Chapter Five
Sam flipped the headlights off as he entered the motel parking lot, not wanting the light through the window to wake Dean up. He turned off the car, got out, locked the door, and headed to the room door, stealthily unlocking the door and easing it open. He looked over at Dean's bed to see that he was still sound asleep. Sam carefully shut the door, slowly sliding the dead bolt into its slot.
The room suddenly filled with light. Sam spun around to see Dean sitting at the table in the corner behind him, a lit lamp next to him.
"Welcome back, Sam," said Dean, his eyes narrowed.
Sam closed his eyes, sighing and dropping his head to his chest. Why do I fall for that trick every time?
Dean would always stuff the pillows under his blankets to catch Sam when he would sneak out. He'd started that little ruse when Sam was a teenager and would slip out of the room in the middle of the night. Dean still broke it out every once in a while.
"Where were you?" asked Dean, spotting gravel dust on the knees of Sam's jeans. "Planting daisies?"
"I was—" began Sam.
"And don't bother saying you were out getting a beer," said Dean. "I'm not stupid."
Sam sighed, looking up at the ceiling. "I went for a drive."
"A drive?" said Dean, staring at Sam.
"Yeah, a drive," said Sam. "Felt like a drive."
Dean closed his eyes in annoyance, dropping his head for a moment. After a while, he looked up at Sam. "You went to a crossroads, didn't you?"
Sam began to object.
"Don't," said Dean. "I've been watching you since we talked to Bobby…since you found out you were immortal."
Sam sighed, looking down at the floor. "Yes…I went to a crossroads."
Dean nodded, taking that in. "What'd she say?"
Sam frowned, looking up at Dean. "You're not mad?"
"Oh, don't get me wrong, I'm mad," said Dean, standing and walking towards Sam. "I'm mad that you didn't tell me about it, that you hid it from me. I'm onboard with breaking the deal, remember?"
Sam nodded.
"So, what'd she say?" asked Dean.
Sam sighed again. "She said the deal still stands."
Dean frowned. "Why?"
"Because you made the deal to save my life," Sam explained. "And now I can't die."
Dean stared at him for a moment. "That's stupid!"
"I know, but their theory is that as long as I'm alive, you're going to hell."
"Well, now, we can get out of the deal," said Dean. "You're immortal."
"I can still be killed," Sam reminded him.
Dean shook his head. "Dammit!" He placed his hands on his hips. "So, I'm still dying."
Sam froze, staring at the floor. "Maybe not."
Dean looked at him. "What?"
Sam looked up at him. "If you're immortal, the hellhounds can't kill you."
Dean rolled his eyes. "Sam…"
"Hear me out," said Sam rapidly. "We turn you into a merman, you won't have to worry about the deal!"
"And what stops the crossroads demon from using a salt-iron dagger to my heart?" Dean pointed out.
Sam stared at him.
"I want to break this deal as much as you do, but you know hell is gonna be looking for any chance to take me," Dean pointed out.
Sam ran a hand through his hair, sighing.
Dean rolled his eyes. "If you sigh one more time, I swear…"
Sam turned toward his bed, kicking off his boots and dumping his jacket on the floor. He took his jeans off and pulled the covers back, sitting on the bed and taking his watch off.
"No shower?" asked Dean, heading to his own bed.
Sam huffed out a chuckle. "And have a repeat of last time? I don't think so." He crawled under the covers and rolled onto his side, trying to ignore the itch beginning to emerge all over.
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"You ready yet?" Dean banged on the bathroom door.
"Just hang on a second," Sam threw back at him.
Dean rolled his eyes. "You know, for someone who can't use the water, you sure take forever to get ready."
"That's why it takes forever," Sam told him. He grabbed the plastic cup from the counter, filling it and then draining it about seven times. He opened the bathroom door. "Okay, let's go."
"Finally," muttered Dean, heading for the door.
Dean opened the door, heading out as Sam followed. Dean stepped off the covered porch, pulling his jacket closed around him to keep out the rain. As he pulled his keys out, he looked back to see Sam standing frozen in the doorway.
Dean rushed back under the porch roof. "What is it?"
Sam looked past him, staring at the sky. Dean turned and looked at the steady rain falling, and it suddenly dawned on him.
"Oh, crap," muttered Dean.
There was no way Sam could go out in this. Two steps, and he'd be face first on the pavement.
"Um…" said Dean. "I'll get out orders to go."
"Thanks," muttered Sam, reluctantly heading back into the room.
"The usual?" asked Dean.
"Sure," said Sam, closing the door.
Dean ran back out to the Impala, heading off for a roadhouse or something. He found a Lonestar down the road and pulled in, heading inside.
"Howdy, welcome to Lonestar, how many in your party?" greeted the hostess.
"Can I just get a to go order?" asked Dean.
"Sure, just go see the bartender," said the hostess, gesturing towards the bar around the corner.
Dean headed around the corner, stepping up to the bar counter. "Hey, man, can I get a to go order?"
"Sure," said the bartender, pulling out his order pad. "What can I get ya?"
Dean grabbed a menu and glanced over it real quick. "The, uh, Texas Ribeye, well done. Side of…fries and baked potato with bacon and cheddar. And then…Chicken Caesar Salad with the grilled chicken. Now, the salad…" He made sure the bartender was looking straight at him. "No salt. You get me? Even if the ingredients are made with salt. No salt. My brother is highly allergic. One bit of salt, and he'll die. You got it?"
The bartender nodded emphatically. "The salad, no salt. Right?"
