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Didn't want to leave you hanging too long, so hope you enjoy! :)
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, nor any canon characters therein, and I am making no profit from this piece of fiction.
Chapter 10 – A Rush of Blood to the Head
It took more than few minutes for the painkillers to work their healing magic on Sam Winchester's headache, but eventually he felt the vice clamped around his skull ease slightly, and he started to believe that his neck might actually hold its weight. The cool smoothness of the table was soothing beneath his folded arms, and after a while the chill spread up through his body and doused the flames of anger in his breast, though the embers continued to glow threateningly.
With his head clear of pain's befuddling spell, he found he was more able to dissect the situation between himself and his brother. After his initial assessment of the data, he had come to a simple conclusion: things were bad. They'd been sniping for days now, messy arguments sparked at the slightest cause that never seemed resolved – mostly because Dean would refuse point blank to enter into anything remotely resembling heartfelt discussion.
Like now. He'd just walked out without a word. After everything that had happened the previous night.
And the most frustrating thing was not just that he'd walked out, but that he'd managed to worm his way out of giving Sam the opportunity to rage at him about what had happened in Chicago. It had been festering for days, its poison polluting his very soul. He wanted Dean to admit that he had been wrong, wanted him to apologise for ruining his little brother's chance at getting closer to the demon. He realised that every gripe he'd had with his brother since that night could be traced back to that point.
Dammit, he wanted Dean to stop making decisions for him without even having the good grace to consult him first. He wanted some control over his life. Being back in this town, being back around these people who had once been so close to him, had only served to remind him of the freedom he'd given up by running off with Dean. He'd thrown away his autonomy, discarded his free will like a broken toy. And he realised how much he missed it.
He was already dreading his brother's return, knowing things would either kick off again between them, or that Dean would just freeze him out. Neither were particularly appetising alternatives.
"Hey, Sam?" Rebecca called from the kitchen, her tone brittle from forced cheerfulness. "You up for some food? I made Caesar salad!"
Sam was actually surprised when his stomach growled in response, and ruefully remembered that he had no idea when he'd last eaten. His headache had been happily hoovering up any crumbs of appetite that might have spilled out over the past few hours, but now that he'd been granted a reprieve, it sounded like the greatest idea he'd ever heard. Especially when his friends had gone to the effort of putting together one of his favourite meals. Jess' recipe had always been the best though, and even the recollection of it was enough to set his mouth watering, but Rebecca's definitely came a close second. The young hunter smiled softly as bitter-sweet memories flashed in a film reel before his eyes.
"Uh, yeah, thanks!" He pushed his chair back with a scrape and rose to his feet, pleasantly surprised when the room didn't spin. "Can I help with anything?"
"What? No, no, you've been hurt Sam! Let us look after you for a while" Rebecca pulled open the door connecting the kitchen to the dining room and shot him a kind smile. "It'll just be a few minutes if you want to freshen up"
Sam did.
When dinner was served, Sam had to stop himself from groaning in pleasure as he tore into his salad, his hunger having grown exponentially from mere pangs to full-on ravenousness in the space of washing up in one of the Warrens' many bathrooms – each one seeming as large as some motel rooms he'd stayed in.
He settled for a blissful "Man, Becca this is incredible!" as she laughed at his obvious enjoyment.
There was an amicable silence as the three of them concentrated on their meal, settling into the comfortable groove they'd always had before Jessica's murder had ruptured their shared rhythm and set Sam off course to his own beat. But all too soon it was being broken.
"Sooooo..." Zach began, the word drawn out portentously. Once he had everyone's attention he continued, his eyes searching out Sam's. "What exactly was that back there?"
There was no question as to what he was referring to.
"I'm so sorry about Dean, guys. He shouldn't have just walked out like that" Sam paused to take another mouthful of salad. "He didn't want to stay here, wanted me to go with him. He's such a control freak"
"Is that what the scene back at the hospital was all about?" Zach raised his eyebrows, clearly remembering Sam's covert signal during their conversation with Dean.
