How about a little badass!Sam???
I am happy to present you today a fic made for the Evil Sam ficathon organized by
sevenfists . Was a lot of fun to write, hope it is fun to read!
Title: How Sam Winchester moved up on the most wanted list.
Warnings: 7000 words, spoilers for S2 finale, Gen fic, PG-13
Summary: done with the prompt "Dean is caught by the FBI and sent to jail. Badass!Sam busts in and rescues him, possibly with extra-fun telekinetic action. Or explosives. Or both." and it sums it up indeed!
Thanks: to
keyweegirlie that not only poked and betaed, but made the AWESOME banner that goes with this fic. I love her more than words can say.
How Sam Winchester moved up on the most wanted list.
Sam almost gets a door in the face as a fat guy enters the bathroom as he's on his way out. He apologizes even if it's none of his doing, pure reflex, and gets only a grunt in return from the man who's going straight to the stalls. People have no manners, really. Going back in the dining area of the café, he spots Dean leaning casually on the wall talking to the cute waitress. Of course he is. Sam can see only Dean's back, but the short and busty blonde is flushed and starry eyed, almost oscillating like a cobra in front of a snake charmer. Sam huffs, annoyed, because he knows he'll get bashed as the party pooper if he tells Dean that it's time to go. And it is time to go.
Sam walks to what had been their breakfast table to get the newspaper with a potential possession when a movement outside catches his attention. A crouched figure, masked and all in black, is running to take position behind a car on the other side of the street. Adrenaline spikes immediately in Sam's blood. SWAT, and they are surely there for Dean and him. If they're lucky, they haven't surrounded the café yet.
"Dean! Let's go, now!"
He cries out, moving fast towards the corridor leading back to the bathrooms. Dean startles at his tone and looks at him, alarmed and immediately ready to react. He follows, not even saying goodbye to the now confused waitress.
"What is it?"
"SWAT."
No more explaining needed, and Sam cracks the back door open, scanning the back rapidly. Nothing he can see. Dean makes a hissing noise and hits the wall with his fist. He draws his gun, clicks off the safety and arms it.
"Fuck. I paid with a credit card. Yesterday too. They must have had it tapped."
Sam scans the different escape routes. There is no time to waste, the SWAT team will surround the building fast, if it's not already done.
"We have to get rid of all of the cards. The motel?"
"No, I paid cash. Go."
Sam opens the door and runs behind the big garbage bin. He crouches and waits for his brother. Dean bolts off the door and he's half way when there is a soft "pop" and Dean loses his footing, grimacing. He dives for the hiding spot, does a somersault and ends up right next to Sam, heaving. A couple of bullets hit the metal bin, and a voice bellows.
"This is the FBI, drop your weapons and come out with your hands in the air! There is no way out. I repeat, ..."
"Son of a bitch!"
Dean hits the back of his head on the container, hard, has he clutches his thigh. Sam scans the now limited possibilities of escape.
"Okay, we'll get out Dean. Look, if we climb here on the bin, they can't see us because of the recess in the building. Then the roof of the storage shed. From there..."
"Go Sammy, go!"
Sam is about to climb when he notices Dean is still sitting, trying to see the in the direction of the guy that shot him.
"Come on Dean!"
Dean looks at him and gestures him to scram.
"You go. I'll cover you. Hurry. I'm toast anyway."
"What?"
That's when Sam sees the blood. He knows Dean's been shot, but he thought the bullet had gone through the flesh, that he'd be able to help him get away and then patch him up. But there is way too much blood already soaking Dean's jeans, even as he presses on the wound. That means an artery must have been hit. Not good. Not good at all.
"Dean! Fuck!"
Sam kneels next to him and tries to press on the wound too, to stop the flood from coming out. So much blood!
"Dammit Sammy, I told you to go!!! Every second counts!"
Something boils in Sam's blood. He will not leave him like that. That is a serious wound, Dean could die in minutes. His mind screams "we still have months left. 6 months left. Not now, not ready". Sam clenches his jaw hard and says through his teeth.
"No way am I leaving you here."
The voice of the FBI agent repeats to surrender and come out slowly. Dean groans, half in pain - half exasperated. He undoes his belt and pulls it free, then uses it to tie a tourniquet on his upper thigh. It doesn't take more than 15 seconds but all that time he curses and bitches.
"Fuck. Yes you'll go and you'll fucking go now, damnit. We won't both go down because you are a stubborn fuck. I tell you to go, and you'll go, and you don't do anything stupid, hear me? Hide away someplace. Go see Bobby, he'll help you. Sam?"
It rips something in Sam, but he knows Dean's right. He has to go now, or they'll both end up in prison, for good this time. And then, how could he pull Dean out of the monumental mess he made for himself with that crossroad Demon? He lets go of Dean's thigh and looks at his hands, bloody, his heart beating fast and hard.
"Okay. Okay. But you give me one minute, nothing more. Then you surrender so they take you to a doctor. Don't go bleeding to death like a stuck pig while trying to play hero."
Sam looks at Dean and they lock eyes, each trying to stare their point in, not wanting to back up. Dean's pale and obviously in pain. He nods.
"Deal. Two minutes. But you get the fuck out of here right now."
Sam grips Dean's shoulder. It wasn't supposed to be like that.
"Hang on. Be careful. Don't be too much of a smartass with them, ok?"
Dean has a snort of laughter.
"C'mon Sam, no time. Scram if you want a chance. And don't go getting yourself killed again."
Sam glares. That is not funny. But it's true that if he wants any chance at all, he has to go right now. So Sam lifts himself on the far end of garbage bin, where he's in a blind spot from anyone in the courtyard.
"Sam. Catch."
He turns and catches out of reflex what Dean throws his way. The Impala keys, smudged with blood. Something drops in Sam's gut. Dean has a half assed smile.
"Don't go get her if it's too risky though."
Sam nods, he's not sure he can talk.
"Go Sammy. You'll be okay."
'But not you.' Sam thinks, looking at Dean who sounds confident, like nothing is wrong. Always that front, for as long as he can remember. Sam can't waste more time, so he takes a deep breath and climbs on the roof of the storage shed, then crawls away, swearing hell get his brother back no matter what it takes.
---
It was close, way too close. Sam gets out of the perimeter watched by the FBI with a couple of risky moves, adrenaline pulsing through his veins and keeping him moving forward. Sam really hopes that Dean kept his word and got that wound checked on by now, that he surrendered before passing out behind that bin. At one point he hears an ambulance, hopes it's for his brother: not knowing is the worst. Sam is in survival mode, and that means that he sees everything clearly, details sharp, people and cars almost going in slow motion. Being efficient is the way to stay alive in high stress situations, may that be fighting a beast coming straight from Hell or escaping the authorities. Sam is taking the straightest path possible towards the motel, keeping his eyes opened and his pace casual, even slower than normal not to stand out. The car is just two streets over, parked in the back of the 2 story motel, and is so stupid to go there that Sam cringes. But he'll be damned if he doesn't at least try to get it, figures he owes it to Dean or something melodramatic like that.
