Chapter 14
THEN
Biting his lip to try stemming the pain and resting his forehead against the beam, Sam waits a moment until the pain is dialled back to a just-about manageable level before he raises his head to survey his new surroundings.
And quickly wishes he hadn't bothered as he realises he's standing at least sixty feet above the ground …
NOW
After an hour of thorough searching of the farmhouse, its immediate grounds and its small barn, Dean and Cas found all areas clean of any further magic traps or nasty surprises Rowena might have felt the need to leave behind. Now the two of them are back in the Impala. The ride into town filled with the same uncomfortable silence that had permeated the air through the majority of their investigation. In no small part thanks to flaring tempers…
"Cas! Calm the hell down. I can feel you tingling at the back of my fucking head. And I swear to God if Sam suffers any pain because you can't control your fucking powers I'm gonna knock you the fuck out!" Dean stresses bluntly.
Cas stares at him surprised before nodding sharply. Closing his eyes, the man takes several deep breaths and Dean feels that irritation at the back of his mind dissipate.
"Thank you."
"You really should cut down on the amount of profanity sprouting from your mouth, Dean," Cas states, turning away to continue their investigation into every nook and cranny of the farmhouse.
"Seriously?" Dean scoffs. "You wanna lecture me on my swearing right now, Cas?"
Cas rounds back on him. "Yes, actually. The more you limit it in everyday occurrence, the less chance you speak it around Sam."
"Sam's not here, Cas."
"And whose fault is that?!" Cas snaps. "Who let him stay at the library alone when he should be here with us?!"
"Sam wouldn't even be in here with us anyway!" Dean shoots back. "He'd've been left in the car a hundred feet from this fucking property! Cause I wouldn't for one second let him set foot in this place again without knowing that some remnant of Rowena's fucking spell isn't hanging around! And you and me both would've been okay with that, Cas! So don't give me fucking shit about letting him stay behind!"
"Better he be protected in a car you've protected through the roof than be alone at the library where anything could happen, Dean!"
"Fuck, Cas, you're ain't even listening to me right now! Go investigate the fuck upstairs and calm the fuck down! And stop asking me to change the way I fucking speak while you're at it!"
Cas' lips thin. His eyes narrow. And Dean is expecting to get a mouthful back, but instead Cas just spits, "Fine," and stamps his way up the stairs, ensuring his boots slam down on every step.
"If you fall through those things don't come crying to me!"
"Wouldn't dream of it!"
Dean's boot connects sharply with a table leg. It snaps in half and for half a second the table hovers with only two legs. Then the already damaged piece of furniture topples to the floor with such a crash he is half hoping Cas – pissed as he is – will charge back down the stairs to find out what happened.
However Cas does not show and Dean's anger dissipates as quickly as it flared at the other man. He sighs and scrubs a hand through his hair.
"Fuck."
Not their best hour. And now that silence is stifling for their close and trapped proximity.
Dean is beginning to think the break he and Cas are about to have from each other might be a good thing. However, he is not a complete bastard. He is well aware how much Cas is missing Sammy. As if the man has not seen the kid in days rather than the few short hours it has been.
Which is why Dean is pulling up outside the building housing Redfern Grove Library.
Cas finally turns from glaring heavily out the passenger window to glaring at him instead. "Why are we here?" He questions. But even through the glare Cas is unable to hide the surprised hopefulness in his eyes as he snaps, "I thought you were allowing Sam his two hours of requested freedom from us?"
Dean has to clamp down on the flash of anger wishing to rise and bite back at the other man. Instead, as calmly as he can manage, he says, "Never said we weren't gonna check up on the kid, did I? Besides Sam's voice sounded scratchy on the phone earlier. Like it does after he's been crying or throwing up."
"He should have told you if he was still feeling poorly," Cas remarks, eyes narrowed in displeasure.
Dean raises an eyebrow. "Yeah, he should've. But he didn't 'cause he knows I'd've hauled his ass back to the motel. Course that'd made you happy."
"I would not have been happy Sam was still sick, Dean!" Cas shoots back, glare once again prominent. "But if it would have seen him occupying this car with us right now rather than being in a library alone, then yes, I would have preferred Sam told us the truth."
Dean bites his tongue to refrain from retorting. Because they can keep going around in circles all day with this shit. "You gonna get your ass in there or are we just gonna sit here?"
Cas glare reduces enough for him to show his surprise. "Me?"
"Not much space here for parking, man," Dean ignores the glaringly obvious free spaces in the small lot around to the side of the library as he says it. "I'll just keep the engine running. What? You don't wanna check up on the kid?"
"Yes, of course I do."
"So get in there and see Sam. Then you'll know that he's fine."
And while Dean wants to be the one checking on the kid, he will be seeing Sammy in just over an hour back at the motel, while Cas will be on his way to Vancouver. The former-angel will not be seeing the kid for a good eight to ten hours or even a day. And they cannot afford for Cas' mind to be back here when he has a drive ahead of him.
"Trouble seems to find Sam even when he is doing nothing, Dean. It's a little hard not to worry."
"You think I'm not fully aware of that?" Dean snaps, his calm slipping. "Think my protectiveness all these years has just been to irritate the hell outta Sam? Fuck, if there's a freaking nail sticking outta somethin' and Sammy's nowhere near the damn thing, you can betcha ass Sammy will somehow scratch himself on it."
"Exactly the reason he should not be left alone," Cas mutters loud enough for Dean to hear.
"Just get your ass in there," Dean instructs gruffly. Cas shoots him one last glare before opening his door and climbing out of the car. Dean leans over, calling out, "And Cas!" Cas leans down to look back into the car at him. "Do it discreetly."
"You wish for me to spy on Sam without alerting him to my presence?"
"Yeah. Didn't I just say that?"
Cas' lips purse once again and Dean lets out a sigh the second the door closes behind Cas.
#
Dean lifts his head from the backrest of his seat as the passenger door opens just under ten minutes later. He scrubs at tired eyes with his fingers, having tried to fit in a few minutes of sleep while he has the chance.
