hidden, and then…
Sam instantly started looking for an escape route. A vent, a window, even a weapon. If he had to fight his way out, he would. Being caught meant going back to the lab, going back under scrutiny, probably never seeing Mary, John, or Dean again. It meant he would probably never find out if Dean would get better.
As he searched fruitlessly, the murmurs moved away. He heard the faint bell and then silence. He listened closely. As he was leaning toward the door, it jerked open, nearly catching him in the nose. Sam snapped back, swallowing the yelp that threatened to escape.
Margaret stared at him through the three-inch crack in the door. Her sugary smile was gone and her eyes blazed with intensity. Sam felt a sudden thrill of fear race up his spine. What if she wasn't content to simply call the authorities?
Just as he was considering shouting for help, weighing the benefits of being caught over dead, Margaret placed a finger against her lips. She glanced to either side and then opened the door slightly, waving him out.
"Those agents are gone for now," She whispered to him. "But they'll be back within a quarter hour, I'm sure. You need to be long gone by then."
She opened the door after another quick look around and ushered him through the hall and to the back exit. Sam stepped through the door, opening his mouth to thank her when she pushed something roughly into his arms. It was a large purple sweatshirt, the logo for some local college fading on the front.
"Just take it," Margaret ordered when he hesitated. "And give me that one you're wearing."
Sam complied and Margaret handed him one more thing before he could protest. He stared down at the fifty dollar bill in his palm, too stunned to say anything. Margaret reached over and curled his fingers over the money, offering him a kind smile.
"Now you git goin', you hear?" She said in a firm voice, warmer than before. "That bus'll be here any minute, and I'm guessing you're aimin' to be on it."
Sam nodded. Margaret returned the gesture, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Good luck, honey, and remember… Not all of us are like the loud ones, okay? You got friends all over if you just know how to spot 'em."
Sam made his way to the bus stop with his head ducked low. He joined the crowd and entered the bus with ease, not having any problems purchasing a last-minute bus ticket from the driver. Sam chose a seat near the back, close to the bathroom (possible last-minute hiding spot) and right next to an emergency exit window. He had no idea if it would be even possible to escape out of it if the bus were pulled over and searched, or any idea of how he would go about that. Still, he had to keep all his options open. Couldn't let his guard down, for even a moment.
That's what it meant to be on the run.
It was a three-hour ride to the next town, and from there, Sam would have to take two more transits just to make it back to Lawrence. And it wasn't like he could just go up to the ticket booth and request a ride to the local psychic safe haven once he got there. He'd have to walk or hitchhike, and there was absolutely zero chance of him asking a stranger for a ride.
Margaret's words rang in his ears. Friends all over… It certainly didn't feel that way most days. Most days, he felt lucky if he ran into people that didn't seem to view him as the outright enemy. And yet, he wondered how many people were like Margaret. Sympathetic and kind, but too fearful to voice their opinion around those that were louder and more aggressive.
Nonetheless, he couldn't risk running into a kind person. He had to figure out a way to track Regalia and rescue Maia before anything bad happened to her. All while avoiding the DPA and any other haffer-haters he happened upon along the way. And, not to mention, battling out of control powers and another entity fighting for control in his head.
Piece of cake, really.
There we go; finally, something happens! Hope you enjoyed! If you did, leave a review and let me know what you thought.
Cheers!