Sam's energy seems to dissipate with the dull roar of the engine. Pressing himself close against Dean's neck not only for support, but for the overwhelming heat that radiated off of him, Sam started to drift back to the collar of the jacket, Sam pulled it over him, wrapping himself in the comforting body heat of his brother. He knew Dean would never let him forget this, but his sleepless night was catching up on him with vigor, and for now, he could careless what Dean thought.
The skyline grew from a distant view to a looming, bustling city. New York City. It made a person feel important and insignificant at the same time. One thing he wouldn't miss was the traffic. "I mean, we haven't been here since that vampire outbreak in the 90's. Dad called in a favor with a marine buddy of his.. Got to ride in a helicopter into the city. Do you even remember that case? You were only... five or so.."
Sam ignored him. Peeved, Dean gave his shoulder a little shrug to get his attention. "Sam."
Sam slumped a little down against his neck. No way... Was he napping?
The car was at a standstill anyway in the stop and go traffic, so Dean reached up and gingerly let Sam slide into his palm. As he held him out before him, Dean's face softened. It had been a long time since Sam was like this with him. He looked at his sleeping face, wishing Sam could be that peaceful more often. Dean tilted his hand and gently tilted his little brother into the breast pocket of his shirt. The kid deserved to rest with all the crap he was going through.
For the first time in quite a long time, Sam slept peacefully. Hazy memories boiled to the surface of Sam's subconscious. Good days Dean watched over him, sneaking him into movies, or stealing good snacks from the corner store. He remembered the smiles, and laughter, and the smell of... God what was that smell? Sam shifted within the fabric confines, trying to gain his bearings. Where was he? and why did it smell like a mixture of musk, pie, and something godawful that he couldnt identify.
Opening his eyes did nothing to clarify the situation. Darkness welled around him, suffocating a brief moment he began to panic, but a low thudding noise the drummed beside him seemed to calm him down... reassure him.
"Dean?" Groaned Sam, his voice sleepy, and a little hoarse.
"Oh come on!" Dean yelled. The little voice form his pocket went unheard. He had gotten stuck at yet another red light. "Asshole." He glared at the car making it through to the next lane. While some may dub him an aggressive driver, Dean preferred the term "efficient". He liked to get where he was going without any unnecessary delay or detours, if at all possible. And he had zero tolerance for those idiots who were too busy texting to go on a green light. He was scanning the sides of the street feverishly for a place to park. Walking would be infinitely faster than this, and easier on his blood pressure.
He spotted a bank to the left with a row of empty spaces in its lot, and turned left as soon as the light turned green. He parked in a spot marked "Customers Only" and got out of the car. The city air was polluted, but the morning breeze still felt amazing on his face. Dean locked up the impala, dropped the keys in his pocket and started down the sidewalk.
Something hard crashed top of Sam. Swearing, he sent a swift kick to Dean's chest. That idiot had dropped the keys on him! Rubbing his head, Sam hoisted himself upwards, now very awake and more than a little pissed off. Awkwardly dangling from the pocket Sam yelled up at Dean.
"HEY! Goliath! Pay attention!"
Dean looked down sharply, his steps coming to a sudden halt wen he saw a flash of Sam out of the pocket and dangling from under the flap of his jacket.
"Dammit." Glancing around for any nosy pedestrians, Dean reached under, grabbed Sam, and stuffed him back into the pocket gruffly. "Would it kill you to stay put once in your life?"
He felt Sam immediately struggle to escape again. Beyond feeling friggin weird, it was a stupid risk in Dean's eyes. Annoyed, he pushed his head down again with a single finger. "Calm your tits already," he said under his breath as he began walking once more. "At least lemme find a Starbucks or something before you take a sidewalk dive."
No one seemed to pay much mind that he was talking to himself. Then again, NYC had its fair share of nuts who talk to themselves.
Annoyed by Dean's handling fingers, Sam slumps to the bottom of the pocket. Like a pouting kid, Sam crosses his arms and glares into the darkness, no longer soothed by the rocking from Dean's steps, or the heavy drum of his brothers heart. Now it seemed obnoxious. Picking up the keys with both hands, Sam rams the the key against his brothers chest, in a fit of annoyed vengeance.
Dean yelps loudly in pain, glaring down in Sam's direction.
"Are you alright, honey?" An kindly-looking african-american woman carrying thrift store and grocery bags had stopped amongst the bustling sidewalk to give Dean a rather alarmed look. Dean realized how this looked; his hand clasped over his heart, the sudden pain...