"Sam looks tired. But he's safe," Cas says once he sits his ass back on the passenger seat. Cas looks and sounds relaxed for the first time today since waking up from that nightmare of his and Dean silently congratulates himself. "He's pouring over books and making notes."
Dean nods slightly, relieved to know his kid is safe and doing okay. It allows him to put his own mind at ease as well. "Typical Sammy then," he comments as he throws the car into drive.
He pulls them back onto the road, aiming for the garage he looked into yesterday that does rental cars. The short journey continues in silence and Dean once again pulls the Impala to a stop, this time at the side of the garage.
Dean opens his door, moving to exit the car when he stops himself. Because if Dean has learnt anything from being the big brother of such a stubborn kid it is to not let arguments fester. It does not eradicate the problem. Just makes life difficult and awkward. And with Dean's personality he can easily let it continue; just wait for Cas to come to him to have this out and give Cas the cold shoulder while he is at it.
He closes the door again and turns in his seat, leaning his right arm atop the backrest while reaching out to grasp Cas' arm with his left hand. Cas stops his own climb from the car, and lets himself drop back down onto the seat.
"What is it, Dean?"
"I know how to talk in front of my baby brother, Cas," Dean makes clear. Cas blinks back at him before closing his door. "A few curse words might pop out here and there, but for the most part I keep it in check around Sammy."
"I know, Dean," Cas responds quietly. "And I'm sorry, I was just trying to help. You tell Sam not to curse yet all you can manage to do in some sentences is curse. I just… I don't want our little boy getting into trouble because he's copying you. And-and I'm scared, Dean. Which is not an unknown emotion to me concerning you and Sam. But on this level? As if a part of me will die if I were to lose either of you … I don't know what to do with that, Dean."
Dean sighs softly. "All I can tell you is that we deal with it together," he says, reaching out and gripping the other man's shoulder. "Just as Sam and I have had to. We make it work. And kick anyone's ass that thinks they can get to Sammy. Or you. Or me."
"And if we're not fast enough?"
Dean knows the answer to that but he is not going to voice it. "C'mere," he says softly, bringing Cas against him, wrapping solid arms around his partner's slightly trembling frame.
They take just a minute to absorb each other's apology before Dean pulls back. "That niggling at the back of my head's flaring again," Dean calmly points out this time.
"Dammit." Cas pushes further back from him, closing his eyes and reaching up to rub his fingers against his temples. "Should this not be harder for you, Dean?" he grouches. "You have had powers for five minutes."
"Yeah and I get it, man, I do. It ain't easy. You've had your powers for centuries. But have you ever had to control them like this with such a tight rein?"
"I learnt to work with my grace as a fledgling, just as all fledgling angels do, but this… Knowing my grace will cause serious harm to someone I greatly care about if even a fraction is unleashed…" Cas shakes his head. "No. I have never had to stop my grace flowing before it even starts."
"There's your answer. I may not have had these powers very long but I know how to clamp a vice down on 'em in a way you've never had to before."
"Then perhaps you can teach me. I don't want to cause Sam further harm."
"We can give it a try. I dunno if I can put it into words though. I just …" Dean shrugs somewhat self-consciously, "… I won't allow these frigging powers control me like a whole heap of shit has done lately."
"So… you control them," Cas murmurs, fingers tapping an unknown rhythm on Dean's knee. "My grace… I do not control it. I work with it. Perhaps that is where I have been erring. I have been thinking of the powers the way I did as an angel. But I should be thinking of them as a human. And as a human they can overpower me if I do not control them." Cas stops his tapping to stare beseechingly at Dean as if he should have all the answers. "How do I do that, Dean?" he demands.
#SPN#
Sam really wishes he had not left his pacifier behind at the motel.
He generally does not think about what he could be introducing into his body every time he sticks his thumb or fingers in his mouth. But even he is aware enough to know that with all the dirt and dust surrounding him, he would be behaving like an idiot if he were to use his thumb or fingers to soothe him right now.
Nor does he usually wish for a freaking pacifier or his thumb to begin with in these situations. He is usually more focused on finding a way out and getting to his brother. Or getting both of them out. Whatever the situation, Sam does not usually crave the comfort of his pacifier or thumb …
Dean, the little boy in him rises up and cries out for big brother and Sam clamps his teeth down on his bottom lip to prevent the whimper of his brother's name escaping into the still air.
Uh-uh no, Sammy, you don't get to be here right now, he silently scolds, wrestling back some semblance of control from his inner child. I gotta… Sam shakes his head, trying to clear the sting from his eyes. I gotta focus. Go 'way.
He lasts barely a minute before his shirt collar finds its way into his mouth. It does not taste particularly pleasant but suckling against it does help him onto the path of calming his roiling emotions and allow him to settle his mind.
Because freaking out is not going to do him any good.
He is only sixty feet in the air.
That's… that's practically on the ground.
Yeah.
So near the ground there is barely any space between him and the grime he is pretty sure is coating the floor of this derelict building Crowley has planted his butt in.
Because who doesn't want to be hanging out in abandoned places?
It is not like it is a new concept to Sam. He just much prefers those shit-holes to be a little closer to ground level. And reasonably in one piece.
Not this place with its heaviness of expectation and foreboding; as if it is just waiting for one more life-form to creak its way across the debris Sam glimpsed below. With walls so tall and never-ending; encircling Sam as if preparing him to be the victim of an ambush. And as Sam shifts his butt a little so he can feel the metal of his gun still safely stashed away in his jeans waistband, he can only hope that is not going to be the case here.
The empty spaces where windows once stood are now only shattered remains with sharp pieces scattered in frames here and there. It honestly resembles something that has been through a war. And Sam can only pray nothing so dramatic befell it. That it is just another building that has been neglected over too many years.
Otherwise the possibility Crowley has sent him somewhere no longer in the States is too great. And Sam really cannot think about that. Because then how will Dean and Cas get to him when Cas can no longer use his teleportation? Or how will they even find him to begin with?
