991/Brotherly Revelations

Brotherly Revelations
Date of Scene:	16 June 2017
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester

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Sam Winchester has posed:
There is, according to one Sam Winchester, a demon stalking a highway between New York City and Sunnydale. The omens stack up around that area, for sure, though he hasn't been really clear about how he discovered this demon, or why he's so sure they'll find it in the woods right after a certain mile marker on a certain day at a certain time. But he's sure, he says, and said something or another about it being supported by research. And then suggested they just drive together in the Impala, like old times, instead of taking the separate cars that have become their reality since...since everything. Since Stanford, Dad's disappearance, Dean's imprisonment under the waves, Sam's year-long hunts undertaken by himself, Dean's romance with Aspen, their strange entanglements with SHIELD.

Since everything.

Sammy didn't show up in great shape for a Hunt to be honest, though hunting injured is nothing new. He'd be moving slower if he weren't on some underground painkillers, but he's not moving fast either. His right arm is in a cast, and he's got a ring of dark bruises around the neck of his plaid shirt. He...hasn't really talked about that either.

Instead he's sitting in his place on the passenger side, his mouth set in a grim, tight, worried line. His eyes are worried. //Everything// is worried. And with a good 45 minutes left on the drive, he finally opens his mouth. There's a sharp intake of breath. He's trying to work his way up to say //something//, something he's afraid to say.

He's done this five times now.

For the fifth time, no words at all come out.

Dean Winchester has posed:
Sure, Dean's been busy. Busy being pissed off at SHIELD. Busy trying to be with Aspen and not neglect her. Treat her as she should be. Busy trying to gain information on Dad. Just.. Busy. Half of it is spent chasing Sam and cleaning up some of the mess and trying damage control thanks to SHIELD. Just... Ugh.

So he hasn't been in the best of moods overall, especially seeing him hurt and going on a hunt, but he's at the same time ... glad. Both together, driving a long drive. Together. Its nice. Even if its quiet. He hasn't asked- he knows Sam will tell him when he's ready. At least he hopes.

That sharp inhale makes Dean glance over, but his eyes easily go back to the road. "You alright?" He asks, breaking the silence and hoping to warm Sam up to tell him what he wants to spill so badly.

Sam Winchester has posed:
"I--"

The fact that Dean didn't just explode relaxes Sam a little bit. He looks out the window, quickly, tensing up again after a moment. He knows he's been making messes left and right. He //knows// it. And he almost doesn't want to spoil this-- a moment where things seem right for a second. There are 100 things they haven't talked about yet. He could choose to tackle any one of them, but...

But there is only one that has been on his mind tonight.

"Dean, I have to tell you something," he says, all in a rush, as if he hadn't been basically giving screaming smoke signals his brother would recognize a mile and a half away that something was up. "Something's going on with me. Something-- something I don't understand, something I-- something I don't know how to explain. It's been going on for months, and I kept thinking..."

He swallows, risking a glance at Dean, at his face in profile as he drives. He looks away quickly enough, scrubbing his fingers back through his long, shaggy hair, letting the locks fall away again to reframe his face, to make their wild curls and flips wherever it is they're going to choose to go.

Dean Winchester has posed:
"I know somethings been going on with you." Dean starts lightly, but he doesn't seem upset. He's still driving at the same speed and is relaxed for the most part. Or at as relaxed as he can be, really.

"I know things have been a little crazy lately." Crazier than normal and their normal is pretty crazy. But he's trying to let Sam get it out in his own time and not force it.

Sam Winchester has posed:
"Yeah. Pretty crazy."

Sam looks down into his lap, letting the miles speed by. The dark stretch of highway. The only home either of them have ever known, this car, this road. If he was going to get it out, now's the time. Now's the place. Maybe he can justify not saying anything for //weeks// with that. That, and so many other things...

"I've been getting visions," he blurts out. "Of the future. That's what sparked the hunt tonight. They've happened enough that I know they're always right, though they always give me a chance to save whoever I see. There's going to be a girl in the woods, we'll see her car, the demon will have dragged her off to power some ritual of his. Her car is a 1992 Chevy Cavalier, it's gold, she has a vanity plate that says Supah with an 'H'."

