Way of the Hero
Chapter 4
Dean shrugged his younger brother off him. For about the fourth time in the last fifteen minutes.
"Dude," he said simply, as if that said it all. You're worried, I get it. I'm okay. Quit fussing.
Sam moved forward to unlock the motel door and was only slightly surprised to find his hands hadn't yet stopped shaking. And it had been almost an hour since it happened. Since it happened. What was "it?" That was the question that had been racking Sam's brain mercilessly for the past forty-five minutes. That was the question that was causing his heart to continue beating quicker than it should, and his hands to continue their nervous quaking. He pushed the door open and reached back to take hold of his brothers' arm, attempting to guide him into the room.
Another shrug as Dean evaded his brother's grasp. He hated the attention his brother heaped on him anytime he was "hurt." The gaze that darted in his direction anytime he made even a slight movement. The look that clearly said Hey, take it easy. You're hurt. It's better if you hold still. The supporting hand that showed up at his elbow anytime he attempted to stand. God, it bugged him. Even though he knew Sam was sincere in his concerns and only meant well. But the role of the doting brother belonged to him and him alone. He was the oldest. It was his job to look after Sam. Not the other way around. And nothing threw Dean off like role reversals.
Dean stepped past his brother, flipping on the light as he entered the room. Pulling his jacket off in one fluid motion, he dropped onto the edge of his twin, letting his face drop into his hands at the same time. He rubbed at his eyes and temples, hoping to vent some of the tension that was still lurking at the edge of his frayed nerves.
He heard the soft slam of the door, the chink of the keys as they hit the table, and the rustle of fabric as his brother removed his jacket. He knew Sam was looking at him, but he didn't return the gaze. He didn't want to see what was on his brother's face right now. Distress, worry, confusion. He hated seeing Sam wear those emotions. They didn't suit him. And they made him feel very uneasy. Like it was his fault his little brother was feeling that way. His brother should never have to feel that way. Not with Dean around. Not with the older brother that would do absolutely anything to keep him safe and happy. The sight that would greet him, were he to look up, would make him feel like a failure. So he chose to keep his gaze directed downward and continued rubbing at his temples, though the comforting effect it had was minimal.
He suddenly felt a hand on his forehead, and he barely managed to keep from flinching in surprise. He hadn't noticed his brother approach. The hand slid down to his cheek, pressing against it lightly with the back of its fingers. Dean brushed it away, not wanting to seem to harsh about it, but he couldn't fully hide the fact that it irritated him.
"You feel a little warm," Sam said, letting his hand fall back to his side.
Dean knew he could have easily whipped out a sarcastic remark at the mention of heat, but he decided to spare his younger brother. He should be grateful, Dean thought to himself. Refraining from being a smart-ass was something that took some will-power from Dean.
"I'm fine," was the remark he decided to go with. Simple, blunt, and completely bullshit. He was anything but fine. But one of them had to take up the role of the calm brother right now. And by the looks of things, it wasn't going to be Sam. Dean could sense an outburst coming. He could feel it simmering the whole drive here—the thick silence in the car doing nothing but helping that simmer turn to a boil. And it was still boiling, only now the boil was threatening to blow. Please let it out now, Sam. Before the lid blows. You know I can't take it when you blow your lid.
"It was the thing that killed Mom," Sam's voice shook slightly. Dean took a deep breath, readying himself for the emotions that would quickly come gushing.
"The thing that killed Jess," Sam went on, his voice unsteady. "It was the same damn thing." He started pacing. "Dean," Sam said, turning to face his brother. He had to lay everything out on the table right now. He had to find a way to draw some form of conclusion as to what was happening. "It almost killed you, too." He almost choked on the words. He brought a hand up and rubbed at his brow, hoping it would serve as some form of distraction.
"God, Dean, what does it want? What does this all mean? Why us? Why you? I'm the freak here. I'm the one with the visions and th-the," he couldn't quite bring himself to say "telekinesis." As if that would somehow solidify the fact that he was indeed a freak. "...weird...'mind powers,'" he offered awkwardly. "Why doesn't it come after me? Why does it have to go after the people I care about? Why the hell is it doing this!"
Dean remained silent throughout all this, staring at his brother at a loss for words. God, Sam was having a hell of a rough time with this. Dean would be too, had he given himself time to consider all the implications of what had happened back at the plant. But his only concern right now was his brother. Help Sam calm down. Let him know everything will be okay. Do your job, Dean.
