Chapter Fourteen
Sam could almost see the gears turning in his brother's mind. Dean's face was scrunched, his eyes blankly staring at a spot on Sam's bed. On a good day, Sam would tell him not to hurt himself, but this was far from a good day. It wasn't over. They hadn't stopped anything. But Vincent Newman had told the police he hadn't rigged anything to explode. It was going to be a suicide bombing, so he would have had the bomb on him. The County bomb squad had checked out the memorial park anyway and said that they hadn't found anything. Everything was safe. But it still wasn't over.
Dean's eyes finally rose to meet Sam's and he chewed on his lip before saying, "Sam, that's stretching it a bit." The quaver in his voice told Sam that his brother didn't believe that, not one bit.
"No it's not," Sam shook his head. "We must have missed something along the way. We had to have missed something," Sam started mumbling to himself as he took the piece of paper with the clues written on it and headed over to the table where his laptop sat.
"Sam," Dean said, his voice pleading. "It's over."
"Does it feel over to you?" Sam snapped, a bit harsher than he had meant to. He saw the look of hurt that passed over his brother's face and took a breath to calm himself. Dean was shaken, he wanted it to be over, of course he would fight to believe that. He didn't know why he was snapping at Dean, but he really needed his brother to back him on this one. If they worked together, they could still stop this from happening. When Dean didn't respond, Sam sighed and said, "Look, I'm going to map out everything we've done in the past few days. Maybe we'll see something that we didn't see before."
"Dude, you're not going to find anything," Dean said. "We've done everything we can. The clues lead us to a dead end. It's over."
Sam stared at his brother, not believing what he was hearing. Since when did Dean ever give up on a hunt? Sure, this wasn't exactly a hunt, and they had a shit ton of close calls, he'd give him that, but hell, Dean never left anything unfinished. Especially not when it was obvious the outcome was going to be something horrific. "We can't just give up," Sam demanded, frowning at his brother. "We still have time to figure this out."
"No, Sam," Dean's voice took on that authoritative tone that it sometimes got when Dean was making a decision. It was the same tone their Dad had used on them when it was clear there would be no arguments. And it had always worked when they were kids. But Sam wouldn't let it work now, not this time. "We're done."
"Dean," Sam said, exasperated. "These are people's lives we're talking about."
"Dammit, Sam!" Dean yelled, his voice raising as he stood up. Sam was taken aback by the aggressiveness there. The emotion was raw and again Sam found himself confused. Why was Dean being so stubborn? Didn't he realize that people were going to die if they didn't do something? "We're not doing it. Now shut up and go to bed."
"Are you kidding me?" Sam yelled back. Dean just tilted his head and pursed his lips in anger. "So we're just going to let them die? We're not even going to try and save them?"
"If that's the way you want to see it, then fine," Dean spat, his whole body shaking with his words. "We're going to let them die!"
Sam had had just about enough of this. He stood quickly and advanced on Dean, watching as his brother's posture tensed, ready to fight. Sam had no intention of fighting him and the fact that Dean thought he might made Sam's head ache. "What the hell is wrong with you?" Sam screamed, feeling his face flush with anger. "You're acting like you don't care that people are going to die. That's not you, Dean." Sam's voice softened a little at the look his brother was giving him. He looked almost on the verge of tears. It surprised him and Sam forced himself to calm down, bending his head a little to look into Dean's eyes. "What's going on?" he asked softly.
Dean stared back, chewing on his lip, peeling away thin layers of skin with his teeth. It was a nervous habit Dean had when he was a teenager, one that John had spent a long time trying to get him to quite. His brother had done it so much that it looked as though he were walking around with split lips and cold sores all the time. It didn't help that this time his lip actually was split and the nervous chewing was making it bleed. It was a weird habit, but it was the only way Sam could tell when Dean was truly upset over something.
Reaching out, he put a hand on Dean's arm, scared now at the way his brother was acting. "Dean? Just tell me what's wrong. Tell me why you don't want to do this anymore." Dean looked as if he were going to say something but then clamed up again. Sam sighed. "Look, if you're scared something's going to happen to you…"
Dean cut him off with an angry groan as he reached out and gave Sam a harsh shove. The movement surprised Sam and he had to stop himself from instinctively shoving back. "God Sam," Dean said, looking at him as if he'd just been insulted. "I'm not worried about me, you fucker," he spat, his words harsh but his voice wavering. "You're such an idiot," he said and sat down on the bed.
"Then what?" Sam demanded.
