xoxoxo
Sam stopped the Impala in front of St. Michael's Church. Sunlight hit the stained-glass windows at the right angle, giving the impression they were aglow. He had to admit that it was a beautiful sight, like being close to Heaven, even if he felt far from it these days.
No sign of Dean.
Where was he? Sam pushed against the driver's seat, trying to catch a glimpse of the church's exits through the windows of the Impala. The stairs were clear with no sign of movement. Ahead, he saw the flashing lights of a police cruiser. It had part of the street blocked off, just out of view. If Dean was right about the cops being called, there were probably more of them casing the side streets and alleyways.
Whatever Dean had done, Sam was going to murder him for it.
The passenger side door creaked open.
Sam nearly jumped when he saw Dean climb in. He hadn't heard him approach the car at all.
He frowned. His brother was covered in mud, his clothes were in shreds, and he was missing a boot. "What happened?"
Dean slammed the door. He kept his permanent scowl focused outward, refusing to look at Sam. "Drive."
"No." Sam wasn't about to take orders from Dean in a situation like this. "Not until you tell me what happened."
There was a hitch in Dean's breath, as if he was struggling with the idea of coming clean, but it quickly hid beneath a deeper scowl. His fingers dug deeper into the arm rest. "Just drive."
Sam drove. He wasn't happy about it, but he drove. And as he sped toward a hotel at the edge of town, he swore he heard Dean muttering his name, over and over.
#
They arrived at Sunset Paradise fifteen minutes later. Fifteen long, silent minutes later.
Sam tossed his bag on one of the dual beds inside the hotel room. Dean shuffled in behind him and did the same.
Immediately, Dean's gaze jotted to the maps sprawled across a small table by the window. Sam could see the questions forming in his mind, as well as the anger. Luckily, Ruby hadn't left any of her belongings around. That would have been difficult to explain.
Dean fingered the edge of one of the maps. "When did you check in?"
Now he wanted to talk. Always on Dean's terms. Sam ran his fingers through his hair, trying to work out some of the tension that had been building all night. He had no clue what was happening, and he hated it.
"Sam."
"Once you disappeared."
"You didn't look for me?"
Sam narrowed his eyes. He wasn't going to play Dean's manipulative emotional games today. "You were gone for over eight hours. When I couldn't find you, I needed to regroup. The barn wasn't going to work anymore."
Instead of arguing, Dean said nothing and rubbed at his face. He looked older than he had just days ago, the burden in his eyes and the lines in his face growing heavier.
Some of the anger Sam was feeling burned away as he searched Dean's lost, pained face. "What happened?"
"It's over. What's the point?" He tossed his shredded jacket down before he eased himself into his bed. "Let's focus on the here and now."
That's when it hit Sam. "You're afraid."
"I'm not afraid," Dean snapped.
"Then man up and tell me what happened."
Dean sighed and looked away. Any number of thoughts could be passing through his mind. Days like today were the times that Sam wished he had the power to see into Dean's head, even if just for a minute, even if just for the important facts. Dean could be so open and so closed at the same time. He was a walking contradiction.
Sam waited, arms crossed. He could be stubborn, too.
Dean obviously wasn't himself based how easily he gave up. Throwing his hands in the air, he cried, "I was here and then I wasn't. Happy?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means I was in India. Bam. Just like that," he said, snapping his fingers. Dean stalked out of the room into the bathroom where he cranked the faucet to full power.
"India?" That wasn't the kind of answer he'd expected. "Are you sure?"
Dean shot him a cold glare.
Sam suppressed a small shiver. He tried not to think about what might have happened there, who might have seen Dean, or the consequences for Dean's international trip. Ruby's warnings came back in a rush. He swallowed hard, pushing them back down.
"How did you end up in-?"
"Not talking about it," Dean said. As he leaned over the sink and splashed water on his face, Sam heard him chanting again, like he had in the car. Only now, Sam understood why.
"You don't have to keep saying the motel name to ground yourself. You're not going to disappear."
Dean hunched over the sink, wordless. Sam didn't need to see his brother's face to feel his fear, thick and heavy in the space between them.
"Why don't you run through what happened so we know what steps to take to make it stop."
Dean glared at him from the corner of his eyes. "Yeah, no. End of discussion."
"Dean."
"I said end of discussion, Sammy."
And that was it. The end of their conversation. Sam lingered a moment longer to see if he could coax Dean to open up, but he continued to ignore him as he prepared for a shower.
Giving up, Sam went back to the table to stare at the maps. Once he had realized Dean wasn't anywhere in town, he'd checked into the motel to try to clear his head. Ruby had encouraged him to leave the park, though she had left shortly after to see what she could do to help Dean. That left Sam alone again.
He'd taken out a bunch of maps as a distraction and had done a bit of internet research, only to come across a happy coincidence: two of the shops near the center of town were closed for vacation. That narrowed the search to a parking garage, a strip mall, and a local hospital. Unless the Watcher was living in the garage, that left the mall and hospital as the only viable options.
The Watcher was in one of them. Monsters were creeping closer. And all Sam could think about was what the angels wanted to do with this guy.
Now, he had to worry about Dean and his apparent teleporting ways. That was going to make their jobs a whole lot harder if Dean couldn't get it under control. What had happened in India? Sam was afraid to ask.
He didn't have long to dwell. Within a few minutes, Dean had joined him, fresh from the shower. He scrubbed his wet hair with a towel, tossed it aside, and slipped into the seat across the table before he began examining the maps.
