Supernatural Fan Fiction ❯ A Sea of Waking Dreams ❯ Crazy Few ( Chapter 7 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

Chapter 7
 
It was the wrong grave.
 
Dean stared down at the tiny coffin and felt a mixture of self-disgust and…well, more self-disgust.
 
He'd known that the grave he was looking for didn't have a name on the marker, and in his anxiety to get this done, he hadn't even stopped to consider the idea that there might be more than one unmarked grave in this cemetery. It was a rookie mistake, one he hadn't made in well over a decade—until tonight.
 
And not only that, but he'd dug up a child's grave.
 
At least he hadn't actually burned the bones. That was a plus, he supposed.
 
With a sigh, Dean tossed his shovel up and out and pulled himself out of the grave. “It's the wrong one,” he told Niko, who—once his offer to help dig had been firmly rebutted—had taken up a seat next to the plot, legs crossed and hands on knees so that he looked like the Dalai Lama or something.
 
If Niko was thinking anything deprecating, he certainly didn't show it. Instead, he glanced down into the grave and said simply, “If you wouldn't mind lending me a shovel, I'll cover it again while you find the right one.”
 
Dean sighed again and, after a moment's hesitation, said grudgingly, “Yeah, thanks.”
 
Niko gave him a brief smile, and for a moment—just a single moment—Dean met his eyes and felt with a jolt that the other man knew exactly what he was thinking. It was like he knew without asking exactly how uncomfortable Dean was with letting anyone besides Sam in on a hunt—and that not only did he know, but he also sympathized.
 
It was like, with that one look, Niko had picked up everything that was bothering Dean at that moment.
 
It was insanely uncomfortable, and Dean was again reminded why being around Niko made him feel so awkward. He looked away quickly and said, “Just, uh, use that shovel. I'll get one from my car.”
 
Niko gave him that look again, and as Dean turned and started to head toward the car, he could've sword he heard a soft chuckle behind him.
 
XXX
 
Sam felt…strange. Fuzzy, but in a different way than when he tried to remember the time while Dean was gone. This fuzziness wasn't like forgetting. It just felt…wrong. He felt wrong. In addition to the fuzziness, he felt nauseous, and his head felt like someone was splitting it with a jackhammer.
 
And he could already tell that he wasn't in the motel room anymore—after being there for nearly a week straight, it was obvious without opening his eyes.
 
And what was more, he could tell Dean wasn't there.
 
That realization frightened him far more than anything else could have, and Sam wrenched his heavy eyes open as soon as it occurred to him.
 
His first impression was of space. Not big enough to be a warehouse, but not small enough to be a room in a house, motel, or apartment building. And in New York City, that didn't leave many options except—underground? Maybe some kind of basement?
 
He tried to figure out more, but his mind drifted away again—away from this place, and away from his sudden fear—for how long, he didn't know. He came back once to note that his wrists and arms were secured with a chain—not even cuffs, but something like bike chains that cut into him and hurt like hell—but before long he went away again.
 
The second time he returned, it was for longer, because it was then that he noticed that he wasn't alone, after all. Cal was there. He was slumped against the wall, tied like Sam was, looking like full-on warfare wouldn't wake him up. Sam tried to open his mouth and say his name, but like when he tried to talk about the flames, the words wouldn't come out.
 
And then he drifted off again, and stayed away until he heard the distant sound of a door opening and closing. The noise jerked him back into semi-lucidity in time for him to hear and, eventually, comprehend the sound of measured footsteps.
 
XXX
 
Dean pressed a little harder on the gas pedal than was necessary as he left the cemetery parking lot an hour or so later. Niko glanced sidelong at him and said, “Would you think it intrusive if I asked a personal question?”
 
Dean shrugged and said absently. “You've already gone on a hunt with me. Doesn't get much more personal than that. What do you want to know?”
 
“Have you told Sam about your father's secret yet?”
 
Dean jerked the wheel sharply, causing the car to swerve into the other—blessedly empty—lane for a moment before he straightened her out. “Uh…okay, I was wrong,” he murmured. “Jeez, you really get to the heart of things, don't you?”
 
“I apologize,” Niko said. Dean waited, but nothing else was forthcoming.
 
“Well, if you really think it's any of your business…yeah, I told him. He freaked out, he ran off, he came back. And then he asked me to promise I'd do it, if it came to that. That enough information for you?”
 
Niko's hand drifted down toward the boot Dean now knew held a very impressive dagger, but then it fell back onto his lap and he said, “That must have been unpleasant.”
 
