Chapter 5
Dean pushed himself to stand and stretched out the many kinks and cramps that had lodged themselves in his muscles. He yawned and shook his head to clear the fog that drifted there.
"I do, however know that I'm hungry. How about you?" Dean questioned.
Sam nodded simply. "Yeah, a bit."
"Then I say we go hunting for something other than demons. Surely there's a good restaurant somewhere in this town." Dean replied with a smile.
Sam closed the laptop and got to his feet to follow Dean, who had already made his way out to the parking lot and into the Impala. The eldest brother was now waiting anxiously for the younger to get a move on. Something that Sam gladly did and pulled the passenger door open to duck inside.
After about fifteen minutes of driving, Dean pulled into a sparsely populated parking lot outside a rundown diner that looked in dire need of a paint job. The windows were streaky and the paint was peeling away from the doorframe. To add to it, the diner was positioned right in front of a railway that was still in use. A train whistle blew down the line as if to prove that fact to the brothers.
"This is the best you can do?" Sam wondered, looking skeptically at the shabby building.
"It looks like it'd be the best priced and the food might not be half bad." Dean responded, stepping out into the sun that warmly bathed his face.
"If you say so, but if I get food poisoning, I'm so blaming you." Sam smiled teasingly.
"You do that Sammy, but if the food is good, you owe me an apology." Dean teased back.
"Don't look for one." Sam said simply. His eyes twinkled in good nature.
"I will." Dean ambled casually to the doorway and pulled it open. The hinges squealed in the early morning and all heads turned to see the new comers as the door screamed shut just as loud.
"Uh, hi folks." Dean replied to break the tension that had taken up residence in the air.
"Table for two?" A young man asked, looking bored with his job and anxious to get away.
"Please." Sam said.
"Go find one. There's one there, and there, and a couple over there. I'll be out to get your orders in a minute." The man yawned and crossed the creaking floor to the counter top to pull a notebook from behind the cash register.
Sam and Dean picked the closest table and tried to ignore the stares that flashed in their direction. All eyes watching them blazed with curiosity and refused to turn away.
"Nice day, huh?" Dean questioned. The heads watching them turned away, nobody wishing to answer.
"Friendly lot, aren't they?" Dean stated.
"Not really, but they take some getting used to. Know what you want?" The young man was back.
"Um.." But Dean was cut off by the waiter.
"A word of advice, the coffee here stinks, so I wouldn't recommend it to my dog, if I had one, which I don't. Oh and the cook burns toast, and forgets to cook meat all the way through. The soda is watery and the milk is sour." The man replied.
"Oh, uh, how is he with eggs?" Dean asked.
"They run, or they burn, but his oatmeal is pretty good and the hash browns aren't too bad, if you get them done on the grill. The panned ones are greasy. And his bread and peanut butter is superb. The bagels aren't half bad either, just don't let him toast them." The waiter spoke, but he seemed more interested in the window than the two men pondering over what they wanted to order.
"Hash browns are fine." Sam sighed.
"Grill or pan?"
"Grill, and better give me a slice of whole wheat bread with butter."
"Drink?"
"Water's fine."
"Bottle or tap? The tap water's dirty, so I'd go with bottled."
"Bottle then."
"What about you? You know what you want yet?" The waiter wondered.
"Same as him, only, make my bread a bagel." Dean concluded.
"Plain or sesame seed?"
"Plain."
"Okay, it'll be about an hour if the cook doesn't get off his butt and do his job, but if he does, it'll be about ten minutes. Here's a copy of today's paper and an outdated TV guide for you to read while you wait. Or you can find some way to entertain yourselves." The waiter tossed down the two items and made his way slowly to the back kitchen.
"Of all places, why this one?" Sam asked curiously, fingering the newspaper's corner.
"Money, Sammy, we're on a budget." Dean answered.
"It's Sam, and really what would a few extra bucks be if the food was nutritious and fresh?" The youngest man wondered aloud.
"This was closest?" Dean tried.
Sam rolled his eyes and tugged the paper toward him. He unfolded it and spread it across the unwashed tabletop. His disgusted eyes ignored the table and focused on the newsprint. His gaze stopped when it reached the story about the dead psychic and he scanned the text closely to look for that missing piece that may or may not have been present.
He lifted his eyes from the paper when the door opened again and a woman walked over to the counter to sit on one of the stools with rusted legs and torn seating. A familiar sight from across the diner caught his eye and he recognized the sight as the boy from the paper and the news. The white demon stood next to him, with a twisted hand resting firmly on the boy's shoulder. The young man looked terrified and locked eyes with Sam. Familiar flashes darted through his mind of the murder and the pleas for help from the victim. Powerful pain ripped through his skull and he called out in surprise and brought a hand to his temple.
The dusty blonde boy spoke without Sound, but Sam understood.
The graveyard in south Serenity. He killed me in my home, without my parents knowing and now I'm laying in the graveyard in south Serenity. You can't save me, but you can save the others whom he has targeted. It's not too late. Save them. Go to the south Serenity graveyard and stop this, you're the only one who can.
Sam's face was flushed with pain now as the diner tilted around him. He blindly struggled to get to his feet. He had to get out; he had to get away from the sight of the boy and the demon. He had to. His head pounded with a sickening thud that made his stomach churn, but he fought for control as he felt a grasp on his arm, helping him to his feet. He looked over and saw the demon holding him and leading him toward the vision of the dead boy. He screamed at it to let go, fought it with all he could and stumbled forward. A table edge caught his stomach sharply, but he still struggled to get away. The grip on his arm was still there, leading him, tugging him.
"Sammy? C'mon, Sammy, let's go." Dean's voice drifted to him, yet the words mingled with the familiar word the dead psychic spoke.
Help.
Flashes of the boy with his parents bombarded Sam and he couldn't resist the speed and force at which they rushed to him. He stumbled back and felt his knees give out. He was held up only by Dean's strength. Dean had replaced the demon. The demon now watched him from a few feet away. The flashes of the boy's parents still hit him.
"Is he okay?" A voice greeted Sam's ears.
"Sure, he's fine, he has these fits sometimes. I dropped him on his head when he was a kid; it didn't do him any good. Not that it would, but y'know, I was four, I wanted him to quit bugging me, so I dropped him. He's fine, most of the time, but I really have to get him outside." Dean's voice was sincere and concerned as he tugged Sam out into the parking lot where the sun danced gently across their cheeks.
"Sammy? Sammy, talk to me." Dean pleaded.
Sam's eyes were locked on the door to the diner where the blonde boy stood, watching him, not speaking, but sending flashes. The murder, life before realizing the abilities, family, friends, school. Sam was seeing this boy's life flashing before his eyes. The pain in his head escalated to intolerable levels and Sam crumbled in his brother's arms. Dean followed him to the rocky ground, where Sam struggled to free himself from the flashes he was receiving.