"Sam," Dean began, not knowing how or where to begin. "It'll be okay. We'll—"
"Don't tell me 'we'll figure it out,'" Sam cut in, his voice taking on a harsher tone than he meant it to. "We're no closer to 'figuring it out' than we were twenty-two years ago," he spat bitterly. He wasn't angry at Dean. He wasn't even close to being mad at his brother. But he couldn't keep the vehemence from his voice right now. He paused and they held one another's gaze for a moment—Dean's filled with an apologetic uncertainty, Sam's filled with a hostile desperation.
Not being able to come up with anything that would appease his brother at the moment, Dean decided to remain silent. He dropped his gaze.
Sam released a sigh, mentally kicking himself for taking his anger out on Dean. It was time to reign his emotions back in. He wasn't accomplishing anything by ranting as he was. He took a seat across from Dean and dropped his face into his hands, rubbing at his eyes. He felt exhausted. Mentally, physically, and now, thanks to his little outburst, emotionally. He looked up a moment later.
"What are we going to do, Dean?" He asked, and his voice was sincere. He wasn't just throwing another question out. He needed to know the answer to this one. He really did.
Dean met his gaze. No more pretending. No more throwing out random words of comfort. "I don't know, Sam." He said. And he didn't. And he hated the fact that he didn't more than anything. He was always supposed to know what to do. Sam had no one to turn to but him. And despite the fact that he wanted to help his younger brother more than anything, the truth of the matter was he was just as lost and confused as his brother was. And, truth be told, just as freaked out as well. He, after all, had once again just had another brush with death. And on a good day, it took at least a couple hours, give or take, to fully get your head back in check after experiencing a brush with death. Dean was close to getting his recovery time down to just one hour, though, and was hoping to cut that down to a matter of minutes. It would take a bit more practice, however. And of course, a few more well-executed escapes from certain doom. That was always the easy part, though. Except for when I leave it up to Sam to save my ass. Like tonight. God, I can't keep doing that. I'm the who does the saving. Whether it's my ass on the line or his.
"We have to call Dad." It was Sam who suggested it.
"He won't answer, Sam." Dean reminded him yet again. Didn't Sam get that? The only way they would ever get in contact with their father is if he was the one to initiate it. And their old man had been adamant on keeping such contact to a bare minimum. And while it still made Dean's blood boil a bit, he was sure the man had a reason for it. A good reason. And while he had no clue what that reason might be, he couldn't wait to hear it in the future—hopefully the near future.
Dean lay back against the bed, releasing his breath in a sigh of exhaustion. There was no end to the madness that the Winchesters called everyday living, he thought to himself, as he heard his brother commence what he could tell would be a rather heated rant he was having out with their father's answering machine. He couldn't help but think the drama would make a pretty interesting premise for a soap opera or something. Two brothers who tragically lost their mother at a tender age, having no one but each other after their father mysteriously abandoned them, leaving them to pick up the traces of his obsessive quest for revenge. Yeah, that sure had drama written all over it. Unfortunately though, their drama was centered around the supernatural, which wasn't exactly common for soap operas, and it was also a bit lacking when it came to the back-stabbing, malicious, sexy, bitch-type girls, and every soap opera needed at least three of those in order to be a hit, so it looked like the Winchesters wouldn't quite make the cut. Dang. All the drama and no hot girls to make it more interesting. We always get the crap deals, Dean thought half-heartedly.
He looked up when Sam tossed his cell phone at him.
"You keep trying Dad," he said, turning to grab his jacket.
"Why? Where are you going?" Dean asked, pushing himself back up into a sitting position.
"I've got to look something up," Sam replied, pocketing the keys.
"What? What do you mean?"
"On the internet. The plant, Dean," he explained, "I've got to do a search. See if there's anything about a fire mentioned in the missing teens' reports."
"What about the laptop?"
"I just tried. The motel doesn't even have an internet service. I've got to make it to a public library or something before they close. I'll be back in about twenty," he said turning towards the door. "Take it easy, okay? And keep trying Dad. Bug the bastard until he picks up."
Dean snorted. Yeah, that'll work. Especially since he keeps his phone off, which Dean was pretty sure he did. At least he hoped he did. He'd hate to think his dad was actually ignoring their calls. Yeah, he was ignoring their messages, sure. But to actually press the "cancel" button when he saw one of his sons calling, seemed too harsh. Too unfeeling. Their dad wasn't really like that, Dean firmly told himself.