"Huh- Oh yeah, I'm.. I'm good." He flashed her a charming smile and followed up with, "Just got a-" he cleared his throat loudly and patted Sam's general position twice. "-bug in my throat or sumthing."
"Son of a bitch," mumbled Sam, as he was roughly shoved against Dean's chest with each pat. It was made quite clear that it'd be a good idea not to try anything else until he was freed from the pocket. Though, that still didn't stop him from sending an elbow to Dean's chest.
Sulking in the inky darkness of the pocket, Sam ruminated over the patheticness of his situation. His pride seemed to have imploded. He was stuck in a pocket for God's sake, and worse yet, the pocket reeked. Sam made a mental note to force Dean to do laundry more often after this whole ordeal was silenced.
Dean could feel Sam's body sliding around against him, thump with every other step. He didn't envy his little brother's position, but what else could he do? He refused to risk Sam further in this state. Sam was gong to be safe, whether he liked it or not.
The streets were busy, even at this early hour. It took a bit of navigating, but his street sense led him eventually to a little coffee street. Only problem was, it was across a four-lane street. He started weaving in between cars,'but the light turned green halfway, and he had to jog the rest of the way. Okay. Find a bathroom, talk to Sammy, figure out where to go first.
Dean's rapid changing of direction jostled Sam about, sending him flying around in the pocket. The darkness made him woozy. It was bad enough the he was being swung around like a rag doll, but the lack of vision added to the sickening feeling that was building up in his stomach. Sam gagged. The smell wasnt helping either. Did the pocket seem smaller? The air felt stagnant. Nothing was fresh. Oh God, he couldn't breath. Was the pocket always this tight?! Sam gagged again. Dry heaving. Had he ate any breakfast this morning, he certainly would have lost it by now.
"Dean..." gurgled Sam, his voice barely audible to himself, let alone Dean. He slammed his fist against his brother's chest a few times, hoping to God he's stop running about.
He pressed a hand over the pocket again, but this time in a gentle manner, supporting him.
"Sorry, Sammy." He murmured, dodging people to make it to the men's room.
Dena locked himself in the single-person bathroom and faced the mirror. He was almost afraid of what he would pull out of the pocket. He reached is couple fingers in carefully and felt tinier arms latch on weakly.
"Hey, talk to me." He prompted, alarmed. Sam was all pale and shaky.
Sam held out a hand to silence Dean. His brain was still swirling wildly, like his senses had been caught in a tornado. His head pounded as it searched desperatly for something to focus on... for a way to set Sam's internal equalibrium back in track. It found nothing. Size difference seemed to take another blow at Sam's mind. God everthing was so huge! He felt light headed. Sucking in a sharp breath of stale bathroom air, Sam gagged. Holding onto Dean's thumb for support, he looked up at his brother with watery eyes and grimaced.
"Let's NEVER do that again."
A guilt wave to end all guilt waves crashed upon Dean.
"Oh man..." He breathed. He couldn't even walk around outside without making Sammy feel like crap. This sucked majorly, in pretty much every way. He brought his brother back to his chest in an enveloping, but very gentle hug. He rubbed Sam's back with knuckles of his other hand as he frowned deeply. "We gotta figure out a better place to put you." He let his own words sink in, and let out a dark, humorless chuckle. "Man, this is so screwy.."
Sam laughed dully into Dean's chest,
"I thought you said no chick flick moments?" As Dean pulled out of the hug Sam sighed, and scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. The look of concern that was magnified by his brothers gigantic eyes was more than over whelming.
"I'm fine Dean," laughed Sam, trying to lighten the mood and make himself seem less fragile, "Just... no more running." Sam paused, then wrinkled his nose,
"And seriously... wash your clothes more."
"Dude! I just washed these a couple weeks ago! You've just got a freakishly sensitive nose."
Apart from a flicker of a smirk, Dean pretty much ignored the chick flick comment, sticking to the rule that if they didn't talk about it, it didn't happen. He looked away at a spot on the tile wall and let out a silent frustrated breath.
"What am I supposed to do? I put you on the ground, you're dead. You get spotted, you become a fun-sized target for lucifer- not to mention the truckload of angels, demons, and cops who would love to gank our asses." He gave Sam a severe look, not driven by anger at Sam, but rather the difficulty of the situation. "Now, I know my pocket is a far cry from the hilton honeymoon suite..." He faced the mirror, scanning his own appearance. His jacket collar was pretty high, especially with the denim shirt layered underneath.
