Feels Like Midnight
Dean's having a bad day and a worse night… again.
Thank you for the lovely reviews. A kind pat on the head is very helpful.
Disclamer: Still using them shamelessly with a promise to return them in a few chapters.
Dean gasped and pressed a hand against his chest. Holy crap, but it hurt. But it wasn't bleeding. That was a good thing. Wasn't it?
Sam. "SAM!"
Sam lowered his newspaper to look at Dean over the top. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Are you ok?" Dean frantically grabbed the newspaper away from his stunned brother and threw it on the table behind him so he could look the other man over.
The table behind him. "We're back in the diner!" Dean wanted to laugh, but he knew it would sound a little too close to hysteria for comfort.
"Dean, we haven't left yet," Sam said, eyeing him cautiously. Several of the other customers were eyeing them as well.
"We're back in the diner!" Dean said again, still unable to believe it. "I… We…" he gave in to the laughter and immediately regretted it. His chest was on fire. It hurt like a fresh wound trying to heal. The pain made him hunch forward, which caused another twinge in his back. Dean tensed against that too. Good grief, he was a mess.
"Dean, talk to me," Sam said and Dean nearly jumped. Instead of sitting across from him, Sam was now beside him in the booth, a hand against his back. "Dean!" He said it like he'd had to say it several times already. Dean blinked. Had he blacked out?
"Yeah, just give me a second," Dean rasped, the fingers of his hand still splayed across his chest.
"Talk to me, man. Tell me what's going on." Sam's voice was quiet, soothing. "You were fine a few minutes ago. A little sore after that thing threw you into the post. Do you need me to call an ambulance?"
Dean remained perfectly still and the pain receded to an almost bearable level. Dean's mind slowly began to clear and he raised his eyes to meet his brother's. "The house. The house in the clearing."
"You're not making sense," Sam said, as if trying to reason with a child. "We just got here. What house? The old lady lived in a trailer."
Dean looked around, taking in his surroundings. They were back in the old 50's train car style diner. He could see the short order cook hard at work in the back, throwing plates up in the window. Flo was walking behind the counter that ran the length of the restaurant and he could swear it was the same group of old farmer types sitting at the counter.
Dean looked out the front window and realized the sun was setting, a very dim speck of light just dying on the horizon. His eyes moved back to the table. His half-eaten sandwich was sitting on the plate in front of him.
"She killed us," Dean whispered, almost afraid to say it out loud. She killed you, Sam.
"What are you talking about?" Sam's voice rose in exasperation, and Dean looked at him again. Sam didn't remember. He didn't remember any of it. "Dean, I don't understand. And what happened to your face?"
"You're not hurt?" Dean put out his hand and just stopped himself before he set it against his brother's chest. Blood. There had been so much blood. But Sam was fine. Sam was alive. No wounds. Dean shut his eyes as relief washed over him. He'd messed up so badly, but maybe, just maybe he could make it right. He felt the sting of tears and immediately opened his eyes again. Dean realized he was still holding out his hand toward his brother. Embarrassed, he let it drop back to the table and yelped.
"What is the matter with you?" Sam said angrily.
Dean looked down at his wrist, heavily bruised where the woman had stepped on it, grinding the bones into the dirt to force him to release Marigold. "I'm…" he took a shaky breath, "I'm fine. Let's get out of here."
"Yeah, ok," Sam looked at him warily. "But you're going to tell me what's going on. And I mean soon." He stood up from the booth and caught the waitress' eye, motioning that he wanted the check.
Dean huffed impatiently and scooted out of the booth, nearly toppling over as he tried to put weight on his ankle. He forced himself not to swear, gritting his teeth instead. They had to get out of here. He had to get Sam away from this place. Now.
Flo stepped out from behind the counter and walked over to them, handing Sam the check. He pulled a few bills from his pocket and gave them to her. "Keep the change."
"Is there a better way to get to the interstate than up this road?" Dean asked, trying to nonchalantly lean against the edge of the booth and take the weight off his ankle. Please, please say yes, Dean begged silently.
"Sorry, sugar," she shook her head. "It's the only way."
"I was afraid of that," Dean muttered.
"Thank you, boys. You come back now." Dean looked at her sharply, but the woman was already walking away, the ever-present coffeepot in hand, moving down the line of dwindling customers at the counter.
Sam was watching him apprehensively as he held the door, so Dean walked outside, all the while trying to hide his limp. "Dude, stop looking at me like that, all right? I'm sore. Nothing a good night's sleep won't mend." In truth he used the moment to look Sam up and down. He seemed perfectly fine. Not a hair out of place. Well, no more so than normal.
Not that Dean was complaining, but why did Sam look right as rain while he felt like he'd been hit by a bus? He'd think he was completely delusional except for the fact that he could barely walk and his chest felt like it was in a vise.
"You want me to drive?" Sam asked carefully. His face said he was afraid Dean was delusional, too.
Dean actually considered the offer for a moment before throwing the idea out the window. "Get in the car, we need to talk."
Sam barely had the door shut before Dean put the car in gear and roared away from the diner, flinging rocks from the parking lot behind them.
"Now are you going to tell me what's going on?" Sam asked.
"Reach behind you and shut the EMF off. It's in the bag."
Sam gave him a dubious look, but reached into the back seat. Dean heard the click of the switch and then Sam returned to his seat, real alarm beginning to appear. "Dean, how did you know…"
"Cause you left it on last time," he answered, looking at his brother out of the corner of his eye.
"Last time?"
"Yeah, we did this once already. I drove, you left the EMF on. In about a quarter mile it will start making noise. Last time, we walked into the field to take a look. Something grabbed you and dragged you away. I followed to this little clearing with a little house. There was a chick sitting on the porch. Wham, bam, thank you, ma'am. She shot us."