Sam takes a deep breath as he turns the corner of the parking lot and goes straight for the Impala's door, takes out the keys and tries his best not to think about what makes them sticky. He slides in, pushes the seat back by pure reflex and winces at the familiar roar the car makes at it starts. Trust Dean not to drive something average, the feds will have their eyes opened for this beast. Sam drives carefully out of the parking lot and then in the opposite direction of the café. It’s almost anti climatic when 15 minutes later he realizes the way is clear and he's out of immediate danger.
---
"Hello?"
"Bobby! Oh thank God. Thank God. They got him Bobby, you got to help me! We have to go get him right now!"
"Sam? Whoa whoa, calm down boy. Who got who?"
"The feds, they caught Dean. They have Dean Bobby, and... and he's hurt, so they must not have moved him away right to whatever high security facility, so..."
"What?"
"The FBI, they shot Dean, he stayed behind as I got away. But I have to go get him, Bobby, I can't just..."
"SAM! If the FBI has Dean, I hate to say this, but there not much we can do."
"NO! He was badly wounded, so they couldn't move him away yet, he's still here in Columbia, has to be. He's probably at the local bureau, I checked, he just got discharged of the hospital, ..."
"Sam."
"... thank god he made it, Bobby, I was sure he bled to death as I got away. I'm sure that place isn't that guarded, we can get in and..."
"SAM."
"Yeah?"
"Sam where the fuck are you?"
"Columbia, South-Carolina."
"Sam you can't bust into a FBI bureau and ask for your brother back, they'll catch you too!"
"But.. but... you KNOW Bobby. You know what he did for me. I can't just sit here..."
"There is NOTHING you can do right now Sam. Please. Don't be stupid, we need to take some time and try..."
"You don't want to help me?"
"Sam, it's not that I don't want to help you!"
"Fine."
"Sam, even if he's there, and you don't know that for sure..."
"Forget I asked Bobby. "
*click*
"Sam..."
...
"Sam?"
...
"Goddamn son-of-a-bitch. Curse those stubborn Winchesters. Fuck."
*click*
---
Sam comes out of the dark basement occupied by the armory and his eyes hurt from the sudden sunlight. He palms the canvas duffel, counting the grenades again, wondering if he should go back in and buy some more. The average Joe would be appalled to know how it's easy to get guns, ammo and explosives anywhere in America if you know the right underground circles and pay in crisp green bills. But Sam can't get more because he just spent the last of the cash on it, so this will have to do.
Ever since his conversation with Bobby, Sam feels a quiet rage humming inside of him non stop. There is no way he'll turn his back on Dean and run, even if Dean asked him to. No fucking way. Dean sold his soul to get him back from the dead, for Christ's sake. Sam's been pushing away any thought related to what he would do without Dean, because even though that was looming, it still was 6 months away, they still had time to make it right. But no, he will not have to go through that now, not now when there is still someway to try to hold onto him. It was so STUPID, getting caught like that because of a credit card!
A chatty nurse had told Sam that Dean had been discharged from the hospital 2 hours ago, but he was probably too weak to be thrown into a paddy wagon and taken to a max security penitentiary at the moment. Logic warned that they would probably interrogate Dean to try and get to Sam (good luck with that, Dean would chew his own arm off first), and then move him tomorrow morning. So Sam had to go right now, the sooner the better. Dean had to be on Westpark Boulevard, any other scenario was totally unacceptable.
Sam gets into the red Civic he stole at the commercial center and fishes the laptop from under the passenger seat. He taps his fingers impatiently on the hot frame while he waits for it to start, then to find a WiFi connection. Sam double checks the map once more and the info they got on Henriksen, the name of whomever is the special agent in charge in Columbia. Sam sighs: there is so little to go with. He'd love to finesse his way in, but it's impossible alone, his picture must be stapled right in the security booth. He closes the computer, hides it away once more and gets going.
Sam parks the car on Maggie Hipp Drive and transfers the explosives into a black leather portfolio between two paper files filled with nonsense, along with a couple of handguns and clips, a rope, a taser, his knife and binoculars. He straps on an ankle holster with another gun, puts one in his waistband, makes sure he has a couple more clips in his dress coat pockets. He knows he'll never get through security with all of this, but the point is to get close enough. Sighing, he picks up Dean's tube of hair gel and applies way too much of the product on his head, slicking his hair back with a little comb. It looks totally horrible, but it does change him. Especially with Dean's aviator sunglasses that he puts in the portfolio too. None of the FBI identification badges he has even remotely look like that, but that's again one of those things he has no control over. Sam gets out of the car, and watches his reflection on the side window, adjusting his blue and black tie. It will have to do.
He walks briskly through the woods towards Westpark Boulevard and stops at the edge of the trees, takes out the binoculars and tries to assess what he can of the dark pink two story building. The first thing Sam notices is the two guys standing by the doors with shotguns. Crap. Increased security, since it is surely not standard for a division headquarter. The good news is that Sam takes it as a proof Dean is in there somewhere. Okay, so walking out of the woods, crossing the street and walking casually to the door is probably out of the question. Sam huffs and wonders if he should go back and get the Civic or better yet another car to get as close as he can. No matter what, he needs a diversion for those two armed guards. But what? He could throw a grenade in the parking lot on the side, but that would shoot the security alert up to red and make things difficult. Fuck.
A car passes before him and it flashes before Sam's eyes. A car accident. He could get a car, and manage to cause a car accident right in front of the building. He'd play the victim, maybe cut his forehead so it bleeds a lot, attract the guards and then hope to make a run for the door as they go check on the people in the other car. Or something. He scans the street and tries to figure where the accident would be most useful. A wave of pure energy is taking hold of him as he tries to form a plan. He follows a grey sedan with his eyes and thinks, yeah, I would stop right there, by the entryway. The car stops suddenly. Sam frowns and the driver comes out of the car after 30 seconds, flailing, clearly puzzled. The man pops the hood open and looks in, clearly at loss. No smoke, no steam, nothing. Sam can hear him curse.
It's an enormous coincidence and Sam can't help but wonder if he caused this. Could it be? The guards are looking at the car, but staying near the door. Not enough. Sam can hear Ava's voice, Jake's even. If he lets go... maybe... Another vehicle is coming and Sam stills, thinking a mile a minute. If the first driver would somehow get away from the car, not to get hurt... Sam concentrates and a shiver runs through him when he wills the hood to slam down suddenly, making the first driver jump back in surprise. Sam turns to the arriving black pickup truck and thinks very hard on how he wants it to crash the rear end of the stopped car. On cue, the truck goes out of its way and collides with the car's trunk, generating a loud bang and the screeching of deforming metal. Sam feels a surge of power and without thinking much, he stirs the car behind the pickup in the mix, a wide angry smile splitting his face when it goes easy. The screaming of kids in the last car startles him though, and his heart thumps fast. Oh God, maybe he hurt someone.