The lack of confusion on Rebecca's face told Sam that Zach had clued her in at some point. He wasn't quite sure how he felt about that, about them discussing his relationship with his brother behind his back. But he merely ducked his head in acknowledgement.
"Does he do that often?" Zach pressed, and Sam was reminded of his concern that first night. You guys really getting on okay?
Had it been that obvious, even then?
Sam's snorted response said more than his words otherwise might have. It was impossible to verbalise the emotions he'd felt over the years, the nights as a child he'd yearned for freedom while being terrified to leave the people he loved, the relief when he'd finally found the strength and the accompanying guilt at wanting something for himself at the expense of his family's happiness. At Dean's happiness.
Their conversation was abruptly interrupted at that point when the phone started to ring. Rebecca exchanged a glance with Zach, before excusing herself from the room to answer it.
"Sam, you never talked about Dean when you were at college here. Is that why?" Zach seemed genuinely confused, and Sam realised that his behaviour concerning his brother had been more than a little contradictory over the past few days. Even he couldn't unravel the complex tapestry of feelings he had about his brother, and how they wove together. The fiercest love, the consuming desire to protect him, the need to have him at his side; battling against the army of lingering resentment, his longing for control, his brother's irritating foibles and his wish for normality. Each regiment was so enmeshed with the others it was impossible to separate the strands.
He rubbed a hand through his shaggy crop, considering his answer. He'd never liked talking about his brother with anyone, feeling that betraying the sacred nature of their relationship was something akin to blasphemy, but Zach had always been someone he'd confided in during those years of Dean's absence. His enforced absence, Sam corrected himself.
"No, that's not why" He admitted with a pregnant sigh, not sure he could even justify the way he had cut ties with his family, with his brother and the best friend he'd ever had.
"I wanted out of the family business. Dean didn't. I wanted to be safe, and he was always going to bring danger with him. It was never about cutting him off, somehow that's just how it ended up. Every time he called, he'd tell me about whatever hunt he and my Dad were on, it was like he never wanted to listen to what I was doing, like it didn't even matter. I could always tell when he'd been hurt, even though he'd never admit it, and it used to drive me crazy. And then he started asking me to come back, even just for a weekend, to help out with one thing or another. I felt so bad for saying 'no' every time that one day I flipped out and told him to stop calling. And he did"
"Sounds like you're still mad at him for all that?" Zach tentatively suggested.
"I guess I am, although I know I didn't handle things the way I should have. I know I hurt him" Sam swallowed against the lump that had formed in his throat without him noticing. "I just wanted my own life. Dean and my Dad have been bossing me around since...forever, and then after Jess...after it all fell apart, it was like we just went back to the way we were before"
"So why do you stay with him?" The question was reasonable enough, but it seemed to Sam like his answer would be of seminal importance.
"Because when all's said and done, he's my family. My Dad's off god knows where...Dean's been there for me, through everything. He's my brother" And I love the stubborn jerk. He left the words unspoken, but they were implicit in all that he did say. "I just don't get why he tries to control me all the time"
"Can I say something?" Zach asked cautiously, looking worried that he might regret being so forthright.
"Of course" Sam didn't hesitate.
"Well, I don't know Dean. I mean, I just met the guy, but from what I've seen...he might be a little heavy-handed about it, but he worries about you Sam. It's a habit us big brothers find pretty hard to shake, even when deep down we know you guys can take care of yourselves. I mean, when I was framed...when I was in jail...I wasn't worried so much for myself, more about how I wasn't going to be able to be there for Becca"
Sam dropped his gaze as he pondered this. Had he completely missed the point? He'd spent his whole life feeling so constrained that he hadn't really stopped to think that it might have been fear and love that drove it all. He frowned, measuring how Dean's propensity to dish out orders seemed to increase in direct proportion to how much danger he thought Sam was in.
Damn.
"Okay, I get that" Sam conceded. "It's just, one of the reasons I wanted to come here so badly was because I wanted to be in charge over my own life" And that included being able to pursue the demon in the way he chose.
