CHAPTER
SIX
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& Seek
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The diner was just as busy as it had been the first time they went in. It was lunchtime now. Dean had been asleep most of the night and after he'd passed out, most of the morning. He'd truly needed it, but Sam couldn't help but notice he still wasn't looking very well-rested.
They asked for some coffee and waited for someone to take their order, but neither started up a conversation. Dean appeared to be waiting for Sam to ask another question, most likely so he could shoot it down.
Sam was too busy thinking. Dean didn't trust him anymore, and besides breaking Sam's heart, it was going to make getting information about this demon hugely difficult. Sam didn't like it, but it was time to change tactics, and consider other options. There was one source he hadn't tapped yet. Just thinking about Sam made him uneasy, but this was Dean. He would have to bite the bullet and call John. Their father was the only one who could give Sam new information about what happened eight hundred odd days ago.
"Don't call him," Dean suddenly said, out of the blue. "He won't pick up anyway."
"Then there's no harm in calling, is there?" Sam replied. He wasn't hugely surprised by the fact that Dean seemed to be able to read him so well sometimes. Sam could do it too on occasion. He guessed it was a brother thing.
"I mean it, Sam. Don't."
Sam considered this new piece of the puzzle. There had been fear alongside the threat, as well as a hint of sadness. Dean didn't want him to call their father. This probably meant that whatever happened back then, John didn't know about it. And he probably wouldn't have approved of it if he had. This didn't bode well.
"You're not exactly giving me much of a choice," Sam countered. "I need to know what happened and you're not going to tell me."
Dean swore under his breath. He hated Sam logic. Sam logic made his brain hurt.
"Look, I'm sorry that you don't trust me anymore," Sam began, causing Dean to look away. "I left you and I can't change that, but I came back. And I'm going to try and make it better, but if you don't tell me what's going on, that's going to be difficult."
Dean considered his options and finally submitted. "Fine. You got me. I'll tell you, just…just don't call dad."
"Okay," Sam said, pleased that he was finally making progress.
"It's a long story," Dean began with a sigh. Then smirked ever so slightly. "So, I'm gonna go to the bathroom before I start. Get me some more coffee will ya?"
Sam watched him go with disgust, knowing exactly what he was up to.
Dean knew it was pathetic really, one last stall, one last shot at something else coming up to distract Sam from his unyielding quest for answers. An earthquake, a swarm of locusts, another vision (unrelated, of course), anything would do.
Dean was just wondering if he could pay a waitress to tip coffee over Sam's lap when he reached the bathroom. It was empty. He didn't really need to go, so he leaned over the sink and stared at his reflection. He was going to have to tell Sam something. It didn't necessarily have to be the whole truth.
Come on, Dean, you're a world-class bullshitter. Just do what you do best.
But it wasn't that simple. He hadn't technically lied yet, but it had surprised him how wrong he'd felt just keeping things from Sam. Dean had tried to keep telling himself that it was for the best, that he was protecting Sammy, like he'd been protecting John. Protecting them both from his stupid mistake.
"A mistake. Is that what you call it?"
Dean almost leaped out of his own skin at the voice that seemed to penetrate his skull. It was inhuman, evil and unfortunately, it was familiar.
"I'm hurt. Did our deal mean that little to you?"
Searching the restrooms for the source of the voice, Dean could see nothing. There was no-one there. "I can't be you. I killed you," he told the empty room. The voice inside his head was scratching behind his eyes, and making his skin crawl. He wanted it out, he wanted it to just stop, but he had no weapons and nothing to aim them at.
"Well that just isn't true, now is it? But you already knew that. You remember everything that happened that night."
"Yeah, I remember," Dean answered, surprised by how strained his voice sounded. "I was kinda hoping you wouldn't."
Laughter. Sickening laughter erupted inside his head.
"That's why I'm going to enjoy this, Dean. You're different. Even now, when you've got no power over me, you're still hoping you can stop this. I can feel it inside you."
It wasn't a lie. Dean wanted to run, to get a weapon, to fight, but he couldn't do anything. He could barely see straight with this thing inside his head. With every second it stayed in there, it stole his strength and it was working on his sanity.
"About that," Dean managed to spit out. "You want to get the hell out of my head? I know you can manifest, so why don't you show me that ugly face of yours."
"Just look in the mirror."
Dean knew it was no childish barb. Despite his blurred vision caused by the intense pain he was subject to, he could see the Braken's disgusting guise where his own reflection should have been. It was surrounded by a dark grey haze, like dust, which moved continuously around it. He could only catch glimpses of the vile face underneath it. The eyes were like flame, with a stare that burned into him.
"Time's up, Dean."
The mirror shattered as the Braken shot through it, knocking Dean from his feet and showering him with broken glass. The demon's black shroud wrapped around his arms and legs, pinning him to the floor, its body half-floating.
Dean had little time to make sense of the physical pain the fall had caused him, because what came next overshadowed anything he had ever felt. The Braken screamed inside his head, screamed so loudly that Dean could have sworn his ears were bleeding.