It is also not very helpful that Crowley has landed him in the middle of everything.
The concrete beam Sam is clinging to looks to be part of a set of two standing at roughly four feet in length from each other. They hold up his only safety; a small, narrow and crumbling slab of concrete sitting beneath his feet that once belonged to a staircase. The ledge jagged at the edges where it must have previously disintegrated.
The beams are wide and thick. The one he is clinging to holds the remains of a sloping balustrade jutting out of it; the wood sagging in the middle and the spindles completely missing. It would not be sturdy enough to hold his weight to get him down to the next level. And with his broken arm there is no way in hell he could even chance trying to shimmy his way down either of the beams to the next standing level without falling to his death.
Not to mention the concrete is crumbling in places and Sam can see the rebar through a coating of thin vines snaking their way around the beams. And those things would have only helped to get him killed.
It is all ominously far from any comfort to Sam and tells him only one thing: he has no way down.
He is a fly caught neatly in the King of Hell's web for the sole purpose of luring in Dean.
And for what?
For Crowley to demand they go find Rowena?
Um, yeah, funny thing is, Sam is pretty sure they were doing something before Crowley came barging in.
Now what was it exactly?
Oh yeah… looking for Rowena.
"CROWLEY!" Sam yells, his voice echoing all around him.
As pissed as Sam is he is hoping the dick demon can hear him wherever the hell he is. And he continues to yell out the King of Hell's name repeatedly until he slumps against the concrete beam. He could yell himself hoarse doing this and it will gain him nothing save for the satisfaction of releasing his frustration.
And a sore throat.
Because of course Crowley is a freaking demon and not an angel. He cannot be summoned by yelling or praying; the bastard has to be summoned the old fashioned way with a summoning spell. Or by phone; cause demons got with the program and joined the twenty first century. Yay them.
None of it helps Sam right now when he has no access to a phone or the materials for a summoning spell.
He is up shit creek without any paddles.
Sam snorts humourlessly. He really does not want to think about paddles right now. Not when he already has a spanking awaiting him and now could be facing a potential paddling on top of it.
Because thanks to Crowley, Sam's little trip to the library has turned into a dangerous situation.
Meaning Sam's actions in leaving the safety of the motel room - leaving the safety of Dean and Cas - has planted him firmly over that line that correlates to placing his life in danger. The line that brings out the hairbrush. And Sam really does not want to feel that on his bottom any more than he does Dean's hand.
Sam kicks out at a small chunk of concrete. It sails over the edge of the ledge and he listens to the clatter of it hitting crap on its way down to the ground with some satisfaction.
Until he swiftly remembers that could easily be him.
Which is only proven all the more possible when a piece of the ledge he is standing on crumbles away beneath his boot. He scuttles backwards, tightening his hold on the beam as he goes, wincing at the pain flaring in his left arm.
Then he feels something drop on his forehead, soon followed by another. He shakes his head, hoping it is not a whole bunch of spiders coming to eat him, while cursing his brother for letting him watch Arachnophobia. Feeling several more drops on his hair a second later, something worse overrides the idea of a killer spider invasion.
And slowly turning his gaze upwards to the holes in the roof several destroyed storeys above him, he scowls at the dark rain clouds overhead just before the heavens decide to fully open.
"That's just great," Sam mutters grumpily as he ducks his head back down.
#SPN#
Dean paces the motel room like a caged animal. Crossing from one wall to the next. Then hits repeat. All the while his phone is glued to his ear and he shoots glances down at his watch every other second.
It had only taken him ten minutes to get back to the motel after hiring the car for Cas and seeing his partner off, helpfully pointing him in the direction of Canada. Dean then spent the twenty minutes leading up to Sam's curfew simultaneously packing their crap and flicking the curtain to peer outside at the lot, expecting to see Sammy heading in.
But it is now twenty-five after ten.
Sam is ten minutes late and not answering his phone.
And there is a churning in Dean's gut he just wants to put down to the kid testing him.
But Dean knows Sam would not chance being on the receiving end of a second spanking. Just as Dean promised the kid he will be getting if he blatantly disobeys Dean all over again.
"Sam, answer your goddamn phone!" Dean growls into it for the sixth time when it goes over to voicemail.
It is plausible, of course, the kid just fell asleep or lost track of time. It would not be the first occurrence of that. But Dean shakes his head. Sam is sensible enough to have set an alarm to alert him to his limited time just as Dean had done.
The kid's butt is on the line here after all.
And they have a rule about always picking up the phone when they are apart. It may stand unspoken but it stands nonetheless. Sammy would not be so irresponsible with both being late and not answering his phone unless something had happened.
That feeling in his gut increases at the thought. A thought that has not really left him since Cas voiced his dream; his fears that Sammy is not safe out there. No matter what Dean may have indicated otherwise to Cas.
"Screw it," he snaps as he shuts off the call, grabbing up his jacket from where he discarded it on the table when he got here.
Opening the door, he just manages to remember to lock it before he is in the Impala and speeding out of the parking lot onto the main road back into town. He keeps his eyes peeled along the sidewalks for any sign of his Sasquatch, but it becomes apparent his brother is not out there.
Dean presses down on the gas.
Dammit! What the hell had he been thinking in letting Sammy stay at the fucking library alone? The kid does not even have the demon knife with him; the weapon now sits in Dean's pocket. And Sam knows he takes that knife with him if he and Dean are not together. So now Dean's hand is going to have to connect with Sam's butt in three extra swats for that little slip-up.
Dean shakes his head. Fuck. Cas was right. They should have gone to get the kid straight away. Not let Sam dictate the way this went by playing that little 'freedom' card.
Dean knows he is protective. He fucking knows Sam might feel suffocated by it sometimes. That was the primary reason he had allowed Sam's requested hours of freedom. To let the kid get back to the research after being sick, and use it to get his head together. Because he meant it when he said Sammy is more likely to be the one to figure out these aftereffects from the spell.