The guards are now running towards the accident scene and Sam knows it's now or never, so he jogs from the trees to the cars himself, getting there first. There is a woman stuck in the driver's seat of the blue car, the third one, forehead bleeding even if the airbag popped out. Two young blond kids in the back, a girl and a boy surely not over 5, are bawling and screaming even though they only look a bit shaken. Sam feels horrible. He bellows to the FBI agent to hurry over to the lady and as they circle the car, Sam shouts something to the effect that he's going inside to call an ambulance. They don't even look at him and he runs to the door, a hand over one of his eyes like he's hurt, getting in and screaming:
"Someone call an ambulance!"
The receptionist and regular security agent are looking through the widows, neck craned trying to see what is going on. The grey haired woman makes a loud "oh" and puts a hand over her mouth, going back through the metal detector to get to her desk, setting it off beeping. Sam jumps at the opportunity and follows a step behind as the detector is still screaming, keeping his head down and his hand on his face, but the inside guard is not even paying any attention to him or the device.
"Is it bad?"
The guard asks, still trying to assess the situation. Sam flails his free hand, trying to put panic in his voice, finds out it's not hard to do at all.
"The woman, 3rd car, she's unconscious and bleeding, stuck I think. There are kids... and..."
"Dear god!"
The guard bolts outside, finding his duty to go try and help them. The receptionist is on the phone, with 911 probably, and Sam looks sideways the building, wanting nothing more than get in and find Dean right now. But where? He has to get away from the front desk. The woman is still distracted by her phone call and Sam gestures to her
"Could I use the bathroom please? Got to check my eye!"
She nods and points towards a corridor.
"Yes, yes. Want me to go with you?"
"No thanks, I think it will be okay. Over there?"
She nods and gets back to her chat with the operator as Sam walks briskly towards the direction of the bathroom but cuts left at the first occasion instead, to get out of her eyesight. He's got a couple of minutes, if he's lucky, before someone thinks about finding him. Sam takes out the dark sunglasses and puts them on, slicks his hair back and pins a FBI identification badge to his left lapel. Something tells him Dean is not far, he has to be. But no way can Sam find him by himself, and he needs to get to him fast. Turning a corner, he almost collides with a tall brunette.
"Oh! She says."
Sam takes out a folder from his portfolio and uses his best angry voice.
"Finally. Someone. No one works in here?"
The girl loses her smile and step back, before asking.
"Can I help you sir?"
Sam snorts.
"I hope so. Looking for that damn Winchester asshole. Where's Henriksen?"
She gets wide eyed and points behind her.
"Oh, the prisoner! Special Agent Henriksen is with him."
Sam can't help but smile, that's perfect. The girl smiles back.
"Want me to lead you there... ???"
She tries to squint to see his name on the ID.
"Chuck. Call me Chuck. Yes please, I've had a very bad day and you're the first ray of sunshine today sweetheart."
She looks coy for a moment and when she turns to lead the way, she definitely swings her hips a bit more than necessary. Sam rolls his eyes, wondering why some women respond well to the kind of attitude he's projecting right now, it's so lame. No wonders Dean scores so much: even he's is not that bad.
"I'm Phoebe. I haven't seen the prisoner but Maddie did..."
"Did she?"
The girl looks at him over her shoulders, doing a fast eyelash flutter.
"Is he really that bad? Maddie told me he looks very sweet. And cute too."
Sam sets his jaw.
"Don't be fooled. He's extremely dangerous, vicious even."
Her eyes god damn sparkle at that. He could really groan. It’s ridiculous.
"Really? Oh!"
Phoebe leads him right in a new hallway and Sam can see a guard at the door in the end. That is probably it. They are not taking any chances it seems.
"Did... erm, Maddie say if he'll be strong enough to be transferred soon?"
While they cover the last feet before the door, Sam busies himself looking in the leather bag, hiding his face the best he can with his shoulder, wondering what he should do. He decides on the taser, no need to hurt anyone more than necessary. Phoebe babbles carelessly:
"Well he is a little pale, she said, and they did bring him in a wheelchair. I heard that they'll come and get him before morning. It sucks, because I would have loved to see him, you know? Nothing ever happens here, I never saw someone on the top 50 list. Would be so cool!"
Way too soon, they are at the door and Phoebe switches talking to the guard.
"Hey Bob! Chuck is here to see Special Agent Henriksen. Is he still here?"
Bob is clearly a bit more inquisitive than anyone Sam's encountered before in the building because he tries to see past Phoebe to Sam.
"Who?"
Sam doesn't waste as second. He takes out the taser and zaps Bob with the power set almost to the maximum, while moving behind Phoebe and clapping a hand on her mouth and then the taser arm around her waist to hold her against him. She doesn't even struggle, staying stiff as Bob falls in a heap on the floor, unconscious.
"Shhh. Phoebe, I need you to stay calm now, okay? I won't hurt you, I won't hurt anyone if I don't have to. But I'm here to get my brother okay?"
She stays still like a statue, no sound, nothing.
"You hear me Phoebe?"
She nods sharply.
"Okay, so I'm gonna let you go now, but if you scream or anything stupid like that, I'll zap you like Bob here, okay?"
She nods again, emphatically. He whispers in her hear, feeling the urge to justify himself.
"Okay. Stay calm Phoebe. Bob will be okay. I assure you, Dean and I, we're not bad guys, we're not killers. It just looks bad on paper, I promise you. There is an explanation. It would sound crazy to you, and it sounds batshit after what you just saw and what I am doing to you, but we're nice guys. All I want is my brother back, so we can do our job."
Sam reaches for the door handle and it's locked. Fuck.
"Can you open that door for me Phoebe? If you can, I'll let you go, no harm done."
The girl is shaking now, and she nods again.
"I'm sorry Phoebe, I really am. But I have to get Dean. Open the door, and as soon as I'm in, I'll let you go. Okay? Then you'll run as fast as you can away from here. Understand?"
A soft scared noise escapes the poor thing. She reaches for her purse and takes a white card out and motions to a box on the wall next to the door. Must be working with electronic chips. Sam lets go of Phoebe's waist and takes it away from her. She recoils, as if she got burned. Sam hates the feeling, feels dirty about making her go through that.
"Thank you Phoebe. Thank you. I need him, you understand? I couldn't go on without him, he's my big brother. I'm sorry that I had to scare you."