“Yeah, that's…a pretty good word for it. But we got over it.”
 
“And did you? Promise him?”
 
“Yeah, I promised him. He wouldn't leave me alone until I did. Look, what's it to you, anyway?” Dean asked, trying to sound sharp and only succeeding in sounding tired.”
 
“And yet,” Niko went on, ignoring the last question, “you didn't. When he was killing people, you didn't even consider ending him, did you? Not for a moment.”
 
“No!” Dean said, nearly swerving the car again. “Of course not! How can you even ask me that?”
 
But then he noticed that Niko's lips were curling upward in as close a thing to a smile as Dean ever saw on his face.
 
“What're you smiling about?”
 
“I was just thinking,” Niko explained, “that my brother might be right for once in his life. Maybe you and I are more alike than we'd like to believe.”
 
Dean couldn't really say anything to that, because he remembered Sam saying something like that once.
 
And suddenly, he just…really wanted to see his brother.
 
XXX
 
Sam probably should have been worried about the man pacing silently up and down in front of him, holding a gun and wearing an expression of deep concentration, but he couldn't seem to concentrate. All he could think was, Where's Dean? Dean should be here…
 
“What's your name, boy?”
 
It was the first time the stranger had spoken since he'd come down into what turned out to be a basement. His voice was calm, even friendly, but something in it raised all the little hairs on the back of Sam's neck.
 
“Sam,” he answered immediately. It didn't even occur to him to lie—he was too busy wondering about Dean.
 
“Sam. I'm Michael.”
 
“Hi, Michael. Were you the one who brought us here?” Sam asked, his mind only half on the conversation.
 
“I was, yes. And you won't be leaving, either.”
 
“Oh. That's kind of a bummer. Or it would be if you were right. How'd you get us here?”
 
“Tranquilizer darts,” Michael replied. He seemed perfectly willing to answer all Sam's questions and Sam somehow felt that there was something wrong with that. “You seem to be shaking them off much faster than your friend here. Then again, his did have enough in it to drop an elephant in its tracks. I'm surprised it didn't kill him, honestly. He's really fairly useless—I just brought him along to avoid the mess of killing him at your motel. You, though, Sam—you, I want to talk to.”
 
“What about?” Sam asked politely, already waiting for the smash of Dean's shoe against the door.
 
“Oh, nothing much. Just…wanted to know why you killed my daughter, is all.”
 
Sam felt himself snap back to Earth at that and blurted, without thinking, “I didn't kill your daughter!”
 
Michael's expression changed without warning, going from pleasant to positively alarming in a split second. “Don't lie,” he hissed quietly, stomping forward.
 
Sam had a second to wonder what was about to happen before a heavily booted foot crashed down on his tied and splinted arm. It was actually surprising at how easily it broke—Niko must have done a little more damage than they'd thought.
 
Michael stepped back, breathing harder now, as Sam gave a choked, hoarse cry, and his distance allowed Sam to finally notice that the flames had gotten far closer and were moving faster than ever before.
 
Gasping harshly at the pain—no matter how many bones he broke, he was always surprised at how much it hurt—Sam felt his mind starting to gray out again, leaving only one thought behind.
 
Come on, Dean, hurry up. Please…
 
XXX
 
Sam was gone.
 
When he walked into the motel room and found it empty, it took Dean a good ten seconds to comprehend that fact. For a while, he just stood there, taking in the empty beds, the black TV, the empty corner where Sam's duffel should have been, and felt a horrible sense of loss that nearly knocked him flat.
 
Behind him, Niko said urgently, “This is wrong. They couldn't have just left.”
 
“No,” Dean agreed distantly. Unless Sam snapped again. “But there's no sign of struggle. But…why would Cal go with him even if...” But he didn't…he wouldn't have… “This doesn't make any sense. Call Cal, would you? I'm gonna try and call…”
 
He trailed off then, having just noticed something very important. In two strides he crossed the room, picking something up off the nightstand and staring at it.
 
“He didn't take his phone…” Dean murmured. He looked up as Niko came up behind him, meeting the other man's eyes and, for once, hoping Niko would do that creepy mind-reading thing. “He couldn't leave his phone, Niko. He knows I have to be able to get hold of him. He wouldn't leave it, no matter what he was thinking. Not after all we've been through.”
 
Niko's intense gaze flicked over the room again, and then he said, in an absolutely calm voice, “They were taken. By someone or something.”
 