His brother didn't look up at him as he said, "Sammy, that apology is short winded." As if that should explain it all. When Sam didn't say anything, Dean looked up at him. "I'm a man of many words," he tried to joke but couldn't quite get it across. "When I give an apology, and trust me I don't give them often, I drag it out, I don't come out and say it like that. I wouldn't say it like that. Not unless…" his brother trailed off, looking horribly downhearted. Sam though he knew where his brother's thoughts were headed. But he had to make sure. He didn't want to give him any ideas if he wasn't thinking them already.
"Unless?" Sam coaxed gently.
Back to biting his lip, Dean shook his head like it was the hardest thing in the world to get his words out. "Unless you were hurt." And there it was. "Or worse." The words were broken. Sam stared at his brother, not knowing what to say. He should have guessed that Dean's nervousness was stemmed from something like this. Dean may be an ass sometimes, but he'd never just sit back and let people die when there was a possibility that he could save them, and even if there wasn't. Dean was a hero, in every aspect of the word, and he basked in that label. He loved being the hero. He lived for being the hero. He wouldn't have it any other way. Except when being the hero meant letting Sam get hurt.
"Dean," Sam said and sat down on his bed so he was eye level with his brother, but Dean wouldn't look at him. These were very rare moments when he saw his brother like this. Dean normally didn't let things like this get to him, he didn't let threats deter his resolve. He always had it in his mind that no matter what the threat, he'd be able to prove it wrong. He'd take extra caution, bring extra equipment, make sure he was completely on top of his game…
Sam suddenly realized why Dean was so uncharacteristically nervous. A threat had been made, one that normally wouldn't sway his brother from action. But Dean had interpreted the threat to be for Sam. In Dean's mind, he could only see himself saying the apology if Sam was lying on his back, dying, if Dean had failed in protecting him. And any other time, Dean would just make sure that he kept Sam close to him, kept an extra eye on him. But this time was different. This time, Dean wasn't on top of his game. He was hurt. His reaction time was slow, he'd allowed himself to be snuck up on at Vincent Newman's house, and as much as Dean was able to ignore the pain, his body couldn't. Pain slowed him down, whether he chose to acknowledge it or not. Dean was afraid that he wouldn't be able to protect Sam.
"Nothing's going to happen," Sam said softly, wanting his brother to look at him, but Dean was stubbornly staring at the wall. "And I can't just sit back and let this happen because you're afraid I'm going to get hurt. Dean, people will die if we don't do this. I'm willing to take the chance of getting myself hurt if it means saving them."
That caught Dean's attention. His eyes flickered to Sam and he was surprised to see the emotion there. "I'm not going to watch you die, Sam," Dean whispered.
Sam was touched by the words. His brother wasn't one for moments like this, when he let his feelings be known, when he expressed his love. It reminded him how much they'd been through the past couple of days, how much this whole ordeal had broken his brother down, so much that he let down his resolve and let Sam see his emotions. Sam smiled at him. "You won't," he said. "I promise." Dean looked at him skeptically and Sam just grinned goofily. "Even if I have to cover your eyes." Dean smiled finally at the joke and Sam felt the mood lighten. He reached out and patted Dean's knee. "It'll be okay," he assured again as he rose to his feet.
"Yeah, well it better be," Dean grumbled, though the humor was back in his voice. "Or I'm conjuring your ass and making you my personal slave for the rest of my measly life."
Sam snorted at that as he sat back down at the laptop. "Yeah right," he mocked. "I'd whoop your ass the moment you brought me back."
"Ha," Dean spat and pushed himself back on the bed so he was propped on the pillows. "You could try."
Sam smiled as he started typing out the clues and giving detailed descriptions of everything they'd done from the moment of the phone call up until the time they left Vincent Newman's house. After a few minutes, he realized it was going to take him a long time to do so. He looked up at Dean, who had his head leaned back against the headboard, his eyes partway closed. God, he must be tired, Sam thought. "You know, this is going to take a while," he said and Dean opened his eyes and looked at him. "If you wanted to get some sleep…" Dean looked unsure for a moment and Sam flashed him another grin. "I promise to scream if the boogeyman comes to kill me."
Dean looked unamused but the words seemed to have the desired effect as he rolled over, with a grimace, and laid down on his stomach, his head turned to the side so the pillow wouldn't irritate his stitches or bruising. Sam continued to watch him until Dean's eyes flickered closed and his breathing grew even. Once he was sure he was asleep, he went back to typing up the recall map of the past two days. He was going to be at it for a while.
Five hours later, after making horrendously detailed descriptions of every possible thing Sam could remember, every little detail, every name, face, tree and snowflake Sam could recall from his memory, he was finally done. He leaned back in his chair and cracked his back. He glanced at the clock. It was almost six in the morning. He hadn't realized they had gotten back from the Sheriff's so late. He rubbed his hands over his tired eyes and then read through the entire document to see if he could pick up on anything by himself before he woke his brother to help. There was nothing.