Sam swipes the card near the black square on the wall and a green light appears at the top while a soft metallic sound comes from the direction of the door handle. Sam testes the handle, it gives way, opening easily. Sam almost sighs in relief. The girl's still too scared to move it seems.
"Okay, okay. Perfect Phoebe, thank you. Now I'll go in, and get my brother. I'll let you go, but please, please don't scream. I know I have no right asking you that, but it will be better for everyone, trust me."
Slowly, Sam takes his hand off of Phoebe's mouth and she just spins around, looking at him with big dark brown eyes, frozen like a deer in highlights. Sam puts his index on his mouth and points in the direction they just came. She walks backwards away from him, not making a sound yet, as if she looks away he'll kill her. Sam takes out the gun from the back of his pants and that is it, she spins around and starts running as fast as she can. Thirty seconds max before the alarm is given, Sam thinks, and taking a deep breath he pushes the door of room 104 open.
Sam goes in and he sees no one, only a big table covered with papers and Styrofoam coffee cups, coats hanging on the back of chairs. Sam counts 3 coats, definitely 4 places with previous occupants judging from the arrangements of what is on the table. Voices filter from the room that opens in this one, nothing he can make out though, except that it's angry shooting. He sees shadows across frosted glass. Sam's heart thumps in his chest. That is it. He puts the sunglasses in his pocket, walks fast to the door and ever so slowly cracks it open, trying to figure where everyone is standing.
"... ridiculous. If your brother is as innocent as you say, he just has to come forward. We would love to talk to him. On the phone, even."
"Again, how stupid do you really think I am? I won't help you find Sam, no way. He got away from under your nose again boys, I won't help you look good to your bosses, nu huh."
A wave of relief hits Sam squarely in the heart to hear Dean talk like that, just there not more than 10 feet away, being the smartass he knows and loves. By the narrow strip revealed by the open door, Sam can see two FBI agents, one leaning against a wall, sleeves rolled and clearly bored, wearing a chest holster, and one with his hands on his hips, shaking his head in dismay. Sam almost empathises. Knowing it's a matter of seconds before Phoebe alarms security, Sam takes a second handgun from the portfolio, arms both, takes a deep breath and then kicks the door in hard. He steps inside and bellows.
"Nobody freaking moves or I shoot."
Five sets of surprised eyes turn to him, and unfortunately, one of the FBI guys near the window draws his gun and point it to him.
"I said don't move!!! I WANT MY BROTHER BACK, HEAR ME?"
Okay, so maybe that comes out a bit dramatic.
"Sam! " Dean breathes out, then grins. "Well here he is boys. And he looks pissed. And with weird hair."
"Shuddup Dean."
Henriksen holds his hands in the air and tries to negotiate or something.
"Okay, okay. We hear you. Hold your fire Reidy."
I can get him. Reidy replies, and Sam sees his index twitch. Sam doesn't even think, he focuses all his thought on getting the gun out of the man's hands and there it is, jerking away from Reidy and floating in the air, 2 feet front of him. The man's eyes get saucer big and Sam hears distinct gasps. Dean, too:
"Cool! Way to go Sammy! Can you get that over here?"
Sam smiles, struggles not to lose his train of thought, as he's still trying to watch 4 potential threats at the same time.
"Probably. You out of the handcuffs yet?"
Dean grunts.
"Of course, what do you think."
Sam sees from the corner of his eyes that Dean brings his hands in front of himself, so he slides the gun slowly from the middle of the room until it falls on the table in front of his brother. Henriksen is gaping like a fish right now.
"Wha... what the hell?"
"Victor? Guys? My freak of a brother, Sam. Oh God Sammy, that's so awesome."
Dean says with awe as he grips the revolver and points it towards Henriksen.
"Happy you approve Dean."
Sam cocks his head to the side, watching for any sign of trigger happy wannabe heroes.
"Will you fetch beer for me too, Sammy? God! The visions are a bitch, I know, but that... damn!"
"We still have to get out of here Dean. Don't get ahead of yourself."
As if on cue, a shrill alarm starts. Dean stands up from his wheelchair slowly, grunts and limps until he’s at Sam's side.
"Okay boys, you see what my spoon bender of a bro can do, so I'll ask you nicely to take your guns out and put them slowly on the ground where we can see. No stupid moves. Do I make myself clear?"
Nobody moves. Dean fires his gun towards the wall, in between two agents. At the same time, Sam mentally pushes Reidy in the wall, pinning him there and even lifting him off the ground. Dean chuckles.
"I said do we make ourselves clear? Sam may prefer making you levitate, what I'm sure is an awesome experience in itself, but I'll shoot, don't be fooled. Victor, man, I really wish you'd understand that we haven't done anything that wasn't necessary. I told you, we never killed anyone that was not evil. There is a whole lot that you are not even aware of, weird stuff, dark stuff."
Henriksen shakes his head from side to side, visibly trying to get some hold of the situation or stall things until reinforcement makes it to them.
"You are both clearly insane. Dean, Sam, now don't be stupid. You'll never get out of here, and if you kill someone, it's going to be way worse. I tell you."
Sam cries out, enraged.
"That's why you take your fucking gun out right now and put in on the ground!"
Saying it is as effective if he's doing it himself, Henriksen's revolver springs from his holster and falls on the ground, sliding towards Sam's feet. But it seems Sam can't do two things at once, so the agent that was squirming 3 feet in the air falls down on the ground with a whimper. Sam snaps his neck towards the 2 remaining agents and one by one gets their revolver. He makes the three guns float to his portfolio. He knows he's not supposed to like the feeling of power that comes with this, that he should keep it in check as much as possible, but it's exhilarating.
Dean looks at him with his mouth opened, in total wonder.
"Well attaboy Sammy! That will come in handy, I’m sure. Unless..."
Sam turns his head towards his brother, squinting.
"Unless what Dean?"
Dean scrunches his nose, and he says "Christo?" with such a need to not have it work that Sam starts laughing out loud.
"It's okay. I'm not possessed. Shower me with holy water later if you wish to be sure."
I may do, but don't take it personally, okay?"
Sam grins.
"Okay, only fair. Now let's get out of here."
Dean nods.
"I totally approve of that plan. Erm. Well. If there is a plan. There is a plan, right?"
Sam puts a gun back in his waistband and takes a grenade out, showing it to Dean.
"Well I though about something going boom. What do you think?"
Dean eyebrows shoot up and then a shit eating grin forms.
"I thoroughly approve. Brought one for me?"
Sam gives him the grenade and takes another one out.
"Of course."
"Oh my god."
Says the youngest agent of the group, who falls on the ground with his hands behind his head. Sam thinks fast, then orders to the other agents, motioning with his gun.
"Okay, yes, come here by your pal's side."
The four men line down on the ground. Henriksen is the only one that dares to talk anymore.