It comes out all in a rush, as if Dean has finally tugged loose the big rubber stopper in the drain of Sam's thoughts. Now all the thoughts are rushing out and forward at top speed.

It's not the whole of it.

Dean Winchester has posed:
Dean is quiet for a long moment. A mile or two. Trying to chew on what he's heard and making sure its.. sitting right. Okay. Visions.

"Visions." He finally repeats outload, almost to see if the word is real. There is all kinds of things going through his head. He's been possessed. Tainted? Demonized? Unhuman? He knows his brother. He knows he's a good man. Hell, he helped raise him. Witchcraft?

Hell. "How?"

Sam Winchester has posed:
Sam shakes his head from side to side. "I wish I knew. They come with terrible pain, but they're accurate. I've searched the lore, up and down, and I haven't found anything. I stopped and saw some psychics while I was looking for you and Dad, and I asked them too. They told me all they knew is I wasn't psychic. Except one who burst into tears and kicked me out of her shop but...I don't know, she was kind of flaky."

He takes a deep breath. "But...sometimes...I can move things. With my mind. Too. It had only happened once or twice before, random things that I wasn't sure about, though with more headaches. This week though it happened and I //felt// it happen, helping me out when I was in a tight spot, and then...then I just...I //made// it happen. It wasn't hard at all, though..."

He chuffs out a faint half smile with no mirth in it. "My aim was off."

Dean Winchester has posed:
"You have visions and you are telekinetic..." Dean's not a stupid guy, he just may act a little that way sometimes. He may not be as booksmart as Sam, but he gets by.

He lets out a slow breath. "Okay..." He has no idea what to do about it. Or say. His brother has... powers? How? Why? The main big questions that just can't be answered right now.

But for the rest of the drive to their destination he may be extremely quiet. He isn't -angry-.. persay. Just... Huh.

Sam Winchester has posed:
Sam had more than expected Dean to lose his mind at him. Well knowing his brother's distaste for chick flick moments, he decides not to get effusive about it. But...the look on his face is exceedingly grateful. His shoulders relax, as if he'd dropped a big, heavy burden. He lets out a deep breath, and just has that moment. That moment where he realizes maybe he got all worked up for nothing.

"I'm...a little worried it might have something to do with stuff that happened before I went looking for you and Dad," he admits. "I-- I was going to get married. I had the ring all picked out. She was beautiful, Dean. She was smart, amazing, supportive. Her name was Jessica. One night I came home and...she was up there. On the ceiling. Just //stuck// there. Someone had dressed her in this white nightgown that didn't belong to her. Her-- her stomach was sliced open. I had time to see that before the whole place burst into flames. Like you and Dad said happened to--"

He can't really finish the sentence. He scrubs his hands through his hair again. "I was on the road for like three months before all this started but...I don't know, Dean. I found dozens of run of the mill hunts, but no answers about this, her, and not much about you or Dad other than what already brought us back together."

Dean Winchester has posed:
"Mom." Dean's face hardens a moment. He remembers, even as a kid, seeing mom up there. Being handed Sam and told to run like hell. He wisked his brother out of the burning house without a second thought even though he was scarred and terrified at seeing their mother up there like...

Dean presses his lips thinly. "That happened to your Jess?" He shakes his head. "Yellow eyes is fucking with you hardcore." Now? He's annoyed. Not at Sam. But at the Supernatural world fucking with their lives like a goddamn chess game.

Sam Winchester has posed:
"Yeah," Sam says, and this time he's aware of Dean's annoyance for what it is. He watches the road sing by beneath the tires, running his fingers through his hair one more time.

He's gotten it off his chest. He has nothing more to add. Suddenly he's exhausted, probably because he got all worked up. Dean's time under the waves has tempered him more than Sam realized. Which... is maybe a frightening sign in and of itself.

He's not sure he wants to push to talk about that. Instead, with another 30 minutes or so to go on the drive, he asks, "Did Aspen ever say if she found any evidence that Dad was being held by the Blue or the Black?"

Dean Winchester has posed:
Dean went through hell and back during that year of constant torture. He internalizes a lot more now, but his anger and frustration comes out.. differently. He is more ruthless in his hunts, and quiet and calm.. seeming, otherwise on some things. Or explosive on others. Tempered and... different.