But is Dean meant to do a one-eighty in personality? Just sit back and let Sam do whatever the hell he wants whenever he wants to do it?
Let a child rule the roost?
Yeah. Fuck that.
Sam had demanded that of him once and it nearly destroyed them both.
It had destroyed Sam in the consequential end.
Dean will not sit back and let something like that happen again. Sammy has had his allotted time for research and now the kid should be taking a nap in the backseat of the car on the way to Seattle. Or colouring. Or playing with his new toys Dean has yet to give him. Not … Dean's hands tighten on the steering wheel, shoving the thought aside.
He is just jumping to conclusions. He is unaware of anything having happened yet.
But if this lateness, this feeling in his gut, turns out to be something far worse, Dean is gluing the kid to his fucking side.
#SPN#
It only takes minutes for the biting rain to soak through Sam's clothing. And with only his thin shirts and no winter jacket or gloves helping to shield his body from the cold, he is going to end up getting sick again at this rate. And that is the last thing they need now. They have already wasted five days with sickness thanks to him. They cannot afford to waste anymore.
Which means he needs to get out of the rain before he can get any wetter. Or at least cross to a dryer patch of ledge. Unfortunately for him, that resides on the other side of the ledge where several portions of fallen ceiling have created a little alcove. He would just need to cross the roughly four foot distance separating the two beams without wobbling or slipping off the crumbling ledge and plunging to his death.
Maybe he should suggest to Dean they need a vacation. Somewhere hot. Like Hawaii. Sam shakes his head. He would never suggest a vacation spot like that. He knows that even though they now have greater funds thanks to the Men of Letters accounts, they still live to a budget Dean has carefully worked out and organised for the years to come.
If they live that long.
Sam likes to think it will be so. He often prays it will be so. At least for his brother. Dean should get to grow to be an old man; settle down and have a family of his own. If anyone deserves to have that it is Dean.
Unfortunately Sam may be naïve when it comes to some things, but he is no longer that naïve when it comes to his brother's mortality. Or his own.
Hell, look where he is.
And he is about to try to cross a ledge that houses a sixty-foot drop either side if he makes one false move.
It's gonna be fun.
Sam swallows thickly against encroaching panic.
He can do this.
Unfortunately for every idea that pops into his mind to get him across the space, his brain throws in the risk factor that his emotions are leaning all too heavily towards.
Maybe if he walks across it will only take two or three strides of his long legs; but that could easily generate wobbling and he cannot hold both arms out either side of him for proper balance.
Yep, scratch that one.
He could butt shuffle his way across; he will not be able to use his left arm to steady himself from behind though.
That one too.
On and on it goes until he reaches the conclusion that he will just have to go the way of trusted hands and knees. Though he will have to try not to place too much weight on his left arm.
Yeah, he can do that.
Once he releases his hold on the beam he is clinging too of course. And does not make the mistake of looking down again.
That depth really is not comforting.
Sam latches hold of his shirt collar again. It is wet with rain as he suckles. But at least it is only water, and his saliva is only adding to the wetness anyway. So what does it matter as long as it calms him?
He closes his eyes, slowly forcing his numb left arm from around the beam.
The pain that fires through his forearm, down to his hand and up to his shoulder, is so excruciating after being still for a long while that it brings tears to his eyes. He tries to blink them back but one betraying drop of salt water trails down his cheek. He angrily swipes it away against his shoulder.
This is no time for stupid tears.
Sam bites down on his shirt as he wrenches his arm away from the beam, his cry of pain absorbed by the shirt collar. He rests his forehead against the concrete and just breathes for a long moment before he pushes himself backwards and slowly turns around.
Carefully slipping down to his knees, Sam has to cradle his useless left arm to his chest while pushing forwards onto his right. Some vague memory of having his arm casted and in a sling when he was younger invades his mind; and his ability to adapt to the situation, crawling around the floor while playing and easily using just the one arm to do so.
Well if shrimp me could do it, so can I, Sam encourages himself, shuffling forwards slowly with his left knee, then his right hand, then right knee, then left knee again. He stills as he wobbles slightly against the imbalance, fear lancing through him as he gets too much of a look downwards over the side of the ledge.
He blows out a breath, steadies himself and perseveres.
He has too.
He cannot be the reason their search for Rowena is delayed yet again, as if something is purposely shoving things in their way to stop them. He knows that is a ridiculous notion, but it sure feels like it. As if something out there does not want them finding out what is going on with Dean.
He cannot be the reason Dean loses himself again. If that is what is happening. Dean deserves not to have his own control ripped away from him. Dean deserves to have a hell of a lot more than that, but right now that is all Sam can try and fix.
At least he will when he gets out of here.
Reaching the alcove, Sam sighs a breath of relief once he is situated on his butt, curled back against the concrete of this new beam and protected from the majority of the rain. And more than thankful he has a knack for curling his body into small spaces despite his large size.
Now he can only hope the broken pieces of ceiling above him do not cave in.
#SPN#
Pushing through the front entrance doors of Redfern Grove Library, Dean spies nothing out of the ordinary. People are wandering about, sitting at organised tables or study cubicles; just going about their business and doing whatever the hell they came here to do.
What he does not spy is his brother. And Sammy is not all that easy to miss.
He takes his search into the stacks. The bathroom and side rooms. He still sees no fucking sign of his kid.
C'mon, Sammy, be here, Dean silently implores as he moves across to the circulation desk. Behind it stands an elderly woman that might keel over any second. Though preferably not before Dean can talk to her.
He catches her bored, dead eyes as she looks up from the thick book in her hands, and has to wonder why the hell she is working here if she is that bored out of her skull. He brushes it aside; he could care less about a person's job choices right now.
"Ma'am, have you seen a guy 'bout yay high," Dean holds his hand couple inches above his head, before bringing it to his neck, "dark hair 'bout here?"
"Mm-hmm," she hums, lips pursed.