"Yes, salad, no salt," Dean emphasized. "If he dies, I'll be back."
The bartender chuckled a little before realizing that Dean was completely serious. He quickly sobered. "Yes, yes, of course. I'll tell them, like, three times."
"Make it four," Dean said.
"Sure thing," said the bartender. "I'll go tell them personally. In fact, I'll watch them make it."
"Thank you," said Dean, making note to tip this guy.
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Sam dropped the remote back onto the bed, settling on Syfy's "Ghost Adventures." As he got lost in the ridiculous—yet entertaining—show, he contemplated everything Bobby had told them about mermaids.
Immortal, song entices, healing kiss, hyrokinesis…
Sam stopped, thinking to himself. Hydrokinesis…the power to move water with the mind…
Sam glanced over at the glass of water on the night stand. Sam stared at it for a moment, deciding to give it a shot. He reached his hand out over the glass, concentrating with everything he had. A spark arched through his mind, startling him, and the surface of the water dipped slightly. Sam concentrated harder, and the center of the water rose like a column out of the glass. Sam watched with fascination as the water ascended out of the glass and into the air, spiraling into a circle in front of him.
Sam faced his palm upwards as the little water globe coiled in circles above it. Sam stared at the ball of water, a small smile appearing on his face. He couldn't believe he was doing this.
"Having fun?"
Sam jumped, losing his concentration. The water fell down onto his hand, running down his arm. Scales appeared on his hand, and the fin erupted from his arm. Sam's head snapped up, looking at the door to see Dean with a big to go bag in his hand.
"Dean…" muttered Sam, looking down at his transformed arm. "You just had to do that, didn't you?"
Dean smiled widely. "Totally." He closed the room door and placed the bag on the table, pulling his Styrofoam box out of the bag.
"You made sure there was no salt?" asked Sam.
"Oh, yeah, I made sure," said Dean. "Come on, Charlton Heston, dig in."
Rolling his eyes at the Moses comment, Sam headed to the bathroom and grabbed a towel, drying his arm off as best as he could. He headed back to the table, grabbing his box out of the bag and digging into the salad.
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"Okay, so, where are we going?" asked Dean that evening. "We have been holed up here way too long without a hunt."
"I don't know, man," said Sam, rubbing at his neck. He filled a glass of water. "Maybe we should just go to Bobby's." He drained the glass of water.
"That could work," said Dean. "The problem is, we missed check out, and they already charged the card."
Sam emptied another glass of water. "So? The card's fake."
"Well, if it's already paid for…" shrugged Dean, "why not stay here one more night? We'll leave in the morning. Fine."
"You wanna head out?" asked Sam. "I think it stopped raining." Sam drained another glass of water.
"Yeah, I could use a beer," said Dean. "Come on, Nemo."
Sam winced, filling another glass of water. "Don't ever call me that again."
Dean laughed as he watched Sam empty another glass of water. "Well, can you blame me? I mean, look at you. You're drinking non-stop."
"That's not my fault," said Sam. "I'm thirsty."
"Yeah, I know you're thirsty."
"No, more than usual," said Sam, rubbing at his hands, both of which were now normal again. He could feel an itch on his skin all over. His skin felt so dry and rough. He couldn't explain it. He was drinking all the water he could get.
"You gonna be okay?" asked Dean.
"Yeah," said Sam. "I'll just order more water at the bar."
Dean shrugged. "Okay."
As Dean walked out the door, Sam looked down at his hand, frowning at the white dry patches beginning to show up.
I'm gonna need a lot of water when we get there, Sam thought, heading out the door.
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Dean drained the last of his beer, looking over at Sam. "You okay?"
Sam looked at him out of the corner of his eye, still drinking his water. He put the glass back down on the table, nodding. "I'm fine. I just need more water."
Dean frowned, becoming very concerned about Sam. "Sam, we've been here for twenty minutes, and you've had, like, fifteen glasses of water."
"I'm thirsty," Sam insisted, his throat very raspy. But even he was beginning to doubt that answer. He wasn't like this yesterday. Sure, he drank a lot then, but this was getting ridiculous.
"You sure?" asked Dean.
"Yeah," Sam nodded, looking over to see where their waitress was. "I just need water."
Dean frowned, looking closely at Sam. "Sam…"
"What?" asked Sam, still looking for their waitress.
"Your neck is peeling," said Dean.
Sam looked at him. "What?"
"Your neck is peeling, Sammy," said Dean.
Sam reached up, touching his neck. Sure enough, his skin was rough and cracked, almost like the mermaid when they killed her. Sam looked down at his hands, which were so dry they looked like they had barnacles growing on them.
"What…" said Sam, his voice still rough. "What the hell…"
"Sam…" said Dean, his eyes widening.
Sam looked up at him. "What? What is it?"
"You don't wanna know," said Dean, quickly getting out of his chair.
Sam reached up to his face, feeling as it began to dry out and crack.
"We gotta get you into the water," said Dean, pulling Sam out of his chair. "Quick."
Sam got out of the door with Dean and did his best to head across the street towards the motel, but his head was beginning to spin. The extreme dehydration was finally taking its toll.
"Dean…I…" began Sam, grasping onto Dean's jacket.
"No, don't you dare pass out on me!" said Dean, grabbing at Sam's jacket. "Stay with me, Sammy!"
"I…don't feel so…" said Sam as his eyes rolled up into his head, and he collapsed to the pavement.
"Sammy!" yelled Dean.