"She hasn't found anything." Dean answers easily enough.

Sam Winchester has posed:
Sam opens his mouth to say something more, something crossing over his eyes.

He'd give anything to have found Dean sooner. But what can saying that do? Nothing. He wasn't there. Maybe if he'd been there in the first place, things would have been different. But he wasn't, and they're not, and saying so can only cause gulfs of pain. So he ultimately lets it go, saying, only, "We'll just have to try something else to pick up the trail, then."

He stops and checks the mile markers. That's something he's always done, obsessively, on the highway. Watching mile markers and exits roll by, even though they roll by in a frank, predictable pattern. Or perhaps //because// they roll by in a frank, predictable pattern. The same way someone might look at flowers in their front yard that they've seen a dozen times.

The comment about picking up the trail isn't enough. His voice is solemn, but sincere, as he says, "I'm really glad you're here, Dean." Not here in this car, specifically, by the tone of the statement. Just here. Here, here, on the east coast, with him.

Dean Winchester has posed:
"Me too, Sammy." Dean offers lightly. Genuinely. He's glad to be back with his brother in more ways than one. Family. Together again. He's not alone anymore. He even has a girlfriend, but family has meant the world to him even since being a kid. Everything.

"We getting close?" He asks- leaving the talk about Dad to the wayside for the moment. Yes, its important, but they are on a hunt and that takes precidence at the moment.

Sam Winchester has posed:
"Yeah. Right up there."

And Dean will see it. A battered old Chevy Cavalier with a plate marked Supah. The driver's side door is wide open. The emergency lights are blaring away. Click click, click click, casting hot, red light across the road. There are some details that Sam apparently didn't see or think to talk about; a tire change kit next to the driver's side tire that indicates perhaps the girl in question was just busy trying to change the tire that has, suspiciously, //melted//...but there's the car, just like Sam described, all alone on the lonely highway. As they slow, Dean might even pick up the distant sound of a scream.

Dean Winchester has posed:
Dean pulls over to park behind the aforementioned car. Game face on.

"Battery is still good." Depending on how long the car had been sitting there, it could have drained the batter with the lights on. Parking and turning off his car once they've stopped he did pick up on the scream. "Did you hear that?" He gets out quickly and shuts his door, going silent as he tries to listen.

Sam Winchester has posed:
Sam nods grimly. "I heard it," he says. He gets out as well. He can't run the shotgun with the salt pellets right now, not with his broken arm, nor safely even fling down a bunch of salt. So he just pulls his Beretta. Mostly, he figures he'll be on the exorcism duty anyway; it's just something to keep trouble off of them both.

"There may be more than just the one I saw," he warns. "The visions are always right, but...they don't always tell me everything, either."

He points to a break in the trees. "I think he dragged her that way though." Game face on, indeed. Now there's no sign of anyone but a professional, and a far more hardened and competent one than the one who ran away to college, to boot.

Dean Winchester has posed:
Dean grabs the said shotgun, his handgun tucked into the band of his pants. He has various other objects within his jacket. Silver knife, small bottle of holy water, bag of salt, etc. Other things that might be needed, you never know.

He starts off towards the trees, tucking his keys in his pocket, holding the shotgun at the ready as he takes point. He can probably deal with a sudden jump or danger faster than his injured brother. But he's also counting on his brother to watch his back and be backup if needed.

No, he's not talking much. He's still trying to process the whole vision thing. He half doesn't belief it or maybe its just not -wanting- to try and process it. Still remains to be seen.

Sam Winchester has posed:
It's probably just as well, because if they were talking a lot, they might be heard. Sam creeps behind Dean, more than falling into his role with ease.

Up ahead: the greyed out shell of an old abandoned house, its roof half falling in, its doorframe looking like a yawning mouth, the door spilled out into the yard. Three voices chanting from inside; sobbing, screaming. The windows flash with flickering candle light, and a fell wind brings a foul smell to the nostrils of the brothers: the scent of sulfur, unmistakable. The trees lash and thrash about in the sudden wind, the kind of wind that is often stirred up in the wake of demonic activity, threatening a killer storm later on.