Okay. What could Sammy have possibly done to piss her off? Kid is a goody-two-shoes in these places. "You see where he went by chance?"
She shoots him a glare. "Do I look like a watchdog to you, sonny?"
Any other day Dean might have been taken aback by her rudeness. But not today. And it is becoming apparent that Sammy more than likely did not do anything to offend her either. The woman is just a cranky old bat. Again he has to wonder how she is employed in an environment that caters to children.
"People come and go," she goes on. "That's their business. Go mind your own."
"Well, gee lady, just about everybody pisses you off, huh? Thanks for the fucking help," Dean snarls, and when she steps back in shock he would have smirked in amusement if he was not worried as fuck about his kid.
"Well, I never." He hears her murmur and rolls his eyes as he moves further into the room, intent on taking another circuit of the place.
"She's an old crank."
Dean comes to an abrupt stop, blinking down at the teenage girl now standing in his way. "What?"
"Mrs Shaw, she… never mind." She waves a fingerless glove-covered hand, the ring in her painted black bottom lip moving up and down as she talks. "You were looking for someone, right?" Dean nods, moving to sidestep her to continue that task. "Hey, wait, I heard the description of the guy you were looking for."
Dean stops, snaps his gaze back to her. "You see him?"
"Err, yeah, he's hot." She smirks, before blinking wide brown eyes as Dean unconsciously growls at the implication of the girl thinking his innocent little boy is 'hot'. "Um, he's sitting at the far table …" She quickly gestures towards the back of the room, to a table situated the farthest from the old bat at the desk. "… Or, err, well, he was," she finishes seeing the table empty.
Dean charges passed her, throwing a quick "thanks" over his shoulder.
Reaching the table a moment later, Dean's hunter-trained eyes take in everything within a matter of seconds. Sam's jacket hanging over the back of the chair; his bag on the floor and resting against the nearest table leg; his phone sitting on the desk next to a stack of books and notebook; his laptop open and though the screen is black, Dean can hear it running.
Sam's phone suddenly beeps with the usual tone he knows Sam uses for alarms. Dean snatches it up, shutting off the alarm. He runs his finger across the screen to bring up recent calls and texts. The last call was only an hour ago and a number Dean does not recognise. He presses it and sticks the phone to his ear while he rummages through the books stacked up, looking to be ready to be put away. And maybe Sammy was in that process before …
"Sam, we're good." Dean frowns at the chirpy and familiar female voice on the other end of the phone. "I got the email after applying some super-geekery to the Wi-Fi …"
"What email, Charlie?"
"Dean? Oh. Hey, big bro. How's things?"
"Charlie," Dean growls.
"Oooo-kay, someone's not in a chatty mood today. And-I-don't-wanna-get-Sam-in-trouble-in-case-he-shouldn't-have-sent-me-what-he-did."
"Breathe, Charlie," Dean instructs, thankful for all the practise his kid brother has given him over the years at understanding quick-fire speech. "Sam won't be in trouble. Just tell me what he sent you."
"A copy and translation of the spell he said he used to cure you. See if I can help, wait… you have Sam's phone. Why do I think that's not a good thing?"
"Because it's not. He say anything to you about feeling anything off where he was or …"
"Like maybe there was a supernatural fugly nearby? No. We talked about other stuff. What's going on, Dean?"
"Sam's missing."
"Well damn. Anything I can do? I'll catch the first bus out …"
"No. Stay wherever you're holed up, Charlie. I'll call if I need anything."
"Okay. And Dean?"
"Yeah?"
"Bring him home."
Dean nods, knowing the woman he views as a little sister cannot see him, but he does not think he can speak right in that second. Charlie will understand that. He shuts off the call, his gaze trailing around the library once more. Eyes searching out the baby brother he knows in his heart and gut is no longer present in Redfern Grove Library.
Shoving Sam's phone in his jeans pocket, Dean brushes his finger over the laptop touchpad. And when the screensaver does not shift into the login screen, Dean sends thanks out to whoever that he shifted the timer to last longer when he changed all the passwords yesterday. Otherwise he would be wasting time he may not have trying to access the damn computer. He knows Sam would have changed the log-in password.
Running his eyes over the screen, Dean is silently hoping against hope he finds some clue that Sam found something out and has just disobeyed Dean in going out there to search that something deeper.
He can hope, can't he?
Yeah right, Dean snorts at his own thoughts.
Because they clearly do not live in a world where a trip to the library can be filled with safety. Safety is not their world. Their world is filled with Winchester luck that has fuck all to do with luck.
There is a note open on screen. He leans in closer and squints his eyes, quickly realising the writing has purposefully been set to a tiny font that would be illegible to even those with the greatest eyesight. Highlighting the words, he changes the font size and his blood runs cold as he reads the words over:
Moosey Goosey stood on a ledge
Moosey Goosey fell on his head
All the King's minions
And all the King's henchmen
Couldn't be arsed to put Moosey together again
Hawthorne Ave, Portland, OR. Last building on the left, Squirrel.
Dean's hands close into tight fists; such violent anger pulsing through him at the King of Hell that he can practically feel himself vibrate.
Only when he hears a weird creaking sound more familiar to the setting of a forest from the groaning of trees does he realise the edge of the table is grinding and splintering between his clenched fists.
He snaps his hands away. He needs to get the hell out of here. Before he does far more damage. And not to the freaking library furniture - he could care less about that right now. His baby brother will be hurt just because Dean is angry if Dean were to lose the tight reign he has had on his powers since finding out the impact they are having on Sammy.
Dean's gut twists violently and he has to push back the urge to throw up along with the ever growing anger at Crowley. He will never hurt his kid like that. Not again. Not intentionally.
Sammy, I'm coming, kiddo.
Quickly gathering Sam's belongings - shoving everything in the kid's bag - he grabs up the jacket and heads for the exit. His arm is grabbed only two steps away from the table.