He heard the rumble of the Impala's engine firing up a minute later, and laid back on the bed, tossing the cell phone aside. He didn't want to think about his father right now. He didn't want to think about the events of the night, or the events of the past, or the events that tomorrow and the next day and the day after that would inevitably bring. It was just too much. Too much to think about right now. So Dean pushed it all from his mind, and let his eyes slowly close. Ah, if only he could get better at ignoring things like this. And if only all your problems would really go away once you learned to ignore them. But they didn't. And Dean knew it.
Sam found a small public library a few blocks away, and was relieved to note the time was only 8:28. Which gave him at least a half hour to do a quick search. He parked the car, entered the building, and was politely pointed to the computer lab in the back by a nice old lady at the front desk.
There were eight computers, all of them unoccupied, and Sam hastily sat down at the nearest one. Giving the mouse a quick shake, he rid the screen of the screen saver and pulled up the internet browser.
Okay, the thought to himself, opening up the folder Fielding had given them. Where to begin? There were several things he wanted to look up and he didn't have much time.
He pulled up one of the pages he and Dean frequented whenever searching for possible jobs that contained pretty thorough records of anyone that had had a missing persons report filed about them in the United States. He decided to start with the girl. Glancing at the article in his lap, Sam recalled her name—Lucille Erickson.
He carefully typed out the words, "Lucille Erickson, Elko, Nevada" and hit enter.
0 Results found.
His brow furrowed. He hit back space a few times, ridding the search of the "Elko, Nevada," wondering if that might make any difference. He hit enter again.
0 Results found.
What the? Hitting backspace again, he filled the box with the name "Paul Neerings" instead.
Again, no results were listed.
Sam's mind was whirling. Why weren't they listed?
A thought suddenly struck him. An awful thought that he hoped to God wasn't true. Frantically he googled Elko, Nevada's Police Department. He didn't see a list of all the officers by name, but there was a number for the Chief of Police, Mike Smith. He quickly punched the number into his cell phone.
"Elko Police Department, this is Mike Smith speaking."
"Yeah, hi," Sam said, struggling to keep the frantic edge out of his voice. "Um, I was just wondering if you have a David Fielding on staff there?" he asked, getting straight to the point.
"Who?" the voice asked, a bit surprised by the random question.
"David Fielding," Sam repeated.
"Uh, no there's no officer here by that name. Sorry."
Sam froze.
The man on the other end waited a brief moment for a reply, and when there was none offered, there was a small click as he hung up.
Sam's thoughts were reeling, trying to put together what this all meant. There was no David Fielding. There were no missing kids named Lucille Erickson and Paul Neerings. And there wasn't anything wrong with that damn power plant. This whole thing was a set up. A trap.
Sam's heart was pummeling his chest from the inside. His stomach was churning somersaults.
He had to get back to Dean.
He quickly pushed himself back away from the screen, almost knocking the chair over in the process. He turned towards the lab door, flung it open, and—
"Hi, Sam."
Sam stopped short. There she was, standing in the doorway. Same close-cropped hair, same tight-fitting jeans he remembered last seeing her in. Which was earlier today. It had been her he'd seen. And where once he might have been somewhat pleasantly surprised to bump into her again, he felt nothing but completely creeped out right now. This wasn't right.
"You," he breathed, not knowing what to say or how to react. He had no clue what was going on. Or who she really was. Or what she was doing here.
She gave him a slight smile. A smile that was devoid of any friendliness or amusement. Sam was suddenly reminded of a cat. A cat that had just cornered its prey.
"Who the hell are you?" Sam demanded, taking a step back.
"Sam, Sam," she said slowly, placing a hand squarely on his chest and pushing him back further into the room.
He firmly pushed her hand away. This chick was freaking him out. And he was still shocked about the realizations he had just discovered about the whole power plant case, and now to add this girl on top of it all was making his mind reel. He couldn't see any connection or reason between it all. And he wanted answers, dammit.
"Who are you?" he repeated, his voice taking on a slight dangerous edge.
"I'm Meg, remember?" She asked, giving a slight cock of her head, trying to be charming.
Sam was not in the mood to be teased. Especially not by some creepy stalker-bitch.
"What do you want?" he asked, his voice still carrying a definite edge.
"I'm here to talk to you, Sam." she said, keeping her voice friendly. "It's been a while since we last talked. And we just seemed to click so well." She was still slowly advancing towards him, and he was keeping the space between them constant.