Looking over at his brother, he saw Dean hadn't moved much. He almost hated to wake him, but Sam figured that they didn't have much time. The Mothman had gotten pretty relentless in the past few days and Sam was sure that whatever was going to happen would happen soon. He got up and stretched again before heading to his brother. "Dean?" he called and was happy when Dean's eyes opened on the first summoning. It took a moment for Dean to realize that Sam was standing over him and when he did, he immediately groaned and pushed himself up. "Sorry," Sam apologized, knowing his brother needed the sleep.
"Nah," Dean dismissed it and sat up. "You done already?"
"Already?" Sam mocked. "It's been five hours."
Dean frowned and turned to look at the clock. "Well, Jesus what took you?"
"I got detailed," Sam defended and walked over to the table again, Dean following slowly in tow. He yawned before sitting next to Sam and started to read the document.
"Yeah you got detailed," Dean muttered. "Why the hell do I need to know that there was an orange cat sitting in a window down the street from the bookshop?"
"It could mean something," Sam said with a shrug.
"It could mean you're a freak," Dean grumbled, but quieted as he continued to read.
After he was done, Dean sat back, looking thoughtful. Sam sat quietly, letting his brother collect his thoughts. Finally, Dean turned to him and said, "I don't see anything." Sam sighed and nodded. He had hoped that the recall map would help, but it hadn't. They weren't any closer to figuring it out.
"Well there has to be something," Sam said, more to himself than to Dean.
The brothers sat quietly for a moment, each racking their brains for something that they had missed. Finally, it was Dean who said something. "Maybe there was something at Vincent's house that we were supposed to pick up on?" he suggested.
"Like what?" Sam asked. "We looked all over his house. There was nothing."
Dean was quiet for a while before his eyes suddenly widened. He turned and looked at Sam. "You know, our pal Vince said that he was told to bomb the Christmas concert in a dream." Sam's eyebrows rose at that. He hadn't known that. "He said the Mothman told him to do it."
"Why would he do that?" Sam asked.
"I don't think he did," Dean said, shaking his head. "Maybe he was trying to warn Vince, just like he's trying to warn us. But Vince didn't get it."
"So you think that there actually is a bomb in the park?" Sam asked.
Dean ran a hand over his split lip. "Yeah, I do," he said finally.
"But the bomb squad checked it out," Sam pointed out. "They said it was all clear."
"Well then, what if it's not a bomb?" Dean said, his face growing more and more concerned. Sam just watched him, knowing his brother was making some connection that Sam hadn't been able to. He tried not to let it bother him. "When the Silver bridge collapsed in Point Pleasant, there was no reason for it, it just happened. A freak accident. The same thing could happen here. Some freak accident. An explosion that shouldn't happen, that can't be explained."
Sam milled the thought over in his mind, slowly starting to agree with what Dean was saying. It made sense. And the more he thought about it, the more it just seemed to feel right. Putting everything together, following the clues inside his head, from the old lady with her dog all the way to Vincent's plan to bomb the concert, it made sense. One thing lead to another and Vincent's plans were practically screaming in that direction. Sam felt stupid for not seeing it sooner, but he hadn't known Vincent had dreamed about the Mothman.
"So something's going to happen at the Christmas concert," Dean said out loud.
"Or at least in that area," Sam interjected.
"Well, the concert's not until tonight, so we have some time…" Dean cut himself off as he saw Sam's eyes widening even as Dean was speaking. "What?"
"It's a memorial park," Sam whispered. "Kate said that they have a memorial service there every year in the morning before the concert."
Dean picked up on the implications of what Sam was saying. "What time?"
"Seven." Sam and Dean's heads whipped to the clock. "God, that's in half an hour."
Dean was on his feet before Sam could finish his sentence. He pulled on a pair of pants and grabbed his coat. Sam hurried to do the same. As they headed to the door, Dean hesitated and glanced at him. Sam knew what his brother was thinking. The worries from earlier, about the clue, still lingered behind his brother's eyes. "Dean, we have to," he said. Dean nodded, took a breath, and stepped out the door.
They got to the park a quarter to seven. Sam felt his heart drop when he saw just how many people were there. At least two hundred people were standing around, warmly dressed, laughing and chatting and ready to enjoy the day. Not on of them suspected a thing. Not even the people who had been warned by the Mothman. They'd all seen the news, seen that Vincent Newman had been arrested, claiming that the Mothman told him to do it. The threat was gone. No one had anything to fear anymore. God, they had to get those people out of there.