"Sir, you have to put the books away before you leave," a young guy – barely out of his teens - informs Dean, aggravation coating his tone.
Dean raises hard eyes from the fingers curled around his bicep to stare into the grey eyes of someone who has just unknowingly made himself an enemy. The hand is snatched away from Dean's arm with a gulp of rational fear.
"I-I'll just, um, just, um, do it f-for you, sir," the guy is saying, but Dean is already walking away and does not give a fuck if the guy sets the damn books on fire.
Slamming his way out of the front entrance doors, Dean digs his phone out of his pocket and calls Cas'. His former-angel should only be thirty to forty minutes out of town with the way he drives. And while Dean could easily go alone, he will not risk that action being detrimental to getting Sammy back, whole and alive.
"Dean?"
"Change of plans, Cas," Dean says gruffly, unlocking the Impala and climbing in behind the wheel. "Crowley has Sam."
"What? When?" Cas questions sharply, while Dean hears the squeal of rental tyres as Cas slams on the anchor, hopefully at the side of the road and not dead centre.
"Bastard took him out of the library." Dean dumps Sammy's belongings on the passenger side. "Left his stuff behind."
"That sounds suspicious for Crowley. He would clean up."
"Crowley wants us knowing he has Sam. Left me a note. A twisted nursery rhyme."
And the fact Crowley would choose now to manipulate a nursery rhyme does not bode well for them keeping their 'situation' under the radar. Sam's mind is an open book to a demon of Crowley's level. Dean should have pushed sooner for Sam to get the anti-possession tattoo done. And as soon as they have Sam safely back that is exactly what he intends to do.
"I knew something like this was going to happen, Dean."
"Yeah well we can yell at each other about that later," Dean shoots back. "Right now, we gotta get to Sam. Crowley was nice enough to tell us where he is."
#SPN#
It took Dean just over an hour to make it to Portland, a normal near two hour journey, and he was probably lucky to have not been pulled over as he flew down the interstate. But Cas was not far behind him, a mere twenty minutes if that. A surprising time, considering the snail-pace the self-taught man drives.
And now Dean, soaked through from the rain and not really giving a shit, holds out two guns to Cas, who takes them, along with a box of ammo. The bullets are all tipped with devils traps. And Cas' two guns, along with Dean's three, are already loaded up ready for use.
"There's no sign of Sam or Crowley in the building," Dean informs his partner, having scouted the exterior of the building during his wait for Cas.
Admittedly using the investigation as a means of distracting himself from just walking into the building alone. There is no telling what Crowley might have his demons doing to Sammy and how much the kid is suffering at their hands. He can only be grateful he heard no screams coming from within the building.
But if they are hurting Sammy, Dean intends to kill every last fucking demon that laid a hand on his kid, along with those that just watched and more than likely laughed and jeered. Dean does not intend to take prisoners. Because if they are involved in Sam's kidnapping, they have involved themselves in getting killed.
"Crowley could be keeping Sam elsewhere and will bring him when he comes," Cas theorises. "This is the correct address?" He queries, tucking one of the gun's Dean gave him into the back waistband of his jeans while fixing his gaze on the last building on the left of Hawthorne Avenue.
The building that looks as if it might collapse into its foundation if someone were to blow on it too forcefully. It does not bode well for their venture inside. But with Sam at risk from both demons and a derelict building, both of them will walk willingly into that building to find him.
There is no doubting that.
"Yeah. Course Crowley coulda been lying outta his ass," Dean supplies, dropping ammo and a flask of holy-water into his inside jacket pocket.
"He wants something from you. Us. By taking Sam he baited that hook."
"And we'll be biting. Just not the way the bastard wants it."
Dean closes the Impala's trunk just shy of taking his frustration, anger and fear out on his Baby. But even if he did, she would understand their boy is in trouble and if she could talk she would be telling Dean to go kick it in the ass.
Just as Dean intends to do right now.
He nods to Cas and they smoothly and quietly make their way to a side entrance into the building. The only entrance still viable. It will be their meeting point if and when Sam is found. And they separate the minute they step over the threshold to cover more ground.
Dean's eyes rove over every nook, every ledge or outcropping. Every fucking broken staircase up high and under every piece of broken flooring or fallen ceiling that Sam might be huddled beneath to try and keep dry from the rain.
He finds nothing. No sign of his kid. And he can only hope Cas is at least having more luck on the other side. But if Cas comes back just as empty-handed as Dean it will quickly become more than apparent that Crowley purposefully gave them the wrong fucking address. The demon probably wanting to watch them run around like headless chickens on a fucking goose chase.
Except Dean has never been a headless chicken and does not intend to start now.
Crowley has already signed his own death warrant as far as Dean is concerned. And any tentative alliance there may or may not have been between the Winchesters and the King of Hell is now a thing of the past. Crowley has screwed the pooch in taking Sammy and that is the one thing Crowley should know Dean will not stand for.
#SPN#
Sam jolts awake, unsure when he even closed his eyes, as his right hand flies up to his nose upon feeling the wetness dripping out and over his upper lip. While at the same time forgetting his tight quarters and the top of his head impacts the broken plaster of fallen ceiling creating his little alcove. He winces against the flash of pain. But thankfully he knows the hit was not hard enough for Sam to even be seeing stars or do any real damage save for perhaps a small knot later.
After all he has been in plenty of scrapes to know. And that is probably understating the crap he has gotten himself into over the years. This predicament probably does not even rate in the top five, though it is undoubtedly close.
But if there is one thing he has never lost faith in during all these years is that his brother will come charging in and kick the crap out of the thing or person who dared to take, touch or threaten Sam.
And with the extent of protectiveness Dean – and even Cas – have been displaying towards Sam lately, Crowley has more than likely just put his neck on the chopping box. Not that Sam cares.
Because a little bit of Sam – okay, maybe a little more than a little bit – is hoping he will be able to watch the beat down Dean is going to lay on Crowley. Dean might not do away with the King of Hell – that will depend on Dean's mood and whether they can risk the shit storm that Crowley's death will create with Hell – but it does not mean Crowley cannot be hurt.