They chant not in Latin, but in a mockery of something else, a language so old as to have been present at the very creation of the world, subverted into something else.

Dean Winchester has posed:
If there are multiple ones, they are walking into one hell of a fight. They will have to try and separate them to deal with them one at a time. Be damn hard to try and do all three at once.

This translates into the twist on Dean's face as he glances back to his brother. He pauses long enough for Sam to catch up to him at the treeline, talking quietly so they won't be overheard: "Devil's traps?"

Try to draw some secretly outside of the house and try to lure the demons out to get them trapped. Able to handle them easier when they are locked up. One by one.

Sam Winchester has posed:
"On it," Sam promises. Paint won't stick on the ground out here, but he puts his gun away and withdraws a long knife. For what they need, carving the sigils deep into the earth outside the cabin will do.

He crouches down and works quickly. His execution is perfect; he can write a devil's trap in his sleep, or while blindfolded. The latter he actually made himself practice once, which is nice because it's dark enough out here that he'd have a bit of trouble otherwise. From time to time he plucks a stick or a rock out of his way and tosses it aside, but otherwise has one down in about three minutes, and starts in on a second.

The girl screams in pain. They're not killing her quickly, whatever they're doing, though there's no telling how much time the brothers have before the end arrives.

Dean Winchester has posed:
Dean is giving Sam cover while he draws, but it is getting hard. Impatience. He can hear her. Well. He has to buy Sam and the girl time. "Shit." He curses under his breath and does the.. impulsive Dean thing.

He runs into the house, hoping to draw their attention to him and away from the girl- and give Sam time in the process to get done. "Well! Looks like a hell of a party. So upset that you didn't invite me." He calls as he enters the house, his shotgun held up to the ready as he heads towards the screams. If they are right inside, he'll fire a first round of rocksalt at the closest one.

He's just trying to buy time.

Sam Winchester has posed:
The closest one is a black-eye, and he lets out a howl of pain and stumbles back.

The other two react. The second black eye had been carving runes into the girl with a dagger. He flips it in his hand now and charges for Dean, moving with the preturnatural speed that accounts for his leader's actions. His leader, because the creepy looking elderly man who has been overseeing these proceedings has //red// eyes. He flicks his hand; an invisible force slams into Dean. It's probably a familiar situation, being flung into the nearest wall as rotting wall boards creak beneath the Hunter's weight, but it does rather set things up nicely for black-eye's far more deadly attack.

Outside, Sam works furiously, gritting his teeth. He wants to yell his brother's name. Wants to charge in there.

Knows enough to know these are the wrong moves. Instead he yells, "Second, six o'clock," to let Dean know he's got the second down...right outside the yawning door.

Dean Winchester has posed:
Yeah, the sound of Dean slamming into the wall is enough to show Sam he's having a rough time of it. Being thrown makes him drop the shotgun, unfortunately, but well... Diversion is working, right? Girl isn't being carved into anymore. He's the center of attention and Sam has time to work on the last one.

Lets just hope Dean survives that long.

"Tick tock tick tock..." Dean rhymes with what Sam shouts randomly, as he gets up, barely missing getting stabbed in something vital by the second goon. Instead, he takes the dagger in the front of his shoulder. Better than a chest-hit.

Retaliating, he goes swinging with his uninjured arm, trying to knock the asshat back as he goes diving for his shotgun afterwards- dagger stuck in his shoulder still or not.

Sam Winchester has posed:
Dean feels the solid thwak of a his fist against the demonic asshat, who stumbles back and snarls, momentarily stunned-- though with demonic endurance, likely not for long. Meanwhile the one shot with the salt starts picking himself up off the floor.

But he is the weakest, which is why he goes rigid when, instead of carving a third devil's trap, Sam decides that two are enough. That's because he bounds through the door and points at the shot one, snarling, "Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica!" The smoke starts pushing and billowing out of the thing's mouth as the exorcism begins. Of course, this means he's blocking the trap, so he backs up a little bit, trying to lure one of them back.

The Crossroads demon leading the entire affair raises his hand in a pretty good imitation of Darth Vader; one or the other of the two brothers might be seconds away from his version of a force-choke, unless Dean can halt that crap quick enough.