"You are not, I say NOT going to get out of here, hear me? Goddamn grenades? We are not in a Rambo movie. Somebody is going to get killed."
"Shut up." Sam says, rolling his eyes. He takes out the taser and zaps him, then the 3 others.
"Thank you Sammy." Dean says. "I had more than enough conversations with Henriksen for today. Geez that man is patronizing."
"Ok, let's go." Sam's gaze falls to Dean's leg, discerns a thigh bandage under hospital-like pajama pants. "You okay to limp for a while?"
Dean nods.
"Almost as good as new. They gave me tripping meds, man! In fact I may be hallucinating all of this!"
"Tell me if you need some help. Let's roll."
Dean has a crooked smile.
"Let's shake up the place! Won't be easy to get to the door though, hope you can use your super mojo for some of it."
Sam raises his eyebrows and points to an outside wall.
"And who says we can't make a door of our own? We just need to divert attention a bit."
Dean understands immediately and exits the interrogation room, goes across the other room towards the hallway. He opens the door, and quickly looks out in the corridor. Sam asks.
"Is Bob gone?"
"Who?"
"Never mind."
"Whatever, we have company." He tells Sam unnecessarily as gunshots starts and bullets fly near the space next to where Dean's head appeared for a fraction of a second. Sam overturns a table in angle, making a makeshift barrier against what is to come.
"Ok so let's fire two grenades simultaneously. One for the outside wall, one for them. Seven seconds right? So at 2 we take the pin out, then at 4 you throw it out. Ok? Not too close though."
"Of course not. They are just fools following orders." Dean cries out. "Gentlemen? I'd back up if I was you, I have a little surprise!"
Sam goes under a window and blocks a grenade behind a conditioned air unit. He starts counting out loud
"1, 2 ..." takes the pin out, sees that Dean does the same. Sam runs behind the table as he continues counting "3, 4 ..." Dean makes the grenade roll in the corridor.
"Here it comes, get away guys!" Dean stands up and limps behind the table too. Sam hears a couple of "shit!" "take cover!" and sure enough, 3 seconds later two deafening explosion that can pass as one shakes the building and debris fly everywhere. Sam realizes that Dean draped himself over his back to protect him. Sam huffs. Of course he did. Must be ingrained in his genes or something.
"Ok, let's go." Sam says, standing up and running to the door, rolling a new grenade in the corridor. It should make them think.
"Here comes another one boys!!!"
Dean shakes plaster out of his hair as they go for the new hole in the wall, easily big enough to let them get out. Sam is relieved to see that it's the side of the building, as he suspects the police could be in the front because of the car accident. Sam helps Dean get down on the lawn, and they jog, crouched, to a series of car in the parking as they hear the third grenade go off. They could hotwire a car here, but Sam thinks the Civic would be safer, so he motions to Dean to follow him to the street. At the end of the parking, he stands up.
"C'mon. We have to cross the street, we should be okay in the woods. Limp casually."
"Ha ha." Dean says, but does it none the less.
Sam can't help it: he looks over to the accident site before they go into the trees, sees the paramedics and wonders how the woman is doing. But it's more important to get out of here fast, he'll look it up later. Once hidden by the vegetation, Sam breathes a little better. Almost there. Dean is one step behind him and grunts at one point when he loses his footing because of a rock. His thigh definitely makes him suffer.
"Just a bit more Dean, we're almost there."
"Couldn't you just, like, I don't know, float me to the car?"
Sam laughs and does try to steady Dean by thought, but it throws him off balance more than anything. Dean flails a bit and then holds up a hand in between him and Sam.
"Whoa, no, no. Not cool. Too weird."
Sam goes to Dean and supports him the old fashion way, hooking Dean's arm around his shoulders and dragging him along. They've done this one way or the other dozens and dozens of time, too much really. They only have about 500 feet to do anyway, so in minutes Sam sees the car. He hauls Dean to the passenger door and sees how his face drops when he realizes the getaway car is that Civic and not the Impala. He doesn't say anything though, but Sam can see him swallowing hard.
Sam goes to the driver side, gets in after throwing the portfolio in the back and starts the car. Dean takes a deep breath.
"You know, I thought I had told you not to do anything stupid Sam."
Sam chuckles as he maneuvers the car in the little streets, driving as normally as he can.
"Like you never did worse! Got you back, didn't I?"
Dean sighs loudly.
"Yeah. Thanks man, I gotta say it was quite awesome."
He doesn't sound cheerful though, not manic like he would normally be. Sam is pretty sure he knows why. He fishes for a key in his pants and throws it a Dean's head.
"Hey!" Dean protests, but then looks at the keychain tag. "Uncle Bob's self storage?"
Dean looks at him with such a hopeful smile at that Sam laughs out loud.
"Yep, she's in a locked garage."
Dean brandishes the key in his fist in a victorious gesture.
"Yesss! Oh my god, you scared me, I though we'd be stuck in this shit."
Sam rolls his eyes.
"Would be better for us, you know. The impala will get us caught one day, I tell you."
Dean grins.
"Whatever."
They've had this discussion already, countless times. If you can count Sam pleading and Dean answering something akin to "over my dead body" as a discussion, so Sam lets it go. Sam's phone starts ringing in the back of the car, and Dean twists and gets it. Dean points to it.
"Want me to?"
"Yeah, take it."
Dean flips it open.
"Hello?"
A short silence.
"Hey Bobby!"
Sam grins. Well that will be interesting.
"Yeah, it's Dean! Why do you sound so surprised? Oh, I guess Sam told you about my little misadventures then!"
Sam snorts. Dean 'Understatement of the year' Winchester, yep, that's his brother's name.
"Bobby? You still here?" Dean hums. "Yeah yeah, they shot me in the fucking leg, the dogs. I'll be okay though. You know what Sammy did? He came and got me with friggin' hand grenades, man! "
He throws his head back laughing, totally gleeful.
"Ha, come on! Of course it's funny!"
Sam checks the traffic before cutting onto the boulevard, hearing Dean list the highlights of their day:
"Yeah, Bobby, think about it! We were hunted by a SWAT team, I got shot, got caught by the FBI, got a blood transfusion, totally got groped by a hot nurse at the hospital, by they way, Sammy put 4 or 5 different law officers unconscious by electrocution, we fired hand grenades, escaped federal custody..."
Sam adds to the list:
"I stole a car, bought illegal ammo from white supremacists, caused a car accident, took someone hostage for a minute, discovered I could move things with my mind..."
Sam shakes his head, impressed in spite of himself. Dean grins, making a thumb up.
"Well Bobby, I'd say that's a full day, and it's not even 7 pm yet."
Dean then laughs and hangs up. Sam smirks.
"He's pissed, isn't he?"
Dean snorts.
"Well sorta. He says that we achieved one thing only today."