Grimacing, Sam nodded,
"I said its fine Dean. I'll deal. It's less than 24 hours," Sam paused, not wanting to bring up that they still hadnt figured out the tricksters puzzle, "and even though you're like a carnival ride from Hell," he shot Dean a half playful, half serious glare, "I'm sure I can stick it out."
Sam stood on shaking legs, stretching his stiff body. They really should get moving.
"So what's our first stop anyways?"
"Uh.." Dean set him down on the edge of the sink so he could pull out the folded map from his jeans pocket. It was a little wrinkled, but he smoothed it out best he could and hovered a hand over it, locating their approximate position. "The closest mark to hit is this art museum." He tapped the metropolitan Museum of art, unaware of its glorious reputation.
Standing on his toes, Sam grabbed at the map, more than thrilled to see the destination. It was one of the places he's always wanted to visit but never had the opportunity. Sam was close to bouncing with excitement, until he realized he's be visiting the museum from the confines of a pocket.
"Figures the one time I get to go, I wont actually see anything..." Sam paused, an idea forming in his head. "You think Gabriel might have his a clue there?"
Dean shrugged. "Best lead we got." He folded up the map and tucked it in his pocket, then did much the same with his little brother. He lifted him up to his face so they could talk eye to eye, if only for a brief moment. He narrowed his eyes, studying Sam for any lingering motion sickness. When all he got was a severely uncomfortable expression, he lowered him to his outer jacket pocket and tilted him inside. While he was still getting situated within, dean held the upper flap open to peer down at him. It was just so weird to see!
Sam couldnt stand how Dean constantly observed him. He just wanted to be normal again, or as close to normal as this messed up life would let him get. There was just something about those big green eyes peering down at him with concern and curiosity that infuriated him.
"You done Dean?" snapped Sam, the question coming out much harsher than intended.
Dean's tentative smile widens, followed by a loud (to Sam's ears) chuckle. It was adorable when Sam got all pissy. He unlocks the door and heads back out into the main part of the coffee shop to order some type of fruit Danish and a small coffee. He paid with cash, knowing this type of place could afford the resources to track a credit card trail should the cops come knocking. He passed a chunk of Danish down to Sam, waiting until he feltit tugged out of his grasp before pulling his hand away. The rest he ate in a few big bites, ambling along the crowded sidewalk.
The sounds of Dean eating above him unnerved Sam. The noises his brother made at his regular height were bad enough, but the added volume, and closeness to his brother made him squirm.
Sam ate the bit of Danish hesitently, his appetite dulled by his previous motion sickness, the pocket stench, and mostly his brother's sound effects. He swore he could hear Dean's stomach gurgle.
Though, after his first bite of the pastery, he soon forgot all of his qualms. It was as if the taste was magnified along with everything else. Scarfing it down without a moments thought, Sam smiled to himself. Less than 24 hours on the clock, he might as well put aside his fears, and distaste, and try to take advantage of what he could.
Dean popped a shiny red and white peppermint in his mouth, tucking it to one side of his cheek with his tongue. They had a bowl of them on the desk at the lobby- and for $25 bucks entry per person, he felt he deserved a few. He did an overall glance of the interior and of the informational pamphlet he'd been given. But so far nothing stuck out to him as odd. Apart from the fact that some of this stuff was actually considered art.
"You're kidding me right?" He said not so quietly to Sam, coming to stop in front of a Jackson Pollock. "What did he do, puke paint on the canvas?"
Sam snickered, imagining Deans face twisted in confusion and disgust. Though, he wished he could see. Raising himself up just enough that his head was over the pocket top, Sam risked a glance at the canvas.
Dean felt the tiny body shift, and immediately looked down. He could barely even see the top of Sammy's head from his point of view. At least the kid was being cautious.
"See what I mean? Stupid." He gestured further, hoping to get Sam's opinion on this. Instead, he got someone else's.
"Pollock was a visionary," a bold female voice piped up to his left. Dean stiffened, instinctively hiding the pamphlet high enough to block Sam from view. He turned just his head to see a very pretty strawberry blonde standing next to him. But...She looked rather peeved at him. Not good. "He paved the way for modern art as we know it. It's ignorant jerks like you who make starving artists a reality."
"Well," Unable to resist, he took a step closer to her and flashed a cocky smile. "Educate me."
Sam stiffled a laugh. This would be good. He could practically feel Dean's discomfort as it crawled under his brother's skin.