"Yeah, and you're entitled to that. No question. But look at things from Dean's perspective. The guy would do anything for you Sam, it doesn't take a genius to work it out, and sometimes that translates into over-protectiveness. I mean, it can't have been easy for him to let you come back here, but it sounds like he dropped everything to follow you"
Sam grimaced internally when he remembered how he'd manipulated that very devotion in order to force his brother to come with him. Why was it that he could use the knowledge when it suited him, and then conveniently forget it when it didn't fit in with his plans?
"I get where he's coming from Sam. I never really told you this, but our parents weren't around much when Becca and I were growing up. They loved us, sure, but there was always some gala or charity dinner, or an invitation from friends in Europe or whatever. I mean, we had a nanny, but it wasn't really the same. At that time it seemed like it was me and Becca against everyone else. I guess I felt pretty responsible for her. Sometimes all she had to do was sneeze and I'd be dialling 911!" He smiled self-deprecatingly at the reminiscence.
"I didn't know" Sam murmured, finding his affinity for the other man growing stronger. He'd always thought Zach had been privileged with everything he'd never been lucky enough to get. It made his own convoluted relationship with his family seem not so unusual after all. "It was the same for Dean and me. Our mom died when he was four and when I was just a baby, and Dad wasn't around much after. Dean's kind of been both parents rolled into one ever since"
Damn, damn, damn. This wasn't supposed to be happening. He was meant to be adding kindling to his ire to stop the flame from sputtering out, not slowly coming to the inconvenient and guilt-inducing realisation that Dean had basically devoted his whole life to raising him. All of a sudden, as if Zach's revelation had unlocked a long forgotten doorway, Sam became the unwilling recipient of all the remembered times that Dean had subjugated his own wants, his own dreams, for those of his family.
Remorsefully, he remembered some of the conversations he'd had with Dean during and after that awful nightmare with Max Miller. The epiphany had been all about his father then, and about rediscovering his sense of perspective on how John Winchester had raised the two of them. It occurred to him now, just how little he had recognised the role his brother had played. Just how much he had dismissed him.
We're lucky we had Dad...All things considered, we turned out okay. Thanks to him.
You have something Max didn't.
What, you mean Dad? Cos he's not here Dean.
No, me.
He squirmed uncomfortably. How could he have been so oblivious? He shouldn't have been thanking his father; he should have been thanking his brother.
He could not pinpoint one single time that Dean had truly taken something for himself, had put his own needs first. It had been all about serving those of his family. And then with disturbing clarity, he finally got it. He felt guilt's stabbing pain in his side as the whole situation became so obvious that he wondered how he could ever have questioned it.
Dean's family was the most important thing to him in the world. All he'd ever wanted to do was protect them, no matter what the cost to himself. Sam felt the shame engulf him as he began to recognise, for the first time it seemed, that it had never been about control. It had been about doing what he thought was right for his family. That was why he'd told their father to leave. And now that Sam had finally come to his senses, it was as if the floodgates had opened – his mind accusingly presenting him with all the evidence he'd arrogantly disregarded in his temper.
They're gonna use us to get to him...Dad's vulnerable when he's with us. He... he's stronger without us around.
Dad it was a trap. I didn't know, I'm sorry.
Why do you think I drag you everywhere? Huh? I mean, why do you think I came and got you at Stanford in the first place?
'Cause Dad was in trouble. 'Cause you wanted to find the thing that killed Mom.
Yes, that, but it's more than that, man. You and me and Dad, I mean, I want us to... I want us to be together again. I want us to be a family again.
As if it was possible for him to feel any more of a jerk. If he'd thought the lump in his throat had been bad before, it was practically suffocating him now. He tried to take a breath, shuddering as he felt the beginnings of tears pricking at his eyes.
He stared unseeingly into the remains of his dinner, systematically whipping himself for all of the nasty things he'd said over the past few days, for the ways he'd been unjustly punishing his brother. Dean was far from perfect, and Sam still thought he was wrong about their father being safer without them, but he hadn't been the ogre Sam had made him out to be.