Sam turns to look at Dean, who is biting his lower lip short of bursting laughing out loud again. Sam raises his eyebrows, questioning.
"And that would be?"
Dean winks at him.
"Moved our asses up the "most wanted morons involved in domestic terrorism" list ..."
The End.
;)
sevenfists . Was a lot of fun to write, hope it is fun to read!
Title: How Sam Winchester moved up on the most wanted list.
Warnings: 7000 words, spoilers for S2 finale, Gen fic, PG-13
Summary: done with the prompt "Dean is caught by the FBI and sent to jail. Badass!Sam busts in and rescues him, possibly with extra-fun telekinetic action. Or explosives. Or both." and it sums it up indeed!
Thanks: to
keyweegirlie that not only poked and betaed, but made the AWESOME banner that goes with this fic. I love her more than words can say.
How Sam Winchester moved up on the most wanted list.
Sam almost gets a door in the face as a fat guy enters the bathroom as he's on his way out. He apologizes even if it's none of his doing, pure reflex, and gets only a grunt in return from the man who's going straight to the stalls. People have no manners, really. Going back in the dining area of the café, he spots Dean leaning casually on the wall talking to the cute waitress. Of course he is. Sam can see only Dean's back, but the short and busty blonde is flushed and starry eyed, almost oscillating like a cobra in front of a snake charmer. Sam huffs, annoyed, because he knows he'll get bashed as the party pooper if he tells Dean that it's time to go. And it is time to go.
Sam walks to what had been their breakfast table to get the newspaper with a potential possession when a movement outside catches his attention. A crouched figure, masked and all in black, is running to take position behind a car on the other side of the street. Adrenaline spikes immediately in Sam's blood. SWAT, and they are surely there for Dean and him. If they're lucky, they haven't surrounded the café yet.
"Dean! Let's go, now!"
He cries out, moving fast towards the corridor leading back to the bathrooms. Dean startles at his tone and looks at him, alarmed and immediately ready to react. He follows, not even saying goodbye to the now confused waitress.
"What is it?"
"SWAT."
No more explaining needed, and Sam cracks the back door open, scanning the back rapidly. Nothing he can see. Dean makes a hissing noise and hits the wall with his fist. He draws his gun, clicks off the safety and arms it.
"Fuck. I paid with a credit card. Yesterday too. They must have had it tapped."
Sam scans the different escape routes. There is no time to waste, the SWAT team will surround the building fast, if it's not already done.
"We have to get rid of all of the cards. The motel?"
"No, I paid cash. Go."
Sam opens the door and runs behind the big garbage bin. He crouches and waits for his brother. Dean bolts off the door and he's half way when there is a soft "pop" and Dean loses his footing, grimacing. He dives for the hiding spot, does a somersault and ends up right next to Sam, heaving. A couple of bullets hit the metal bin, and a voice bellows.
"This is the FBI, drop your weapons and come out with your hands in the air! There is no way out. I repeat, ..."
"Son of a bitch!"
Dean hits the back of his head on the container, hard, has he clutches his thigh. Sam scans the now limited possibilities of escape.
"Okay, we'll get out Dean. Look, if we climb here on the bin, they can't see us because of the recess in the building. Then the roof of the storage shed. From there..."
"Go Sammy, go!"
Sam is about to climb when he notices Dean is still sitting, trying to see the in the direction of the guy that shot him.
"Come on Dean!"
Dean looks at him and gestures him to scram.
"You go. I'll cover you. Hurry. I'm toast anyway."
"What?"
That's when Sam sees the blood. He knows Dean's been shot, but he thought the bullet had gone through the flesh, that he'd be able to help him get away and then patch him up. But there is way too much blood already soaking Dean's jeans, even as he presses on the wound. That means an artery must have been hit. Not good. Not good at all.
"Dean! Fuck!"
Sam kneels next to him and tries to press on the wound too, to stop the flood from coming out. So much blood!
"Dammit Sammy, I told you to go!!! Every second counts!"
Something boils in Sam's blood. He will not leave him like that. That is a serious wound, Dean could die in minutes. His mind screams "we still have months left. 6 months left. Not now, not ready". Sam clenches his jaw hard and says through his teeth.
"No way am I leaving you here."
The voice of the FBI agent repeats to surrender and come out slowly. Dean groans, half in pain - half exasperated. He undoes his belt and pulls it free, then uses it to tie a tourniquet on his upper thigh. It doesn't take more than 15 seconds but all that time he curses and bitches.
"Fuck. Yes you'll go and you'll fucking go now, damnit. We won't both go down because you are a stubborn fuck. I tell you to go, and you'll go, and you don't do anything stupid, hear me? Hide away someplace. Go see Bobby, he'll help you. Sam?"
It rips something in Sam, but he knows Dean's right. He has to go now, or they'll both end up in prison, for good this time. And then, how could he pull Dean out of the monumental mess he made for himself with that crossroad Demon? He lets go of Dean's thigh and looks at his hands, bloody, his heart beating fast and hard.
"Okay. Okay. But you give me one minute, nothing more. Then you surrender so they take you to a doctor. Don't go bleeding to death like a stuck pig while trying to play hero."
Sam looks at Dean and they lock eyes, each trying to stare their point in, not wanting to back up. Dean's pale and obviously in pain. He nods.
"Deal. Two minutes. But you get the fuck out of here right now."
Sam grips Dean's shoulder. It wasn't supposed to be like that.
"Hang on. Be careful. Don't be too much of a smartass with them, ok?"
Dean has a snort of laughter.
"C'mon Sam, no time. Scram if you want a chance. And don't go getting yourself killed again."
Sam glares. That is not funny. But it's true that if he wants any chance at all, he has to go right now. So Sam lifts himself on the far end of garbage bin, where he's in a blind spot from anyone in the courtyard.
"Sam. Catch."
He turns and catches out of reflex what Dean throws his way. The Impala keys, smudged with blood. Something drops in Sam's gut. Dean has a half assed smile.
"Don't go get her if it's too risky though."
Sam nods, he's not sure he can talk.
"Go Sammy. You'll be okay."
'But not you.' Sam thinks, looking at Dean who sounds confident, like nothing is wrong. Always that front, for as long as he can remember. Sam can't waste more time, so he takes a deep breath and climbs on the roof of the storage shed, then crawls away, swearing hell get his brother back no matter what it takes.
