A/N: So yeah, I did say once a month and from here on in that's probably what you'll get. I already had a huge chunk of this chapter written so I decided to just get it up. Now that the setup is (really, really clost to) complete, they'll actually start doing things. I promise. I hope you enjoy this! Please let me know what you think and suggestions/critiques are welcome.
Chapter 2
You should show me some respect. I dragged you out of Hell, I can throw you back in.
...throw you back in.
..back in.
Red clouds roiled and rained down blood. It filled his eyes, obscured his vision, ran down his face, soaked his hair, thick and sticky. His world went red, then black, and he was back in his coffin, suffocating. He pounded at the wall above him, kicked at the walls beside him. Scraped nails on the wood that turned to stone that turned to steel, that turned to razors that shredded his fingers to the bone.
When Dean woke in the motel that morning, he could tell it was going to be an awesome day. He rubbed a hand across his eyes, refusing to think about the nightmare. Refusing to acknowledge the fear the angel had instilled in him. What a dick.
He rose and kicked the mattress of the other bed to rouse Sam, then ducked into the bathroom. His turn for the hot water.
Sam watched him go, realizing Dean hadn't known he was awake and watching him in the throes of the nightmare. Sam filed this information away for later consideration and grabbed his cell off the bedside table. He paused before opening it up, half afraid there would be a message from Ruby, half afraid there wouldn't. There wasn't. Sam rose, sitting on the edge of his bed, fighting the impulse to call her. I have to do this. He told himself, but his resolve was already slipping.
###
The coffee was dark and rich and the first hot sip was heavenly. Dean held the rim of the mug under his nose; the aroma was enticing. Funny how greasy spoon diners tended to have the best coffee.
The diner was small and the formica topped table and padded vinyl chairs were probably original from the opening, circa nineteen fifty something or other. He sipped, enjoying the coffee a bit longer, then set the mug down and turned another page in dad's journal. He spared a quick glance at Sam tapping on his laptop, then at the door as it opened causing a cow bell to jangle discordantly. An older couple entered in a rush of cool air and began a conversation with the waitress behind the bar where they settled on high stools. Obviously regulars.
Their waitress returned and slid a full plate in front of each of them. Dean looked over at the egg white omelette with veggies on Sam's plate and wrinkled his nose. Disgusting. He dug his fork into whipped cream smothered pecan pancakes with one hand while the other reached for a strip of crisp bacon. The waitress returned briefly with the coffeepot to freshen their mugs then hurried off to another table.
Sam watched Dean stuffing his face for a moment and toyed with his own food. "So..."
"What?"
"What happened last night?"
Dean swallowed hard, closing his eyes for a moment. "I thought I saw hell hounds."
"Hell hounds are invisible."
"Thanks Professor, I know that. I mean, it was like that one that came after me," He repressed a shudder as the skin on the back of his neck crawled.
Sam looked thoughtful for a moment, "Just because some stories claim there are hell hounds doesn't actually mean there are any."
Dean scowled and tried to shove down his irritation. He really did try. "Okay. I get it Sammy. I'm some kinda headcase, right?"
Sam's voice grew softer as he continued, "Look, I just think we need to have open minds and figure out exactly what we're dealing with here. How many times have we found a job that turned out to be what we thought it was at first? And who knows what after effects that ghost sickness might have. For all we know you've still got some residual, I don't know, anxiety? Hallucinations? Maybe you're just not at your best right now." And concern furrowed his brow.
Dean rolled his lip over his bottom teeth and bit back a snarky reply. "I'm fine."
Sam didn't look convinced.
He drew a deep breath that left him slowly. He did not want to tell Sam about the nightmares, or how much the ghost sickness, and the hell hounds, and this fucking job was starting to unnerve him. And he wasn't going to. "Really, dude, I'm fine. I just wanna work, okay?" He added a fair attempt at a reassuring grin.
Sam's expression clearly said that wasn't enough and more explanation should be forthcoming posthaste. "Maybe you need to rest, not work."
Dean closed his eyes and shoved another bite of pancakes into his mouth. Then he caught Sam's eyes and stared, thrusting his chin forward a bit, speaking deliberately around the food. "So, are we gonna work on this fuckin' case or what?"
Sam rolled his eyes. "What do you think I'm doing?"
"So, work it! What else could it be if it's not hell hounds?"
"I think we can't ignore that maybe you saw wolves or coyotes."
"Okay Scully." Dean tentatively conceded then turned back to the journal and flipped another page, "So tell me how wolves and coyotes could be what I saw when I didn't actually see anything except bushes moving."
Sam gave him a quizzical look. "So what are you saying?"
"Like I said, I saw bushes moving, I saw...I dunno..." He wasn't quite ready to admit to seeing, or at least thinking he saw the glowing red eyes, burning like coals. "I did hear it growling. And that's not something I'll ever forget, ya know."