She pursed her lips, deciding whether he was worth the trouble. Turning back to the painting, she gestured at it.
"His method was unique. A bold take on abstract expressionism. Shame he wasn't recognized till after his death, really."
Dean grunted his agreement for how screwy death was. "Yeah, that sounds about right.."
She turned to face Dean again, and gave him the first real okce over. She arched an eyebrow, the stepped a little closer. "And he was very passionate about his work."
"Mm, really?" Dean feigned interest. "I can see that I mean, if really..." He made a few gesture to mimic the motion of the paint. ", uh, shows.."
She laughed quietly, seeming to forgive his ignorance for have such a nice smile.
"Don't take this the wrong way but You don't seem like the 'museum type' to me."
"I'm not."
She gave him an expectant look, so he formulated an explanation. "I'm., kinda on this scavenger hunt. It's stupid."
"Oh. Well.. Can I help? I know this place pretty well." She offered.
Dean was ready to turn her down, then stopped himself.
"You got anything on angels around here?"
Sam groaned from the pocket, hating the fact he's have to sit tight while the lady guided Dean around, though he was grateful, as he didnt have much faith in Dean finding any hidden clues in a museum.
Pretty or not, the girl ended up being real annoying fast. Dean managed to shake her, and continued exploring on his own. Wandering into a room fills with paintings of naked women, Dean decided maybe art could be his thing after all.
"Hey feel free to keep an eye out. I have no idea what I'm looking for here." Dean bowed his head to whisper to Sam.
Finally able to steal a breath of fresh air from the confines of the pocket, Sam shimmied until he had both arms free, along with his head and shoulders.
"I'm not to sure I know what to look for either." Groaned Sam, looking around the vast, and wildly decorated room. Even if they found a clue, how would they know it was a clue?Or what if there weren't any clues, or what if- his thoughts were interrupted by a striking painting. Two beautiful naked women, standing before an incredibly detailed background of a forest, and magnificent waterfall.
The painting in itself was incredible, but that was no what made it so striking. What drew Sam's attention was the figure who the two woman clung to.
Gabriel.
Even clad in bronze armor, it was unmistakably him. The cocky smile, the mischievous eyes, he even sported a curly mustache. Though, it was the wings that sprung from his back that seemed to chill Sam to the very core. They were dealing with a powerful being, and seeing those wings seemed to remind him of that.
"Dean," shouted Sam, "Look!"
Dean followed Sam's insistent gaze. It didn't take him long to see what he was worked up about. He snorted softly, eyeing the plaque below that read 'Saint Gabriel Triumphs'
"Saint my ass.." He grumbled, staring warily at the paiting, half-expecting it to wink at him.
"Son of a bitch." Another painting caught his eye across the room, and he made a beeline for it. It seemed Gabriel was having a creative venting session today. The plaque below this one read 'Michael vs lucifer'. It showed just that; Michael appeared to have the upper hand in casting the dark-winged angel froth heavens, but Dean noticed a shar and disturbingly accurate archangel blade grasped by lucifer. But the part the made his mouth go dry was that it was them; the faces and physique of the angels were repaited to resemble Sam and Dean. It was very disturbing. Dean checked the informational pamphlet- the original version was stil printed.
"Not exactly subtle.."
"Oh man..." Sam groaned, his stomach feeling similar to kneaded dough. Leaning over farther out, he called up to Dean, "Is there one of those info pedestals for either of the paintings?"
Happy for the distraction of Sam with demon wings, Dean unfolded the pamphlet, scanning the brief historical paragraphs.
"They were both painted by the same guy- Ricardo Mendez."
Sam huffed. That hardly seemed like a good clue to him. Though maybe he just wasnt seeing the big picture. Maybe if they did a search on the artist... Sam sighed shaking his head. Research wasnt what was needed. He needed to find a meaning. It wasn't something he could put into a search engine... it was a lesson. This was all on him, and he had no idea if he would be able do it.
"I'm at a loss Dean," sighed Sam, hating to admit it, "you got any ideas?"
"I don't know." said Dean. He hated saying it, knowing that even now, in adulthood, Sam the knowitall still looked to his big brother for answers. And Dean didn't have any this time.
Honestly, he was having a hard time believing there was a lesson in all this and the trickster wasn't just leading them on a wild goose chase to nowhere. Dean tilted his head all the way to his chest to see Sam's little head and shoulders peeking out from under the pocket flap.
"We've got the map, so we'll just run through the landmarks. Bound to hit gold sometime." He turned away from the altered painting and strode purposefully back the way he came.