---
It was close, way too close. Sam gets out of the perimeter watched by the FBI with a couple of risky moves, adrenaline pulsing through his veins and keeping him moving forward. Sam really hopes that Dean kept his word and got that wound checked on by now, that he surrendered before passing out behind that bin. At one point he hears an ambulance, hopes it's for his brother: not knowing is the worst. Sam is in survival mode, and that means that he sees everything clearly, details sharp, people and cars almost going in slow motion. Being efficient is the way to stay alive in high stress situations, may that be fighting a beast coming straight from Hell or escaping the authorities. Sam is taking the straightest path possible towards the motel, keeping his eyes opened and his pace casual, even slower than normal not to stand out. The car is just two streets over, parked in the back of the 2 story motel, and is so stupid to go there that Sam cringes. But he'll be damned if he doesn't at least try to get it, figures he owes it to Dean or something melodramatic like that.
Sam takes a deep breath as he turns the corner of the parking lot and goes straight for the Impala's door, takes out the keys and tries his best not to think about what makes them sticky. He slides in, pushes the seat back by pure reflex and winces at the familiar roar the car makes at it starts. Trust Dean not to drive something average, the feds will have their eyes opened for this beast. Sam drives carefully out of the parking lot and then in the opposite direction of the café. It’s almost anti climatic when 15 minutes later he realizes the way is clear and he's out of immediate danger.
---
"Hello?"
"Bobby! Oh thank God. Thank God. They got him Bobby, you got to help me! We have to go get him right now!"
"Sam? Whoa whoa, calm down boy. Who got who?"
"The feds, they caught Dean. They have Dean Bobby, and... and he's hurt, so they must not have moved him away right to whatever high security facility, so..."
"What?"
"The FBI, they shot Dean, he stayed behind as I got away. But I have to go get him, Bobby, I can't just..."
"SAM! If the FBI has Dean, I hate to say this, but there not much we can do."
"NO! He was badly wounded, so they couldn't move him away yet, he's still here in Columbia, has to be. He's probably at the local bureau, I checked, he just got discharged of the hospital, ..."
"Sam."
"... thank god he made it, Bobby, I was sure he bled to death as I got away. I'm sure that place isn't that guarded, we can get in and..."
"SAM."
"Yeah?"
"Sam where the fuck are you?"
"Columbia, South-Carolina."
"Sam you can't bust into a FBI bureau and ask for your brother back, they'll catch you too!"
"But.. but... you KNOW Bobby. You know what he did for me. I can't just sit here..."
"There is NOTHING you can do right now Sam. Please. Don't be stupid, we need to take some time and try..."
"You don't want to help me?"
"Sam, it's not that I don't want to help you!"
"Fine."
"Sam, even if he's there, and you don't know that for sure..."
"Forget I asked Bobby. "
*click*
"Sam..."
...
"Sam?"
...
"Goddamn son-of-a-bitch. Curse those stubborn Winchesters. Fuck."
*click*
---
Sam comes out of the dark basement occupied by the armory and his eyes hurt from the sudden sunlight. He palms the canvas duffel, counting the grenades again, wondering if he should go back in and buy some more. The average Joe would be appalled to know how it's easy to get guns, ammo and explosives anywhere in America if you know the right underground circles and pay in crisp green bills. But Sam can't get more because he just spent the last of the cash on it, so this will have to do.
Ever since his conversation with Bobby, Sam feels a quiet rage humming inside of him non stop. There is no way he'll turn his back on Dean and run, even if Dean asked him to. No fucking way. Dean sold his soul to get him back from the dead, for Christ's sake. Sam's been pushing away any thought related to what he would do without Dean, because even though that was looming, it still was 6 months away, they still had time to make it right. But no, he will not have to go through that now, not now when there is still someway to try to hold onto him. It was so STUPID, getting caught like that because of a credit card!
A chatty nurse had told Sam that Dean had been discharged from the hospital 2 hours ago, but he was probably too weak to be thrown into a paddy wagon and taken to a max security penitentiary at the moment. Logic warned that they would probably interrogate Dean to try and get to Sam (good luck with that, Dean would chew his own arm off first), and then move him tomorrow morning. So Sam had to go right now, the sooner the better. Dean had to be on Westpark Boulevard, any other scenario was totally unacceptable.
Sam gets into the red Civic he stole at the commercial center and fishes the laptop from under the passenger seat. He taps his fingers impatiently on the hot frame while he waits for it to start, then to find a WiFi connection. Sam double checks the map once more and the info they got on Henriksen, the name of whomever is the special agent in charge in Columbia. Sam sighs: there is so little to go with. He'd love to finesse his way in, but it's impossible alone, his picture must be stapled right in the security booth. He closes the computer, hides it away once more and gets going.
Sam parks the car on Maggie Hipp Drive and transfers the explosives into a black leather portfolio between two paper files filled with nonsense, along with a couple of handguns and clips, a rope, a taser, his knife and binoculars. He straps on an ankle holster with another gun, puts one in his waistband, makes sure he has a couple more clips in his dress coat pockets. He knows he'll never get through security with all of this, but the point is to get close enough. Sighing, he picks up Dean's tube of hair gel and applies way too much of the product on his head, slicking his hair back with a little comb. It looks totally horrible, but it does change him. Especially with Dean's aviator sunglasses that he puts in the portfolio too. None of the FBI identification badges he has even remotely look like that, but that's again one of those things he has no control over. Sam gets out of the car, and watches his reflection on the side window, adjusting his blue and black tie. It will have to do.
He walks briskly through the woods towards Westpark Boulevard and stops at the edge of the trees, takes out the binoculars and tries to assess what he can of the dark pink two story building. The first thing Sam notices is the two guys standing by the doors with shotguns. Crap. Increased security, since it is surely not standard for a division headquarter. The good news is that Sam takes it as a proof Dean is in there somewhere. Okay, so walking out of the woods, crossing the street and walking casually to the door is probably out of the question. Sam huffs and wonders if he should go back and get the Civic or better yet another car to get as close as he can. No matter what, he needs a diversion for those two armed guards. But what? He could throw a grenade in the parking lot on the side, but that would shoot the security alert up to red and make things difficult. Fuck.
A car passes before him and it flashes before Sam's eyes. A car accident. He could get a car, and manage to cause a car accident right in front of the building. He'd play the victim, maybe cut his forehead so it bleeds a lot, attract the guards and then hope to make a run for the door as they go check on the people in the other car. Or something. He scans the street and tries to figure where the accident would be most useful. A wave of pure energy is taking hold of him as he tries to form a plan. He follows a grey sedan with his eyes and thinks, yeah, I would stop right there, by the entryway. The car stops suddenly. Sam frowns and the driver comes out of the car after 30 seconds, flailing, clearly puzzled. The man pops the hood open and looks in, clearly at loss. No smoke, no steam, nothing. Sam can hear him curse.