Dean dreaded being alone, he'd admitted as much during their blow-out argument the previous night. The only thing he'd apparently ever wanted was for his family to stay together. Why had Sam never considered how hard it must have been for him to let his father – the man he idolised with almost religious fervour – walk away like that?
Sam realised he must have been silent for some time when a hand waved in front of his face. Jumping slightly, he noticed Zach had moved to stand next to him, and had apparently been trying for several moments to catch his attention.
"Huh?" He blurted groggily, feeling as if he'd just been pulled from a deep sleep.
"You okay, Sam?" Zach's features were drawn in concern, but all of a sudden Sam found he couldn't be bothered with him in that moment. He needed to speak to Dean. Right now.
"I gotta call him" He muttered, barely aware that he had ignored his friend's question. No he was friggin' not okay. Wouldn't be anywhere in the region of okay until he'd sorted all this out. He stood abruptly and patted his jeans pockets for the new cellphone Dean had brought him earlier along with the duffel of clothes, before remembering that he'd left it in his jacket.
He pushed blindly past Zach and hurried along the hallway to the room he'd claimed for his own earlier, aware as he passed Rebecca's room that she was still on the phone when he heard her giggling through the closed door. His jacket was lying where he'd conscientiously laid it earlier, it's careful arrangement serving as a mocking reminder of how Dean had casually hung his on the back of his chair. Even then his big brother had been giving off vibes of impermanence.
He pulled his phone from the pocket and swiftly pressed the speed dial with practised ease. His heart thumped insistently as he counted the rings.
Voicemail.
He tried not to give his disappointment a platform, but someone seemed to have alerted the media nonetheless. Briefly he considered leaving a message, but was forced to admit to himself that he didn't want to sound like a lovesick puppy begging his brother to come home so they could make up after their fight. Dean wouldn't like hearing it any more than Sam would like saying it.
No, the missed call would be enough to get his brother back. He was sure of it.
The Warren's living room wasn't quite as intimidating as the dining room - the slightly rumpled cushions on the couches, and DVDs scattered on the rug like sacrificial offerings before the plasma screen TV betraying the fact that this room appeared to actually be used with some regularity. These small blemishes didn't detract however, from the dispassionately tasteful way the room was put together; from the shiny black leather of the couches, to the stained wood floors and the disconcertingly futuristic gadgets.
Sam had spent so much time in motel rooms where the modernity clock seemed to have stopped somewhere back in the 1970s, that when Zach had first shown him the room it had taken him several moments to adjust – to realise that they hadn't stepped from the immaculate hallway into the twenty-second century by mistake.
But at that moment he could barely have said what room he was actually in. He could feel the smooth leather couch beneath him, creaking as he fidgeted agitatedly, but his entire world had narrowed to the width of a cellphone screen. He'd been staring at it for close to an hour now, leg bouncing restlessly; the kinetic energy potential that worry had been busy collecting inside him needing some form of outlet before his body exploded from the tension.
Dean hadn't called.
If pressed, Sam could probably have invented a thousand reasons why he hadn't heard from his brother – each one more unlikely than the next, and none of them involving anything remotely dangerous. But why waste the energy when he knew, just friggin' knew, that something was wrong.
He couldn't have said what, or why. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that he'd nearly been murdered the previous night. Maybe whoever had come after Sam had decided to go after his brother instead.
Or maybe it was because he remembered the dizzying way Dean had swayed when he'd pushed himself up from the dining room chair, the way he'd grabbed onto the carved piece of furniture like it was some sort of crutch, the latent fatigue in his normally smooth motion.
Dean was still injured, dammit, and Sam had pushed and prodded until he hadn't been able to take any more. His brother was out there somewhere, most likely staggering stubbornly around, unable to fully protect himself. And it was all his fault.
Okay, that was it. He was calling again, dignity be damned!
Voicemail. Again. And again for the next three times Sam jammed his finger on the speed dial.