"You're part of this, aren't you?" Sam asked, his jaw set in a firm line.
"Part of what, Sam?" she toyed. "'Mr. Fielding's' power plant gig? Tonight's fire?" she paused and her smile broadened a bit. "...Past fires?" she asked slowly.
Sam pursed his lips, as he suddenly felt a rush of fury overwhelm him. It was all he could do to keep from lunging at the girl.
"You killed Jessica," he said, struggling to keep his voice steady. "You killed my mom."
"I didn't do anything of the sort, Sam," she explained. She didn't seem the least bit threatened by Sam's anger. She seemed more amused by it than anything. "But in answer to your question, technically, yes, I am a part of it." The information was given freely and no emotion was attached to the words. She felt no fear, regret, or anything at admitting it.
Sam shook his head slightly. "Why?" he had to know. "Why?"
"Because of you, Sam."
Sam's brow furrowed. He didn't understand.
"Because of your abilities."
His surprise at hearing that betrayed him, and his brows rose slightly.
"Yes, we know all about them, Sam," she said, noting his surprise. "That's what tonight was all about. A test."
A look of confusion stole over Sam's face once more.
"Would Sam be able to get the heavy Boiler Room door open? Does he love his brother enough that it would trigger his 'freak abilities' to save him?" Her smile widened a bit when he bristled at her mentioning his brother. "Yes, you love your brother, don't you, Sam?" she asked, obviously enjoying toying with his most personal feelings.
Brothers' feelings for one another were not something that needed to be discussed. Not with each other, and certainly not with strangers. But whether they ever discussed it or not, the love was still there. And it meant a whole hell of a lot to both of them. And to have some crazy bitch make light of the subject had Sam fuming.
"You leave my brother out of this," he warned.
"I'd like to, Sam," she said. "And I'm sure you would too, am I right?" She paused. "That's why I think you're going to cooperate with me tonight." The unnerving smile was back in place. "You don't want Dean to get hurt, do you?"
Sam's stomach dropped. Oh, God. Don't use Dean as leverage.
"You're lying," he challenged. "Dean's fine."
"Is he?" She asked, cocking her head once more. She went on. "I'm not going to force you to do anything tonight, Sam. I'm giving you a choice. You come with me—with us—and you come quietly and don't cause a fuss, and I promise you your brother will be absolutely fine. We'll leave him completely out of this." She paused briefly. "You choose not to come—well, that's an option, too. You can go running on back to your brother at the motel, and yeah, you just might find him there..." her smile grew a bit, "...on the ceiling."
Sam was glaring daggers at her. What the hell kind of "choice" was that? He hated this girl. Hated her with a passion. But despite the hatred, despite the fact that he wanted clock the girl as hard as could, and despite the lack of answers and him understanding any of it, he already knew he was beat. She had played the Dean Card. And the Dean Card trumped all.
"Well, Sam?" She asked. "It's time for the reluctant hero to face his destiny and join us," she said mockingly.
"Who the hell is 'us?' And what do you mean 'join you?'" Sam demanded.
"You'll find out, won't you?"
"What do you want from me?"
"I just told you, you'll find out." Her patience was slipping a bit.
"I swear to God, you hurt my brother—"
"We just made an agreement, didn't we?" She cut in. "We don't care about your brother. He doesn't concern us. He doesn't have 'the gift.'"
The gift? This whole situation was insane. Was this really happening?
"Come on, Sam," she said, gesturing towards the door. "It's time to go."
Go where? Why was this happening? And why did he feel so damn helpless? He wasn't being forced to do anything. But he really didn't think the psycho girl was joking when she said 'they' would hurt Dean if he didn't cooperate. And that was a risk he was not willing to take. No matter what the circumstances were.
He didn't know what else to do. He was confused as all get out, and wasn't seeing any way out of this. There was no third option. Either go with the freak girl, or risk the chance of Dean getting hurt. Or killed. And there was no way he'd ever let that happen on his behalf. No way he'd ever let that happen period.
He put aside all the questions that were plaguing him. He put aside his concern for himself. He would manage. There'd be a way out of this. Once he learned more of what "this" actually was.
He followed the girl's gesture for him to exit first. She followed closely, and once they were a few steps away from the door, Sam heard it close. He turned to look, but there was no one there. He glanced at Meg. Had she just...?
"Thought you were the only one, did you?" She asked, sly grin still in place.