Sam frowned at Dean's choice of a t-shirt and boxers. "Not exactly battle ready."
Dean shot Sam a glare before he turned his attention back to the maps. "I'm beat."
"It's called jet lag."
"Call it whatever you want, but I deserve some sleep."
"It's morning. I thought this whole Watcher business was important to you."
"What's with the attitude all of a sudden?" Dean asked, the exasperation clear in his face.
"You seriously need to ask that?" When Dean didn't answer, Sam leaned across the table, his fists tight. "Because you won't be straight with me. You're bringing us jobs when we're already on a job. You're having us chase down some person that neither one of us knows anything about. Have you considered that the angels are messing with your head?"
"Says the boy with demon blood."
Sam scowled. "That's a low blow, and you know it."
"Then quit interrogating me like I'm some sort of criminal."
"Dean, you disappeared. Disappeared. And ended up in India. Why isn't this setting off any alarm bells in you?"
Dean shrugged.
Of course, Dean wasn't listening. He never listened. Not really.
"You're the one who always said that you can't trust the supernatural. Now you're okay taking orders from them?"
"I don't take orders from nobody. And weren't you on board with this whole angel plan months ago?"
"That was before they tried to kill Anna and send you back to Hell."
Dean didn't answer.
"Dean, you haven't been the same since you've come back." How could Dean refuse to see this? Sam wanted to believe the angels had a plan, a plan that would overcome the evil in the world, even the evil in himself. These angels weren't the answer. He couldn't let his brother slip into their control. "Can't you trust me, just this once?"
Dean ignored him and pointed to the maps. "Whatcha got?"
If this was the way he wanted to handle the situation, fine. But their conversation wasn't over. Not even remotely.
"This person is in either a mall or a hospital."
"Awesome. That's going to be easy."
"If you really want to go through with this, we'll have to monitor activity at the mall and the hospital. Chances are this Watcher person works at either place." He looked to Dean. "It would be helpful if we knew who this person is. A name. Anything."
"Don't look at me," Dean said with a shrug. "I got nothing."
Castiel had to have told Dean something. He couldn't accept that Dean was completely left in the dark. Then again, Dean was so caught up in his own problems right now, Sam was convinced he was missing the big picture.
They needed an outside perspective.
"I think we should tell Bobby."
"Bobby already knows."
"That's not what I mean, and you know it."
Dean shook his head and glanced away.
"Look, he's going to figure it out, if he hasn't already."
"No. No way in hell."
"Dean, we don't have many people to turn to. It would be a good idea-"
"What? In case I go nuts or something?" He let out a nervous laugh. "No. I'm not letting Bobby think we're freaks."
"Admit it. You don't want Bobby to look at you the way you look at me."
Dean's face instantly darkened.
"Let's cut the crap. We'll-"
The muffled sound of Dean's cellphone broke Sam's thoughts. "I thought you said it didn't work?"
Dean shrugged and picked up the phone before shooting Sam an incredulous look. "Speak of the devil. Hey, Bobby. The boy-psychic was just talking about you. Say that again? My cell's crap. What?"
Sam watched Dean's face move from lightly agitated to concerned. Without another word, Dean switched to speaker phone and motioned toward the TV.
Sam did as instructed and snapped on the TV. A swell of discomfort churned in his stomach. This was going to be bad.
The local station was abuzz with crowds and reporters swarming the scene of some kind of big event in Brighton. People were lined out into the street, holding posters and random trinkets, while the reporter stopped to talk to someone waiting outside the line. It was hard to make out exact details with all of the fanfare, but from what he could tell a large group had gathered around a man and a makeshift altar. A homeless man.
Sam stared at the screen. He knew that homeless man.
He whipped around to catch Dean whose face turned a delicate shade of pale.
The awkward silence must have spoken volumes. There was a shuffling on the other side of the line. "Sam? Dean?"
"What the hell is this?" Dean whispered.
"A shrine, far as I can tell," Bobby answered, his voice uneven through the pops and breaks in volume. "I'm on a radio feed, but sounds like some idjits up your way came up with the brilliant idea to pray to some" Sam started.
"Don't you go trying your charms on me, boy. What do ya take me for?"
"Look, Bobby," Dean said. "It's complicated."
"Complicated my ass. What the hell's going on?"
Sam walked toward the phone, uneasy at how pasty and panicked Dean was starting to look. "We'll tell you everything, Bobby. Promise," Sam assured him. "But we're on a time crunch. We need to take care of this job."
"Screw it. I'm coming to Brighton. I got contacts. I'll do it myself."
"Uh, hey. No need to go out of your way. We'll pop by after and-" Dean stopped, his eyes widening.
Sam followed Dean's unsettled gaze back to the TV. On the screen, there was a large sketch from an artist at the scene. There was no mistaking it. The sketch was Dean's face.
Crap.
If any law enforcement officer saw this, they would want to talk to Dean. If that attention wasn't bad enough, this would inevitably lead back to hunters, which was a far far worse scenario.
Sam shook his head and turned to his brother. "We-"
The bed was empty.
"What? No. Not now."
Sam did a quick scan of the small motel room -the beds, the bathroom, the small kitchen area. He knew his search was fruitless. The motel room was too small to sneak off undetected, but going through the motions comforted Sam on some level. Deep down, he knew Dean was gone.
"Dean? Dean!"
He took a deep breath and found his center. Last time, he didn't have a clue where Dean had gone. Sam glanced at the blaring TV. This time, he had a pretty good idea.
Sam grabbed his coat and stormed out the door.