He was dimly aware of his friends perched on the opposite couch, eyes tracking him with nervous concern as if he was having some sort of breakdown and would require immediate sedation. Which he would, if he didn't get hold of his brother soon.
Unbidden, images of sitting restlessly in that dreary bus station in Indiana waiting frantically for Dean to answer his phone floated tauntingly before his eyes. The older man had been silent for several hours then, but Sam had always wondered what he might have prevented if he'd just gone after his brother after the first few missed calls.
His heart clenched with a jarring thump as he remembered stumbling across his brother lashed to a tree in that creepy apple orchard outside Burkittsville, a helpless sacrificial victim to the homicidal scarecrow god that resided there. If he'd been any later...
Or if he'd just swallowed his pride and stayed with him, rather than walking away, it might never have come that close in the first place. For all the elder Winchester liked to think of himself as the protector of their partnership, it seemed he could hardly go anywhere by himself without trouble befalling him. Sometimes Sam felt like the bodyguard of the relationship, like a harried parent rushing to remove all sharp implements from the path of an errant toddler.
"Still nothing?" Rebecca's brows were pinched into a textbook picture of worry, but the loaded glance she shared with her brother revealed it as the sham it was. Sam could tell they both thought he was bordering on unhinged; a grown man fretting over the fact that his – also grown - big brother hadn't answered his calls for a whole hour. But then they didn't know how danger dogged his grown big brother's heels like an over-enthusiastic puppy.
"No" Sam muttered darkly, eyes boring into the cellphone screen, willing it to come to life in his hand. He'd even have happily accepted some sort of psychic intervention right then, if it would only tell him where Dean was. He squeezed his eyes closed in frustration, ignoring the haunting multi-coloured after-effect on his vision from staring so long at the cellphone screen.
"Look, man, I get that you're worried...but don't you think he's probably just in one of the bars downtown? Maybe the noise is so loud he can't hear his phone. Or maybe he's just ignoring you cos he's still pissed" Zach sat forward, hands gesturing earnestly as the leather groaned jarringly from beneath him at his movement.
"He wouldn't do that!" Sam snapped, gaze whipping up from the phone to focus accusingly on his friends. "When we're on a case we always answer the phone. Too many things can go wrong. If he's not answering, it's because he literally can't"
At their dumbfounded expressions, his taut features loosened off as he relented and explained. "Look, the last time something like this happened...the last time he repeatedly didn't answer his phone...he nearly ended up being sacrificed to a Pagan god, okay? I almost didn't get to him in time" He swallowed convulsively, trying to ward off the nausea at the thought of what he might have found in that orchard if he'd been a few minutes later.
Dean had told him about the leathery tattoo on the scarecrow's arm.
Sam knew he'd gotten through to Zach and Rebecca by the twin slack-jawed expressions on their faces. It must have been difficult for them to accept, but at that point he couldn't have cared less – and that in itself told him just how little all of that now mattered to him. On some level he knew it was a miracle they hadn't kicked him out, especially when he kept dropping bombshells about all the horrors that were really out there in the world. And he was grateful. Truly. But when Dean's whereabouts was a mystery he couldn't worry about walking on eggshells around his friends.
"R-really?" Rebecca stuttered, which Sam found surprising since she was the one who'd come face to face with a friggin' shapeshifter, and had watched it transform before her eyes.
He nodded tersely, and shot a compulsive glance back towards his phone – pointless really, since he already had the ring tone on the loudest setting.
Unable to sit any longer, he began pacing the room, his long strides eating up the distance between the walls as he settled into a back and forth rhythm, the phone plastered to his ear throughout. He closed his eyes in frustration as it taunted him with the voicemail every time. Only the vain hope that his brother would call back stopped him from smashing it into pieces against a perfectly manicured wall.
Becoming aware that his pacing was getting him nowhere, not to mention upsetting his friends, he forcibly slowed his gait and wandered to the window – more out of reflex than out of any genuine belief that he'd see anything on the street outside. The anxiety was beginning to twist at his insides now, writhing and churning revoltingly.