Sam did know. He didn't think he'd ever forget the guttural growls of the hellhound as it tore into his brother and killed him. And as much as he'd like to put this all down to Dean being jumpy - hell, it made Sam jumpy too to think of encountering another hellhound - he knew Dean would never say these things if he didn't really believe it.
Dean payed attention to dad's journal once again, turning a few pages but stopping when he saw the large dark drawing of a bear-like black dog. He read a couple of paragraphs in his dad's neat handwriting; turned the page to find a scrap of paper with a hand drawn map of the Four Corners area taped there. A long line snaked up the paper, highway 491. He turned the page back to the drawing of the black dog and considered it for a moment, not even noticing as Sam schooled him about coyotes in the desert and the pack of wolves spotted in Utah just last year.
"Been reading about black dogs. Black Shuck. Succa means demon. Black dogs haunt roads." He quoted loudly over top his brother's voice, before turning the journal around and sliding it toward Sam on the edge of the table. "So, maybe it wasn't hellhounds."
Sam raised an eyebrow at his brother and grabbed the journal, quickly reading the open pages. "Hmmm," was all he said and applied himself to his breakfast.
###
After changing out of the fed threads they divided up the case folders they'd retrieved from the sheriff's office. According to the locals there was nothing unusual about the recent disappearances. In fact they showed them that this sort of thing had been happening for years. People broke down, or stopped to take in the scenery and got lost in the mesas and succumbed to exposure. It was tragic, but not unusual. Even the nudge of a federal investigation of a serial killer crossing state lines hadn't really opened up any more mouths. And as he read through the case files on his side of the table, Dean began to see why.
The files contained only the barest information about the victims. All the vehicles had been broken down in some way. The family car that Sam had mentioned was still running when found had a shredded tire, explaining why it was on the side of the highway. No similar dates, or phases of the moon, or weather. In fact the only things he saw in common was a breakdown and a disappearance.
"They really went all out investigating these didn't they?" Sam said drily.
"Yeah. Crack police work."
"There's pretty much nowhere to go here. No witnesses, no evidence." Sam shuffled pictures of the broken down cars as he spoke. "Hmm, whaddaya think this is here? And here?" He scooted two photos across the table to Dean pointing at the sandy soil away from each of the cars.
Dean squinted at the spots Sam indicated. If he turned the one just a little..."some kind of animal track. That's not that weird, is it? I mean," He turned his left hand palm up, "there was probably road snacks in the cars, ya know."
"Yeah, but look how big it is. Compare it to the tire tracks. That print looks larger than normal."
"So what are you saying? Monster raccoons? Radioactive mutant rats? The Killer Rabbit of Caerbannog?" And if you say hellhounds now, I'm gonna kick your ass.
Sam chuckled, "No bones."
Even Dean had to grin at that.
Then Sam grew serious again, "But...none of the above. It just looks weird to me. Maybe we should go look at a couple of these sites."
"There won't be anything left after the rain last night. And unless you want to stick around in this teeming metropolis living like a king until someone else goes missing, I say we hit the road."
"Well," Sam pulled his laptop close. "I dunno. I'd like to poke around a little bit more before we pack it in, okay?"
"Whatever. I'm gonna go get some food. I assume you want yours to resemble the grass my beef fed on?"
Sam glanced up as Dean grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. "Tacos sound good."
Dean grunted and shut the door behind him.
###
Sam sat perfectly still until he heard the Impala's engine roar and move away from the building. He waited another moment before heading to his bed and grabbing his backpack from the side by the wall. Sitting on the end of the bed he dug in the bottom of the pack and withdrew a small flask from the folds of a rumpled bandanna. He opened it and slowly poured the viscous fluid into the palm of his hand then licked it clean. Sighing, he sagged back onto the bed and stared at the cracks in the ceiling as the warmth spread through his belly. His heart beat faster as the warmth spread to his limbs. He began to tremble with pent up energy and his mind went into overdrive.
This wasn't what he wanted to do. He'd meant it when he'd told Dean he was going to stop using his powers. He meant it knowing that meant no more drinking demon blood. But only a day or two later he started to hear things and see things that he knew could not be there. He'd never bargained on withdrawals. Fortunately, he and Ruby always planned ahead - when they captured a demon they bled them a bit before exorcising them. Not enough to hurt the vessel, but enough to take the pressure off Ruby than if he were solely drinking her blood instead.
So he'd stashed a couple of flasks in his bags and in the car. Which reminded him, he'd better retrieve the one that was still hidden down the side of the back seat before Dean found it. He couldn't stand another of his brother's interrogations, especially the looks of disgust he saw directed at him. Sam sighed and got up, hiding the flask in the bottom of his backpack again. He couldn't stop, he had to keep tapering the amount down until he could stop the blood without withdrawals and that was all there was to it.
He went back to the table and his laptop. And that's where Dean found him when he got back with a six pack and a half dozen tacos.