Dean brushed past him and walked to the table, Sam's phone still clutched in his hand. Upon reaching it, he paused momentarily, then picked up one of the chairs and hurled it across the room, where it smashed into the wall and fell to the floor, minus one leg.
 
For a few moments, he stood there, facing the wall, trying to calm his heavy breathing.
 
“Can you think of who it could have been?” Niko asked. His voice was still infuriatingly calm, and Dean turned to scream at him, only to be stopped short by the look on Niko's face.
 
Niko looked…scared. It wasn't in his expression, or even in his eyes. In fact, his face was as absolutely calm as his voice. Even his stature was as easy as it ever got—but somehow, Dean could feel his fear as clearly as if it was radiating from him. He met Dean's eyes, and Dean felt that jolt again—but in a different way.
 
He was jolted because for the first time in his entire life, he was looking at someone who knew. He knew, without having to be told, what there was between him and Sam—a bond that went deeper than friendship or even family, forged by pain but kept and strengthened by everything else. He knew, because he'd experienced it.
 
It was the first time Dean had ever not had to try and explain (usually in vain) and it was the strangest feeling. And looking at Niko, he suddenly had the feeling that Niko—even though he was younger than Dean, younger than Sam, even—was also someone to be confided in.
 
Maybe even—possibly—a friend.
 
Dean tore his gaze away and took a long, slow breath. By the time he finished that one breath, a plan was forming in his mind, and he realized that without even thinking he'd included Niko in it.
 
“Okay,” he said, turning back to face Niko again. “Okay,” he repeated, steeling himself to do something he'd never done before. “We'll do it your way.”
 
XXX
 
Cal was waking up.
 
Sam didn't think Michael noticed, and it didn't seem like a good idea to say anything, so he just glanced in that direction once in awhile, sneaky, waiting patiently as Cal's eyelids twitched, his forehead crinkling slightly.
 
Michael had been talking for awhile, and Sam had actually listened to some of it—at least, enough to have gotten an idea of what this was all about.
 
Apparently, he had killed this guy's daughter. She'd been a nurse at the hospital he'd escaped from—the one whose neck he had snapped throwing her against a wall. And after that Michael had decided he was going to pay for it.
 
And, it appeared, all this was him paying for it, and Cal being dragged into it.
 
Michael had even gone so far as to explain the hows of it to Sam. He'd used tranquilizers, as he'd already said, to prevent a struggle, and when he'd taken Sam and Cal, he'd also taken Sam's bags, clearly indicating that they'd left on their own. According to Michael, this would prevent Dean from coming to look for him.
 
Even in his distant haze, Sam recognized a pathetic plan when he saw one, and he realized that Michael must have been even crazier than he'd initially thought.
 
He glanced at Cal again, and found his eyes open. Cal looked sharply at him and shook his head, and Sam took the hint and looked quickly back at Michael.
 
“So here we are,” the man was saying, still pacing up and down. “I realize you'd probably like to apologize, and you'll get a chance to do so. I'm a gentleman, after all. But please don't waste too much time entertaining the idea that it'll work, all right? You'll just be disappointed.”
 
“All right,” Sam said agreeably, noticing that Cal was moving now, trying to push himself to his feet, his back against the wall. “I am sorry, but I don't think you'll be convinced by that. Will you?”
 
He looked again, and found Cal almost on his feet. When he looked back, he noticed a strange look on Michael's face, but it was gone before he could decipher it.
 
“No, that's true,” Michael went on. “It isn't likely that I'll be convinced. You know, your friend here is really very stupid.”
 
He said the last part so smoothly that Sam didn't even register the sudden change of topic. Then, without the slightest change of expression, he turned around and raised his gun.
 
He pulled the trigger, and for the first time in almost fifteen years, Sam flinched at the sound of gunfire.
 
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Author's Note: Okay, so I'm kind of torn about this chapter. On the one hand, I really like some of the scenes with Dean and Niko. But on the other hand, I had such a hard time writing Michael from someone else's point of view. I don't know if he came off as too crazy/creepy or not crazy/creepy enough, or what. Either way, I'm tired of thinking about it, so I'm just gonna post it and see what you guys think, since you're really the ones who matter, anyways.
 
So, tell me what you think!
 
Oh, and also, on the Adara-chan Is Too Busy for Her Own Good front—I actually played a VIDEOGAME today! That's right! I officially have time again, to do fun stuff like watch movies and beta fics and stuff! It's really cool…
 
Anyways, enough of my babbling. R&R, please!