But the second he looked out the window, that ceased to be a problem as his stomach dropped straight to his feet, his body going rigid at the sight staring back at him. The Impala was sitting contentedly outside the apartment block like a faithful sentry. For a moment he felt the warmth of relief flow through him at the car's comforting presence, before it suddenly turned his blood to ice in his veins.
He remembered the millennia spent circling the block earlier that afternoon, Dean grumbling and grouching about the lack of available parking spaces, and then his brother's eventual infectious jubilation at finding one just in front of the main door. Parking could be like a fight to the death in this neighbourhood. The instant one person abandoned their space, there were always fifty others waiting to scrap for the meagre piece of asphalt left.
The Impala was sitting exactly where they had parked it hours earlier. It hadn't moved.
Rebecca was at his side instantly, her grip claw-like on his arm. "What is it?"
He wordlessly pointed to the Impala, the street lights reflecting off the shiny, metallic fenders and winking mockingly up at them.
Zach materialised at his other side. "Maybe he walked..." He suggested hopefully. But it was a feeble excuse, and they all knew it.
"Where would he walk to? There's nothing here!" Sam's Dean-o-meter had already bypassed 'extreme concern' several seconds ago and was well on its way to 'full-blown panic'. Dean didn't like walking, had whined irritatingly about that very fact to Sam only a couple of nights ago as they'd headed to Pedro's. Even if he'd wanted to go somewhere to think, it usually involved alcohol and a bar stool. There was nowhere nearby that would fit those requirements.
Not to mention the fact Dean could barely stay upright. "No, he's in trouble. We've gotta go look for him"
Sam was in the bedroom throwing his jacket around his shoulders before he was aware of having even moved, but even the brief second that that information took to register in his brain was a second wasted. He needed to be outside already.
Barely pausing to check that his friends were following him, he wrenched open the apartment door that Dean had closed so tersely just hours before, not stopping to wince or apologise when he heard it ricochet off the interior wall. He was dimly conscious of footsteps behind him, calling his name, entreating him to wait. He ignored it all.
He practically threw himself down the polished metallic stairs, not wanting to stand around waiting for the elevator. Besides, Dean always called him a pansy if he took an elevator for anything lower than the fifth floor. He tried to smile at the memory, but sometimes there was a fine line between laughing and crying, especially where Dean was concerned.
I'm not gonna die in a hospital where the nurses aren't even hot.
Narrowly avoiding falling flat on his face as he tripped down the final few steps, he skidded along the marble ice-rink in the entrance foyer and nearly had to grab the main door to avoid landing on his ass. He smiled involuntarily as he remembered Dean's muttered comment when they'd first arrived about the whole place being a lawsuit waiting to happen. His brother's derision had irritated him at the time, but now he would have given anything to hear the condescending phrase as often as Dean wanted to say it.
A dishevelled looking Zach and Rebecca caught up with him as he righted his balance and they exited together, finally coming to a pause on the pathway, the urgent rush to get out of the apartment giving way to a sudden aimlessness now that they were actually on the street.
Sam strode forward to lay a diagnostic hand on the Impala's hood, the test confirming his earlier fears. "It's cold" He pivoted back to face his friends, at a loss as to how they were going to proceed. He glanced up and down the street, hoping irrationally that Dean would somehow pop up from behind one of the parked cars and laugh at him for being such a girl.
He waited a beat anyway, but there was nothing.
Mouth twisting wretchedly, he looked almost pleadingly from Zach to Rebecca, as if expecting them to click their fingers and produce Dean out of thin air. All they could do, however, was stare helplessly back at him. Following his lead.
He'd have given anything for one of Dean's orders in that moment, for his brother to step up and take the helm from his grossly incompetent grasp.
Clenching his jaw, he surveyed his surroundings once more, trying to decide which way his brother might have wandered – for although he was sure Dean hadn't intentionally gone walkabout, he could have staggered somewhere and passed out. His insides clenched at the the image of his brother slumped in a random doorway, vulnerable and defenceless. He had to find him.