Dean gave a low moan as his senses slowly returned to him. He felt sick. And he couldn't remember giving himself the go-ahead to fall asleep for the night. It was night, wasn't it? Where was he?
It took a few seconds, but his memory was next thing to return to him after his senses. It washed over him like a wave, and suddenly a shock of panic jolted him as he remembered what had happened.
He had drifted off. While waiting for Sam. And someone...Someone had come in while he had been asleep. He remembered waking up briefly to the flash of a familiar man's face...And then the inhumanly strong grip that held him down. And the harsh smell of the rag that was shoved over his face. And then there was darkness again.
He sat up abruptly, fear suddenly washing over him, following his memories. His head protested at the sudden action, but he ignored it. What the hell was going on...?
The lights were off. Where was he? He had the feeling he was still in the motel room. But he also had the sick feeling that he was the only one there.
"Sam?" he called out into the darkness.
No one answered.
Scrambling to his feet, Dean reached for the nearest light. He flipped the bedside lamp on, and squinted as light suddenly flooded the room.
The opposite bed was empty. The covers were made up nicely, and there wasn't even an indentation indicating anyone had even sat on it recently.
"Sam?" Dean asked again, frantically scanning the room once more.
He wasn't here.
Dean felt a panic setting in.
What time was it? How long had he been out? How long ago had Sam left for the library?
He glanced at the clock. It read 12:07.
Shit.
Dean immediately reached for his cell phone, desperately wondering what was going on. He hurriedly scrolled through the contacts list, actually glad for once he didn't have too many buddies hindering his way to the S's. Please, Sam. Please have a good excuse for not being here.
Wait, what the...? "Dad," "Donnie," "Robin," and then the list ended. There was no entry entitled "Sam."
Maybe he had accidentally deleted it? Thoroughly confused and plagued with worry, Dean quickly dismissed it and punched in Sam's number.
Please pick up. Please pick up. He pressed his phone to his ear, and waited...And waited. No ringing tone came. A few moments later the recording of an operator's voice came on the line, telling him if he'd like to make a call, to hang up and dial again.
Dean slammed his phone shut. Sam's phone was out of service. The number didn't even exist anymore.
Dean was getting a sick feeling to his stomach. He was not liking what any of this was implying. He was not liking it one bit.
Something, or someone had taken Sam. And they had done a pretty bang up job of cleaning up after themselves.
Dean felt a rush of adrenaline pump through his racing blood, as fear threatened to take hold.
Where does he begin? Where does he even start to try and make sense of any of this? A guy—whom he strongly suspects was the so-called "David Fielding," breaks into the motel room and knocks him out when he's already asleep. And then when he wakes up, there's no sign of his brother anywhere.
Dean couldn't believe it. He didn't want to believe it. But that didn't make any of it any less true.
He grabbed his jacket and roughly pulled it on. And then something caught his eye. The keys were back on the table. Confused, he grabbed them and made his way to the door in two swift strides. He threw it open, and was met with the one pleasant surprise of the night. The Impala was back in the stall Sam had parked it in earlier. Did that mean Sam had made it back to the motel room? Was he kidnapped at the same time Dean was knocked out?
He quickly made his way to the car. He opened the driver's door, hoping against hope he might find his brother sleeping in the car for some unfathomable reason. But the car was empty. He checked the trunk next, an odd suspicion nagging at him. Just as he expected—Sam's bag was gone.
There wasn't a trace of his brother left. It was almost as if he had never existed. And Dean was pretty sure that was just the conclusion his assailants wanted him to come to. That his brother didn't exist anymore. So don't even bother looking for him.
There were a lot of things Dean wasn't sure of at the moment. Who was behind this, what their motives were, and why the hell this had to happen in the first place. But one thing he was sure of—he would figure this out. And he would find his brother, dammit. All he had to do in the meantime was keep the fear at bay...
Chapter 5 to come soon.
A/N: Pretty crazy chapter, I know. I'm not really sure what to think of this story. I'm thinking the next chapter will be the last one. Maybe two more. And yeah, that seems crazy seeing as how the story couldn't be any further from resolving, but I've got it planned out okay. I did originally have quite a lengthy plot outlined, but I'm having second thoughts about the AUness of it. And with "Shadows" airing in a couple days, we're going to get some more canon information about Meg, which I'm sure will create conflicts with this story and my interest in writing it. And, more than likely, your interest in reading it! So, anyways, we'll see what happens. Reviews are so appreciated. Thanks for reading, guys!