With a sigh, Sam slid back in the pocket. He half expected the meddling Angel to step out of the painting, though he had no such luck. Curling up in the bottom of the pocket, Sam felt guilt catch up on him. If he couldnt figure this out, Dean would be in his position. The fact that he felt relief and comfort in the thought troubled him, more so, it disgusted him.
"Well," called out Sam from the pocket, his voice cracking, "where to next?"
Dean stood the the side in the lobby, ignoring the other art-loving tourists filing in and out of the museum. There was a rustling amongst the jacket, followed by the crinkling of paper outside. "Huh. Central Park." Dean's voice rang out overhead, laced with a undertone of humor. Too bad they couldn't actually relax. It was like the vacation they never got to take. Only dean knew this time tomorrow he would be the one riding around in a pocket if they didn't figure this out. He folded up the map into his jeans pocket and headed back outside. Green eyes narrowed, squinting in the newfound sunlight.
"Hey, maybe you can get that tan you always wanted." Dean chuckled at his own jab. "I bet you would fit on one of those little mirror things.."
Sam gave Dean a sharp jab, hoping he would feel it though the jacket. Though, even in the midst of all the anarchy, he couldn't help but smile at his brother's attempt at lightening the mood. He had to figure this out. For Dean.
Popping his head and chest out of the pocket, Sam leaned back so he could see his brothers face as he addressed him.
"How far off is that?"
A tiny poke hit him, making him smile more. More movement shifted against the swinging pocket, so he looked down.
"Hm?" Dean thought at first Sam was actually joking back with him. But he'd recognize that look anywhere: Back to business. "Oh, I'm not walking there. It's 15 blocks from here!" He looked back at where he was going to walk around someone texting and walking, along with a couple of girlfriends walking and talking. A subway stairwell was up ahead on the left. As he boarded the crowded escalator, he dared to continue talking to his tiny passenger in public.
"Remember that year you were obsessed with trains? Even lifted that book from the Missouri library.. What was it called? Trains and planes? Something cutesy like that."
Sam's face reddened a bit. The fact Dean remembered that was more than he could take. He forced a smile onto his face, but the guilt that boiled and bubbled behind it. He had to stop Dean from switching places with him. It was all on him.
Pushing the tangled emotions deep down, turned his gaze skywards to his behemoth of a brother, he stared down at him with concern in his eyes.
"We're taking a train?" Sam asked, unable to hide the undertones of curiosity.
"Well, the subway." He clarified. "No way we'd get everywhere on the list in this traffic."
He hated how crowded it was. He felt like someone or another was constantly touching him. A bag was bumping his back, a businesswoman brushing past his sleeve, and one particularly overweight man who nearly barreled right into him- and then had the nerve to give HIM a dirty look!
"Asshole." Dean muttered, finally making his way to one of the ticketing booths. He purchased a one day pass with a credit card under the name of Ricardo Muñez. More waiting, and then he was sitting in a nice hard plastic seat on the next stop. He studied the map painted on the opposite wall as the subway lurched into motion.
"Alright 81st street. That's our stop." He murmured down to Sam. "..Hope you're having fun in there." He added, with a tone that suggested apology for what was undoubtedly an incredibly boring trip.
In the sealed car, it was a bit quieter. Most people avoided eye contact, looking rather despondent or too involved in their own business to spare him much attention. The ride was bumpy, noisy, and dean felt like he was exposed to at least three mild infractions just breathing the stale air. Made him miss his Baby. He'd be glad when they could put this all behind them and go back to cruising state to state.
Sam sat in the darkness of the pocket, bored and nervous at the same time. Subway trains had seemed a lot cooler when he was 10. He tried to make himself smaller than he already was by curling up in the pocket, flinching every time someone bumped into his brother.
Sam wished he could at least see the people coming, the constant flinching at any movement was becoming more annoying that nerve wracking. He wished he could talk to Dean, instead of being stuck in silence, riding in a rank smelling pocket. Every once and a while he would open the flap on the pocket, taking in the fresh ( or at least fresher) air. God, Dean really needed to wash this.
As the subway train lurched forward and came to a halt, he heard the muffled speaker mumble their stop. He felt his whole world lurch and sway as Dean shambled out of the subway. Sam had to marvel at the weirdness of this whole situation. The sensations, the smells, the fact he was being carried around in his brothers pocket... He found himself counting down the hours until it was over.
Only 18 hours left.