Pressing the phone to his ear, he desperately tried his brother's cell once more, not out of any real expectation of reaching him, but because it felt like the only tangible link he had – aside from the stone cold Impala. As he counted the rings in his head, he noticed Zach's expression change slightly, gaining an alertness it had lacked before.
"What?" He demanded, not caring that he was edging towards the hysterical.
Zach's gaze snapped round to meet his, and he held up a finger to still Sam's questions. "I thought-I thought I heard something"
"What? What did you hear?" Sam ignored his friend's gesture and stepped intimidatingly into his personal space.
It occurred to Sam, in the minuscule part of his mind that wasn't relentlessly focused on Dean, that Zach might be somewhat taken aback at this unusual show of aggression from his normally reserved old friend. A few months ago – hell, even a few hours ago – that would have mattered to Sam. But he was surprised at how little it bothered him.
The only outward sign that Zach had noticed his friend's display was a slight narrowing of his eyes, but otherwise he remained focussed on the sound he had heard. "Shhh! I think it was coming from over there somewhere" He gestured to a shady alleyway that separated the Warren's apartment complex from it's almost indistinguishable neighbour. "Try Dean's phone again"
Sam frowned questioningly, but at Zach's impatient "Come on!" he did what he was told.
"I think...it sounds...Sam it sounds like a ring tone" Sam was moving before Zach had even finished speaking, dawn breaking in his mind with the jolting realisation that the tone was his brother's. His emotions ticked back and forth like a metronome, not seeming to know whether they wanted to flood his body with relief or paralyse it with fear. As the metronome slowed, the resulting combination was an odd mix of floating giddiness, his limbs feeling strangely disconnected from his body.
Dean was in that alleyway. He wasn't missing. But what state would Sam find him in?
The young hunter was at the mouth of the alleyway before his friends could even register his movement. He paused with catlike stealth, squinting into the gloom. Apart from a scrum of dumpsters at the far end, where the pathway turned a corner, and some partially disintegrated scraps of newspapers, Sam could see nothing of interest. There were no Dean-sized lumps sprawled on the rough concrete.
Sam wanted to breath a sigh of relief, but realised that his fears were so far from being allayed they weren't even in the same universe. There was something in the fetid air, something that tingled at the back of his neck and set off a series of chain reactions shuddering down his spine.
His keen senses picked up the presence of his friends behind him, unconsciously mapping their positions as he reached for the gun he had secreted in his waistband before his flight from the apartment. Dean had talked about having a 'feeling' back in Nebraska, a sensation that – as a hunter – he'd known to trust. Sam hadn't really got it, until now.
Zach and Rebecca gasped simultaneously as the weapon's sleek silver glinted in the lamplight, but he again dismissed their shock as acceptable collateral damage in his hunt for Dean. Gesturing to them to wait where they were, he began to take slow, measured steps into the shadows, gun pointed unhesitatingly in front of him. It took all of his self-control not to run helter-skelter into the depths of the alleyway screaming his brother's name, but that strange sensation had slammed his guard into position like an iron portcullis, forcing him to evaluate every step, every action.
The darkness enveloped him quickly, before he had even reached the halfway point. There had been no sound, not a hint of movement. He raised the cellphone handset to his ear once more, needing to pinpoint the location of his brother's phone. He couldn't hope to stumble across it in the surrounding murkiness.
Dean's signature tone blared out suddenly in the silence, and Sam barely stopped himself from startling, even though he had been expecting it. The small pinprick of light in the distance had the young hunter finally permitting himself to break into a run, fear for his brother loosening the restraining bonds of reason. He allowed the ringing to continue as he drew closer, slowing almost to a halt mere feet from the vibrating cell, eyeing it warily as though it was an unexploded bomb. The gun felt reassuring in his hand as his eyes traversed the surrounding area. He took a small step forward, gaze focused ahead of him.