His eyes were screwed shut, trying desperately to shut out the agonising din, but Dean could feel something else happening to him. Something was being taken from him, ripped from him, and it hurt like nothing he had ever experienced. His surroundings, the diner, Sam, the rest of the people outside, reality, it all left him while the Braken maintained its attack. Dean knew he should be passing out, maybe even dying, but he the demon wouldn't let him. Dean was forced to feel every second of what was happening.
Then it stopped. The Braken disappeared, and the screaming ceased, and Dean heard its parting words inside his head.
"I'm going to take my time, Dean. I'm going to make this last. I'll be seeing you again."
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Sam drummed his fingers on the table as he wait for Dean to return, wondering if he would start lying again when he did.
The same waitress that served them before, Anne, refilled their coffees. "You boys in town long?" she asked with a friendly smile.
"A couple of days," Sam told her, glancing at the restroom door.
"You're brothers, right?"
"Yeah, how did you know?"
"Oh, I can tell," Anne said. "I got brothers of my own."
"You want to take mine off my hands?" Sam joked with a weary smile.
Anne laughed too, and they made small-talk for a little while. Sam had almost forgotten what it was like to have a normal, pleasant conversation after a string of decidedly abnormal and unpleasant ones. But Sam's mind soon began to drift back to Dean. He'd been gone a long time, and call it paranoia, but Sam's annoyance was slowly being replaced with concern.
"Well, I'll wait until your brother comes back to take your order, okay hun?"
Sam smiled politely. "Sure."
That's when he heard it. When everyone heard it. A terrifying, gut-wrenching scream. And it was unmistakably Dean's.
Sam was out of the booth and sprinting towards the horrifying sound faster than lightning. When he reached the door, the screaming stopped. The only noise came from concerned mutterings from the people outside, a few of them warily moving forward to see the cause when Sam pushed the door open. He was terrified at what he might find. He'd never heard Dean scream like that. It had been so raw, so terrorized.
Sam's breath left his body when he saw Dean lying still on the floor. Without hesitation he dropped to his knees beside his brother, broken glass cutting into his jeans. "Dean? Dean? What happened?"
Dean was awake, his eye were open but they weren't focusing on anything. His breaths came out in short gasps. He was just lying there, completely paralysed with shock, terror in his eyes. "Dean, answer me!"
"Is he alright? Should we call an ambulance?" Anne asked from the doorway, clearly upset by the situation.
Sam only barely registered the question. He was waiting for Dean to give him some kind of sign to show that he was okay. "No...no, I'll take him to the hospital myself," he told her, wishing to god he'd just driven Dean to the hospital straight from the house.
"What's wrong with him? Is he okay?" Sam heard someone else say. He knew that if they hadn't done so already, someone would probably call an ambulance soon. "He's gets...seizures sometimes. He'll be fine," Sam said behind him, to no-one in particular.
"Dean? Can you hear me? It's Sam. I'm right here, okay?" he assured, hoping that even if Dean couldn't reply, he at least knew that Sam was nearby.
Slowly, merciful, Dean's eyes drifted to Sam's. "Sam?" he whispered, horror still evident in his trembling voice. "What's going on?"
Sam closed his eyes, his panic appeased for a brief moment. Dean was still with him. "It's alright, we're gonna get out of here, okay? Can you move?" he asked, ready to give aid or carry him to the car, whatever Dean needed.
Dean looked unsure. Like he hadn't actually tried to move since...since whatever had happened to him. "I don't know."
"Alright, I'm going to help you up, you ready?"
Dean gave a slight nod, still confused and scared as hell, and Sam helped his brother to his feet for the second time in as many days. Dean was leaning heavily on him, but seemed to have some of his strength left. They awkwardly walked out of the rest rooms, ignoring the onlookers and their murmurs. Sam stopped briefly to hand over some money to Anne for the coffee they'd had, and she told him the way to get to the hospital. He even smiled falsely, thanked her, and left the diner, feeling the stares of thirty odd people on his back.
Sam once again found himself helping Dean into the passenger seat of the Impala. He'd considered getting their things from the room and leaving the motel behind, but decided against it, the main reason being that he didn't want to let Dean out of his sight. Sam made sure Dean was fully in the car and went to close the door, when Dean spoke.
"I'm sorry," he said, so quietly Sam almost didn't hear it. "I'm sorry about everything. You deserved a normal life. I was selfish to want you back, to ask you to come."
Sam stared at him, puzzled. What the hell was this? A dying declaration? "Don't try to talk, okay? I'll get you to the hospital."
"You're worth more than this, more than me," Dean told him with a shaky voice.
"Don't say that," Sam asserted, but feeling helpless. All he could do was drive to the hospital, and there was no reason to think that they would even be able to do anything but check Dean's physical injuries. Sam doubted it had been physical pain that caused the horrifying scream that had torn from Dean's throat, but what else was he supposed to do?
"Just...just hold on," Sam told Dean after starting up the Impala, unsure if he was talking to Dean or to himself.
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End
of Chapter Six
Next
Chapter: Deal