Crowley cannot be trusted. His idea of helping comes with a side order of manipulation and taking Sam is just one means of manipulating Dean into doing what Crowley wants.
Sam sighs and returns his full attention back to his nose. Pulling his fingers away, he is met with what he already knew he was going to find as he can taste the iron of his blood at the back of his throat.
Tipping his head forward slightly, he has no way of blocking the flow from dripping over his clothing, but he cannot help that. His left arm is sitting useless against his chest, a rivulet of blood now trailing down his hand. And he needs his right hand to pinch the bridge of his nose just like his big brother and Cas have had to do for him over these past few days. Ever since the nosebleeds began.
But Sam was hoping he had seen an end to them. He has not had one for at least a day. But of course now his nose decides to bleed again. When he is sixty feet in the goddamn air.
Thankfully it seems to be a short one and barely two or three minutes later the flow has completely ebbed. Leaving Sam once again concerned about his situation and how the hell he is going to get himself out of this one before Dean can walk into a trap alone while Cas is on his way to Vancouver.
Though Sam is hoping Dean has the prescience to bring Cas back so they can watch each other's six. Especially for the fact Dean will be walking in blind.
Sam leans outward past the lip of his alcove so he can look up toward the hole in the roof to the outside world, trying to get a sense to the time of day. But it is still raining and the sky is still filled with dark grey rain clouds. He quietly prays he will not still be here when full darkness descends. Because then his fears will undoubtedly start to encroach upon his mind.
Ducking back fully into his alcove, Sam freezes as a feeling of ice slides down his back and his neck and arm hair stands on end. Just as it happened back at the library and this time Sam knows for definite he is sensing demons.
Two of them.
Neither one of which is Crowley.
Slowly reaching around to his back with his good arm he withdraws his gun. Before he can bring it around to his front, however, he startles backwards in tangible fear, his heart beating rapidly as a thick black cloud of demon smoke appears outside the alcove. The edges of mass start to quiver when it comes to a stop as if the pure form of the demon is laughing at him.
Which honestly does not surprise Sam.
Another long cloud of black smoke appears. It slowly winds around the other like a snake scaling a tree until it reaches the alcove and just hovers there in front of Sam, just like the other one. And if the demons had eyes in this form, Sam is more than aware they would be hungrily staring at him.
Knowing his gun is useless with the demons in this form, Sam sets it down and clamps his hand over his mouth. He knows it is stupid. If they want in they will force their way inside of him. But it makes him feel better, especially when the bodies of smoke quiver together even more.
Laughing at his fear of being invaded against his will. Again.
A noise that sounds an awful lot like metal hitting stone startles both Sam and the two demon clouds. They lift their 'heads' like snakes inspecting their surroundings before they are scattering before Sam can even blink. Within seconds that feeling of ice lifts, meaning the demons did not move to engage whatever caused that noise.
They fled completely.
And Sam wants to feel elated by the demons feeling fear of their own, but he is too preoccupied by whatever could have caused that sound.
Of course the little boy inside of him immediately jumps to one conclusion.
"Dean," Sam murmurs behind his hand, unwilling to lower it in case it is all a ruse on the demons part.
But when the demons do not return a few moments later, Sam cautiously lowers his hand. No demon jumps out at him or forces its way down his throat. And Sam slowly ducks his head out of the alcove enough to look around him and down. He snaps his head to the side having thought he caught movement out of the corner of his eye, just below and to his left.
Biting his bottom lip, Sam shuffles his way out of his alcove to peer more clearly over the edge of the ledge. Hunter trained eyes catch movement once again and Sam sucks in a breath before once again clamping a hand over his mouth, this time to mask the sound.
His eyes follow the steady rise of something scaling the wall like it is frigging Spider-Man.
And it is no demon.
A demon would not find it necessary to climb a wall when they can just appear in front of their target. And Sam does not sense anything from it.
Shifting backwards, Sam slowly withdraws his gun from the alcove and carefully makes his way back across the ledge to the furthest point from the wall. He pushes his back up against the beam, butt on the floor, feet on the floor before him, and unsteadily aims his gun. His right hand shaking from both cold and adrenaline.
#
The report of a gunshot cracks through the air as loud as thunder but without that raw power belonging to a storm and too powerful to be a car backfiring. It reverberates towards Dean from behind and he whips around, recognising the familiar sound as belonging to Sam's favoured gun.
"SAMMY!" Dean yells and wastes no time taking off towards a narrow corridor he spies at the base of the back wall, splashing through puddles as he goes.
A short moss-covered slope leads the way into the corridor but Dean just hits it with his boots and slides his way down, the momentum allowing him to continue on at a run without slowing his pace. Breeching the end of the corridor into further open space of broken building, Dean freezes in his tracks at the sight before him.
He is not exactly sure what it is he is seeing. But the thing hovering at least sixty feet up in the air could easily pass for human if it was not for the eyes. And Dean should not even be able to see them from his spot, but they are glowing a dark swirling blue with what Dean can only describe as flashes of lightning or electricity flickering within them. The thing is staring straight down at him, but Dean has the impression the creature is not actually seeing him.
But that is not the worst of it. The things stomach is twisting and swirling like a sideways whirlpool or vortex, lightning flashing across and around it just as with the eyes. And even where Dean stands he can feel the force of the power behind it.
It takes only seconds for Dean's hunter trained eyes to assimilate the observations into his mind and he is moving again, gun trained on the thing. He aims for its head and shoots. His bullet follows his intended trajectory until it gets close and then it is sucked into the vortex.
Dean sucks in a breath as he takes one more step and finds his baby brother. His heart-rate must be flying off the freaking chart with the fear that pulses through him as he sees Sammy struggling to grip hold of a thin fucking ledge and keep himself out of the monster's tornado-like fucking gut.
"Hold the fuck on, Sammy!" Dean yells, his plea echoing off the walls.