"She what?" Sam's mouth was hanging open.
"She killed us. Both of us. You first, then me." Dean kept his tone matter-of-fact, even though he was so angry he could barely see straight. He focused on the road in front of him and the idea that he was driving Sam away from danger. That would have to be enough for now. He ordered himself to release his death grip on the steering wheel. "After she shot us, I'm pretty sure she blew her own head off, but I was almost gone by then."
Sam was still gaping, like he couldn't believe it. "So if we're dead, why are we here?"
Dean shook his head. "Good question. Something I'd really like the answer to myself. You're the brilliant one. Why don't you work on that."
"Are you serious?" Sam put a hand on Dean's forehead and Dean smacked it away.
"Dude, get away from me," he snapped. "She shot me, she didn't give me the flu."
"But… But, Dean, I don't remember any of this," Sam bit his lip, then nervously looked at Dean again. "You sure you didn't hit your head? That Zombie… I didn't think it hurt you that badly."
"One more time," Dean said, counting off on his fingers, "EMF, field, chick with shotgun, died, woke up back in diner." He waved his whole hand. "Really not hoping for a repeat."
"So what are we going to do about it?" Sam said, sitting back in the seat restlessly drumming his fingers against his leg.
"Get the heck outta Dodge."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning we go find a motel and hole up until daylight. I'm not going up against that thing again without doing some research. Dying doesn't agree with me." Dean felt beads of sweat forming on his brow and wiped a hand across his face. The sight of Sam's blank, dead eyes was etched in his mind. He would do whatever was necessary to keep that from happening again.
Sam suddenly looked out the window, frowned and then reached into the glove compartment. He pulled out a map and a tiny flashlight they kept in there just for that purpose. "Uhhh… I'm pretty sure we should have gone through a little town by now."
"Come again?"
"I looked at the map before we went into the diner." Sam's frown deepened as he studied the map. "There's a tiny town just down the road. I thought we'd have to go there to find something to eat."
"The waitress said it wasn't much," Dean offered.
"When did she say that?" Sam asked, glancing up from the map.
"Yesterday… or last time… whatever you want to call it."
"Well, there's not much and then there's disappeared. We should have gone through it by now."
Dean groaned. "Wonderful. Just wonderful."
They drove in silence for several more minutes, each watching the road, trying to see some difference in the countryside they were passing. Corn… just corn as far as the eye could see on either side. Even if they'd missed the little town they should have hit the interstate by now.
Finally Dean swore under his breath and pulled the car to a halt on the side of the road. "I know I'm going to regret this… but get the EMF."
Sam grabbed it and flipped the switch on. Immediately the car was filled with the whining clicks of the meter as it came to life. "If it makes you feel any better, I don't think you're crazy any more."
"Thanks, man. That means a whole lot," Dean sighed. "It gets me," he put a hand over his heart, "right here."
Dean shoved the car door open and used it to pull himself up and out of the seat, biting his lip as his ankle sent another screaming shot of agony to his brain. Sam walked back and forth in the roadway trying to figure which way the signal was coming from.
"That way," Dean called, jerking a thumb in the right direction.
"You have an idea how to make this go down differently?" Sam asked, and Dean noticed a slight hitch in his brother's voice. He didn't know who was more nervous; Sam because he didn't know what he was getting into, or himself, because he did.
"No hesitation. Shoot the woman on sight. I saw her last time, but didn't know about the shotgun. She got the drop on me." Dean glared at his brother. "And if you ever tell Dad that, I'll tell him about your show tune fixation."
"Show tunes?" Sam paled. "Dude, I only did that one production of Oklahoma in college. Jess talked me into it."
Dean rolled his eyes. "Suuuuure."
Sam glared at him. "So we head straight for the house?"
"Yup. I don't want to give it a chance to drag you off again," Dean said, thinking out loud.
They gathered the supplies from the trunk and trudged into the field. Immediately that same feeling of a hush falling washed over them and Dean felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle. They were idiots. They'd been idiots last time and they were doubly so now. But they also had no choice. They were on a road to nowhere until they killed the woman holding them here.
In only a few minutes they stepped out of the corn into the little clearing surrounding the house. Sam and Dean stood side by side, trying to see anything out of the ordinary.
"Where is she?" Sam whispered. "I thought she was supposed to be on the porch."
"She was," Dean scowled.
"She… I…"
Sam made an odd choking sound and Dean turned just in time to see his brother turn his gun to use like a club and slam the butt into his face.
Sam, the psychic ghost magnet. The thought floated through his mind, seeing the angry mask covering his brother's usually gentle features.
Dean crumbled to the ground, the misery of the pain in his head blocking out almost everything else. The world came sharply into focus, however, as he felt Marigold being kicked out of his hand and then saw the glint of moonlight on the barrel of Sam's gun as he stood over him. Great, the Boy Wonder was possessed again. And armed.
One shot, followed quickly by two more.
"I told you not to come back on my property, boy," Sam said, bending over him, his voice not quite his own. "I warned you."
Dean felt the blood gurgling up from his damaged lungs and coughed involuntarily. Couldn't breathe, his mind began to panic. He couldn't breathe. His eyesight was narrowing to only what was visible directly above him.
Suddenly Sam stood up and started away from him, toward the porch he thought. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Heard a loud popping noise. Shotgun, he thought distantly. Just as his vision died, he saw Sam fall next to him.
"Sorry, Dean," he heard, as the world went dark.
A little sadistic of me… Poor Dean. I'll try to be nicer to him tomorrow. Unless you like my being mean to him…