"Sam!" he turned at the sound of his name and saw Kate approaching. She had a little boy in her arms and a small girl was perched on the shoulders of a man behind her. She was grinning. "Hey," she said and held a hand out to the man. "Sam, this is my husband, Peter. Peter, this is the guy I was telling you about."
Peter smiled and held out his hand. "Ah, so you're the hero."
Sam shook his hand, not wanting to be rude, but then looked quickly at Kate. She could help. She'd believe him and she'd help. But as his eyes fell onto the child in her arms, he knew he couldn't ask that of her. Not when she had so much to lose. She must have picked up on his worry because she grabbed his arm and made him look into her eyes. "Sam?" she asked, brow furrowed.
"Kate, we were wrong," he said quietly. Kate looked confused at first but then her eyes widened. "We haven't stopped anything. It's still going to happen."
"But they checked for a bomb," she said, shaking her head.
"Kate, just trust me," he pleaded and looked again at the boy in her arms. "Get your family out of here, quick. Try to get as many people as you can to do the same, but get you and your family out of here."
"What's going on?" Peter asked.
Kate turned to him. "Trust him," she said sternly. She turned back to Sam. "What about you?"
"We're going to find the Sheriff," Dean said from where he stood to the side. "We have to clear this place out."
"And you need to go," Sam said, putting a hand on her back and gently pushed her towards the exit. Peter followed her, giving Sam an odd glance as he passed.
"Sam!" Kate called back. "Be careful."
He gave her a nod before turning back to the task at hand. The Sheriff. They needed to find Wyatt. Sam used his height to his advantage and looked over the top of people's head, trying to spot the man. Finally, he saw him, standing near the stage. "Dean," Sam called and headed towards him, his brother following closely. A steel fence blocked the stage off from the crowd and Sam found himself trapped behind it a good twenty feet away. He put a hand to his mouth and called out, "Sheriff!" He had to do it two more times before the lawman turned and spotted him. He gave a wave and headed over, but sobered when he noticed the look on Sam's face. "Sheriff, we have to get these people out of here," he said loudly, trying to be heard over all the noise.
"Why? What's going on?" The Sheriff asked, eyes wide.
"The Mothman was trying to warn Vince," Dean said. "Not make him do it."
"Are you saying there's a bomb here?" Sheriff Wyatt asked.
"We don't know," Sam gave. "But something's going to happen here. We need to clear out this park."
The Sheriff nodded and gave a distracted, "Yeah, alright," before he turned and clicked the button on his shoulder radio. He told the deputy who answered about the situation. Almost immediately, a police siren went off and the crowd began to quiet. A deputy got on the loudspeaker of the car and started to tell people that the service was cancelled and people are asked to go back to their homes. The Sheriff looked back at Sam. "Do you know where it is?" he asked.
"No," Sam said regretfully. "It could happen anywhere."
The Sheriff nodded and put his hands on his hips. "Well, once all these people are out, we'll call in the bomb squad…"
Anything else the Sheriff had to say was cut off suddenly by a sudden and powerful explosion from behind him near the stage. Sam felt a heated force hit him, felt himself fall backwards landing harshly on the snowy pavement. The deafening sound had his ears ringing, blocking out everything else. Sam felt like he'd just been blindsided by a semi. He let the initial shock fade away as debris and ash fell down around him, before he started to process what happened. The smell of smoke quickly surrounded him. Finally, he regained some of his wits and opened his eyes. The sky was growing black with smoke. His hearing began to return, albeit slowly and he could hear screaming and crying and shouting. His body was throbbing and he rather painfully propped himself up on his elbows, blinking away the accompanying dizziness and fogginess as he looked in front of him. The stage was a mass of fire and debris, still burning. His eyes fell on the Sheriff, who lay face down in front of him, the back of his head a bloody mess, other spots of blood littering his tan uniform. His eyes were wide open and he was obviously dead. Sam hoped it was just the shock messing with his head when he realized he didn't feel any pain over seeing the man dead.
He squinted as dizziness hit him again. When it was gone, he opened his eyes again and started looking around. To his left, there were people crying and screaming, one man missing an arm, a few people lay motionless. He suddenly realized how lucky he was to be alive, and in one piece. Dean's assumption had been wrong. He didn't die, hell he wasn't even that badly hurt. Sam turned his head to the right, intent on assuring Dean that he was fine. But the sight that caught him immediately made Sam regain all his senses and block out all the trauma around him. His eyes focused in on the sight in front of him, his face draining of color and panic constricting his chest.
Dean lay on his back, face livid, back arching, one hand grasping harshly at the snow beneath him, the other one pulling feebly at a piece of metal that had embedded itself into his chest in a cacophony of blood and flesh. Blood trickled from the corners of his mouth.
Oh God.