If he'd taken a larger step he might have missed it, might have passed right over it.
His toe nudged against something hard on the scrubby concrete, shifting it with a tinny scrape. He froze, his heart – which had been happily toiling away unnoticed in the background – was now flinging itself up into his throat as if desperate to escape his body. Somehow he knew before he knew, as if the weight of the object alone was enough.
His caution for his own safety evaporated as he dropped to the ground and scrabbled in the darkness until his fingers closed around the object's dull coldness. Raising himself slowly from his crouch, he stared in horror at the item he now held. He didn't need the glow of a street lamp to enlighten him. He'd know it anywhere.
It was Dean's gun.
Oh god.
Before his frantic mind could even make sense of this discovery, his probing fingers slipped across something tacky on the butt of his brother's beloved Colt. The coppery scent was almost enough to send him into a bout of retching there and then.
Oh god! It couldn't be.
But it was.
Blood.
Oh god, this was bad.
A blood covered weapon, and no Dean.
He leapt forward, the confirmation that something terrible had happened to his brother sending a bolt of lightning through him, reanimating his body with a jerk as if he'd been wakened from a cryogenic chamber. Whipping round the corner, his eyes searched desperately for some sign of Dean, praying fervently that he would find him collapsed there. A hurt Dean was a terrifying prospect, but one he could deal with.
But a hurt and missing Dean...
He's gotta be here! Sam couldn't come to terms with the idea that he wouldn't find his brother, right there, right then. But there was nothing, and the sheer futility of his quest bore down on him like an out of control freight train. Dean wasn't there.
He was gone.
Sam felt the life drain out of him as the train finally slammed into him. He put his own gun away, Dean's still clutched possessively in his grasp as he stumbled back around the corner. He bent almost reverently to retrieve his brother's cellphone, blinking back the terrified tears that had leaked out uncontrollably as he clocked the number of missed calls displayed jauntily on the cheerful brightness of the screen. That information alone told him how long the phone had been lying there.
He found himself sinking to his knees, ignoring the stinging bite of the stony ground through his jeans as he stared unseeingly at the evidence in his hands. Nearly hyperventilating in his panic, he let his head tip forward, the motion almost sending him sprawling. His head was a smorgasbord of half-finished thoughts and terror-filled conclusions.
The only idea he could grasp onto, the one notion that chopped through the foliage of dizzying alarm, was that someone – or something - had snatched his big brother. Someone had hurt him, with his own gun. There wasn't enough blood to indicate a serious injury, and Sam was sure he'd have heard a gunshot, but who knew how badly he'd been wounded?
The anxiety for his brother's safety clawed at him, far more rapaciously than when he'd thought Dean might merely have fallen unconscious somewhere, shredding his insides into ribbons of agonising fear as his mind rattled through questions.
Why the hell had Dean entered this alleyway? With his gun drawn, no less? What the hell had happened here? Who had taken him?
Sam allowed himself to freak out for thirty whole seconds before he began pulling together the strands of self-control that had been ripped and frayed at the discovery of his brother's kidnapping. Weaving them together into a tight, rigid knot he forced himself back up onto his feet. The fear was bound up irrevocably within it, but now firmly under control. All he had to do was wait for anger to arrive, and he'd be all set.
"Guys?" He called out, proud of his efforts when his voice only quavered minutely.
It didn't take long for Zach and Rebecca to reach him, their hurried footsteps echoing in the confined space like the thunderclap of galloping hooves. "Sam! What is it? What did you find?" Rebecca breathed as she clutched reflexively onto her brother's arm.
Sam turned towards them, his jaw clenched. "I found his phone...and his gun. There's blood on the butt. I think someone knocked him out"
"What?" Zach sputtered in disbelief.
Sam's answer was cold. "Someone took my brother. And I'm going to find the sonofabitch that did this to him, and then I'm going to tear them apart"
When anger finally caught up, he welcomed it with the embrace of an old friend.
Thanks for reading! We'll hear from Dean in the next one, so stay tuned!
Any comments welcome! :)