"Dean?!" Sam yells, voice filled with both relief and confusion. Just before he nearly loses his hold, icicles of fear slicing into Dean's chest only driven ever deeper from the scream that alights from his baby. "De, help me!"
"I'm trying, I'm trying, I'm trying. Fuck. What do I do? What do I do?" His gun is clearly fucking useless. The thing – whatever the hell it is - just had its gut swallow Dean's damn bullet.
Just like it wants to swallow Dean's baby.
That fear gripping him latches on ever tighter like a boa constrictor not getting the fucking message that he does not want to be squeezed to death.
A loud gasp behind him has Dean spinning around, gun raised and ready to fire only to lower it with a curse. Cas' eyes are blown wide as he stares up at the thing trying to suck Sammy in and the former-angel's words from earlier today slam into Dean like a ton of bricks.
"There is a child. Our child. The child is taken from us. Drawn into a vortex and… and we can do nothing."
And Dean realises with horrifying clarity that they are watching Cas' dream come to fucking life before their very eyes.
Well fuck that. No. That is not happening on Dean's watch. Not now. Not fucking ever.
He just… they just… fuck.
How the fuck are they meant to stop a vortex creature hell bent on taking their kid away?
"Cas, you got any clue what this thing is?" Dean snaps harshly, mind swinging from one idea to the next and discarding each and every fucking one. He grabs hold of Cas' shoulders when he receives no response and gives him a rough shake. "Cas, you know what this thing is?" he repeats.
Cas blinks and the fear in Cas' blue eyes no doubt matches that in Dean's. "No. I have only heard whispers of a creature like this, but it has never been proven or seen."
"De! Can't h-hold on …"
"Sammy, NO! Don't you let go! You hold on, you hear me!" Please, kiddo, just hold on, Dean silently pleads.
He can hear the fatigue in the echoes of his little boy's voice. See it in his long body being forced horizontally out from his hold on the ledge. And Dean knows as much as he can plead and pray for Sammy to keep holding on, the kid's strength will not hold out for much longer. And definitely not long enough for Dean and Cas to find a way to kill or stop a monster even a former-angel had no idea actually existed.
He narrows his eyes as he notices something going on with the vines of the wild plants growing and curling around the concrete beams near Sammy. And it is only as the colour starts to seep out of the vines and they break apart like ash that he realises they are wilting. And if they are wilting as if …
"Cas, it's sucking the life out of Sam!" Dean states, charging forwards only for strong arms to grab him around his chest, pulling him back. "Cas! Let me go! It's killing Sammy! Let me fucking GO!"
"Dean! Calm!" Cas snaps. "Whatever it is doing is travelling down and outwards!" Cas points to the lower vines and plants across the buildings walls and Dean stops struggling so fiercely. Even the moss is sliding down the walls. "It is sucking the life out of everything in here. It will not be long before it reaches us!"
"I'm not leaving him!" Dean smacks his elbow sharply into Cas' ribcage. The other man gasps and his hold releases enough for Dean to get out of it. "If that thing wants Sam it can take us too!" Dean exclaims, running forwards once more, his intention to climb the concrete beam to get to his kid.
Only he skids to a stop when a snarl ignites before him. He can feel a presence, but nothing is visible. And in all of Dean's history with the supernatural he knows of only one creature that sounds like a fucking dog while being invisible.
"Dean!"
"Cas! Hellhound!" Dean calls, splitting his gaze between his brother and the area from which that snarl came from.
If this thing wants to attack they do not have fucking glasses with a spell on them to view the damn thing and kill it. They are sitting ducks. And now is really NOT the fucking time for this!
"No, Dean," Cas says from right beside him, angel blade drawn and gun pointed before him – at the same area of the hellhound. "Look up."
"What?" Dean flicks his eyes upwards again and his eyes widen in surprise when he sees the ripple of a hellhound becoming visible on the ledge Sammy is hanging from.
Dean raises his gun up, squinting his left eye as he aims. He is about to fire when the hellhound's maw opens wide. Wider than Dean has ever known a hellhound, dog or Black-dog to be able to open their mouths. And then it inhales; strong and deeply, the sound like a death rattle.
Nothing happens for a long second and then Dean has to smack his hands over his ears, Cas doing the same beside him while letting out a hiss. Dean barely notices his gun catching him on the side of his head. For the cacophony of sound that sprouts from the vortex creature is like a hundred-thousand screeching voices yelling simultaneously while fingers continuously scratch up and down a blackboard all the while a jet engine fires in the background.
It is fucking painful to his eardrums. And he can just make out Sammy's scream of pain, his kid unable to cover his ears. Dean fears for the damage that could happen to his brother's eardrums being that close to the creature while it is screeching.
And he cannot help but watch in fascination as the strong inhalation from the hellhound's mouth latches hold of the vortex trying to suck Sammy in and pulls. It connects the two supernatural creatures together. And then blue thickness - a cross between inky Leviathan goo and the smoke of demons - seeps out of the creature's eye sockets; nose; mouth; ears; every orifice available and travels that connection towards the hellhound's mouth.
And with each orifice made clear, Dean realises that he had been mistaken in thinking the creature was human-like. It is human. A possessed human twisted and deformed until it only now resembles the person more as the creature is leaving it.
And if Dean was not so scared for his baby right now he would throw up at the sight of the twisted form. As it is, there is nothing he can now do for the once human life; they are passed and their soul is undoubtedly already in Heaven. Not that that is much compensation for being killed by the supernatural.
And then finally the vortex creature releases its hold on the body it was inhabiting as the last tendrils flow down the connection to be consumed by the hellhound. The force on Sammy releases as well, allowing his body to swing down vertical, only …
"NOOO!" Dean screams as he sees what is about to happen just before it does.
Sammy's grip on the ledge, weakened by fatigue and the energy sucked out of him, slips and releases with a surprised cry from the kid's mouth.
And Dean can only watch in fearful horror as his world, his very existence, falls towards the ground.