It's an enormous coincidence and Sam can't help but wonder if he caused this. Could it be? The guards are looking at the car, but staying near the door. Not enough. Sam can hear Ava's voice, Jake's even. If he lets go... maybe... Another vehicle is coming and Sam stills, thinking a mile a minute. If the first driver would somehow get away from the car, not to get hurt... Sam concentrates and a shiver runs through him when he wills the hood to slam down suddenly, making the first driver jump back in surprise. Sam turns to the arriving black pickup truck and thinks very hard on how he wants it to crash the rear end of the stopped car. On cue, the truck goes out of its way and collides with the car's trunk, generating a loud bang and the screeching of deforming metal. Sam feels a surge of power and without thinking much, he stirs the car behind the pickup in the mix, a wide angry smile splitting his face when it goes easy. The screaming of kids in the last car startles him though, and his heart thumps fast. Oh God, maybe he hurt someone.
The guards are now running towards the accident scene and Sam knows it's now or never, so he jogs from the trees to the cars himself, getting there first. There is a woman stuck in the driver's seat of the blue car, the third one, forehead bleeding even if the airbag popped out. Two young blond kids in the back, a girl and a boy surely not over 5, are bawling and screaming even though they only look a bit shaken. Sam feels horrible. He bellows to the FBI agent to hurry over to the lady and as they circle the car, Sam shouts something to the effect that he's going inside to call an ambulance. They don't even look at him and he runs to the door, a hand over one of his eyes like he's hurt, getting in and screaming:
"Someone call an ambulance!"
The receptionist and regular security agent are looking through the widows, neck craned trying to see what is going on. The grey haired woman makes a loud "oh" and puts a hand over her mouth, going back through the metal detector to get to her desk, setting it off beeping. Sam jumps at the opportunity and follows a step behind as the detector is still screaming, keeping his head down and his hand on his face, but the inside guard is not even paying any attention to him or the device.
"Is it bad?"
The guard asks, still trying to assess the situation. Sam flails his free hand, trying to put panic in his voice, finds out it's not hard to do at all.
"The woman, 3rd car, she's unconscious and bleeding, stuck I think. There are kids... and..."
"Dear god!"
The guard bolts outside, finding his duty to go try and help them. The receptionist is on the phone, with 911 probably, and Sam looks sideways the building, wanting nothing more than get in and find Dean right now. But where? He has to get away from the front desk. The woman is still distracted by her phone call and Sam gestures to her
"Could I use the bathroom please? Got to check my eye!"
She nods and points towards a corridor.
"Yes, yes. Want me to go with you?"
"No thanks, I think it will be okay. Over there?"
She nods and gets back to her chat with the operator as Sam walks briskly towards the direction of the bathroom but cuts left at the first occasion instead, to get out of her eyesight. He's got a couple of minutes, if he's lucky, before someone thinks about finding him. Sam takes out the dark sunglasses and puts them on, slicks his hair back and pins a FBI identification badge to his left lapel. Something tells him Dean is not far, he has to be. But no way can Sam find him by himself, and he needs to get to him fast. Turning a corner, he almost collides with a tall brunette.
"Oh! She says."
Sam takes out a folder from his portfolio and uses his best angry voice.
"Finally. Someone. No one works in here?"
The girl loses her smile and step back, before asking.
"Can I help you sir?"
Sam snorts.
"I hope so. Looking for that damn Winchester asshole. Where's Henriksen?"
She gets wide eyed and points behind her.
"Oh, the prisoner! Special Agent Henriksen is with him."
Sam can't help but smile, that's perfect. The girl smiles back.
"Want me to lead you there... ???"
She tries to squint to see his name on the ID.
"Chuck. Call me Chuck. Yes please, I've had a very bad day and you're the first ray of sunshine today sweetheart."
She looks coy for a moment and when she turns to lead the way, she definitely swings her hips a bit more than necessary. Sam rolls his eyes, wondering why some women respond well to the kind of attitude he's projecting right now, it's so lame. No wonders Dean scores so much: even he's is not that bad.
"I'm Phoebe. I haven't seen the prisoner but Maddie did..."
"Did she?"
The girl looks at him over her shoulders, doing a fast eyelash flutter.
"Is he really that bad? Maddie told me he looks very sweet. And cute too."
Sam sets his jaw.
"Don't be fooled. He's extremely dangerous, vicious even."
Her eyes god damn sparkle at that. He could really groan. It’s ridiculous.
"Really? Oh!"
Phoebe leads him right in a new hallway and Sam can see a guard at the door in the end. That is probably it. They are not taking any chances it seems.
"Did... erm, Maddie say if he'll be strong enough to be transferred soon?"
While they cover the last feet before the door, Sam busies himself looking in the leather bag, hiding his face the best he can with his shoulder, wondering what he should do. He decides on the taser, no need to hurt anyone more than necessary. Phoebe babbles carelessly:
"Well he is a little pale, she said, and they did bring him in a wheelchair. I heard that they'll come and get him before morning. It sucks, because I would have loved to see him, you know? Nothing ever happens here, I never saw someone on the top 50 list. Would be so cool!"
Way too soon, they are at the door and Phoebe switches talking to the guard.
"Hey Bob! Chuck is here to see Special Agent Henriksen. Is he still here?"
Bob is clearly a bit more inquisitive than anyone Sam's encountered before in the building because he tries to see past Phoebe to Sam.
"Who?"
Sam doesn't waste as second. He takes out the taser and zaps Bob with the power set almost to the maximum, while moving behind Phoebe and clapping a hand on her mouth and then the taser arm around her waist to hold her against him. She doesn't even struggle, staying stiff as Bob falls in a heap on the floor, unconscious.
"Shhh. Phoebe, I need you to stay calm now, okay? I won't hurt you, I won't hurt anyone if I don't have to. But I'm here to get my brother okay?"
She stays still like a statue, no sound, nothing.
"You hear me Phoebe?"
She nods sharply.
"Okay, so I'm gonna let you go now, but if you scream or anything stupid like that, I'll zap you like Bob here, okay?"
She nods again, emphatically. He whispers in her hear, feeling the urge to justify himself.
"Okay. Stay calm Phoebe. Bob will be okay. I assure you, Dean and I, we're not bad guys, we're not killers. It just looks bad on paper, I promise you. There is an explanation. It would sound crazy to you, and it sounds batshit after what you just saw and what I am doing to you, but we're nice guys. All I want is my brother back, so we can do our job."
Sam reaches for the door handle and it's locked. Fuck.
"Can you open that door for me Phoebe? If you can, I'll let you go, no harm done."
The girl is shaking now, and she nods again.
"I'm sorry Phoebe, I really am. But I have to get Dean. Open the door, and as soon as I'm in, I'll let you go. Okay? Then you'll run as fast as you can away from here. Understand?"
A soft scared noise escapes the poor thing. She reaches for her purse and takes a white card out and motions to a box on the wall next to the door. Must be working with electronic chips. Sam lets go of Phoebe's waist and takes it away from her. She recoils, as if she got burned. Sam hates the feeling, feels dirty about making her go through that.
"Thank you Phoebe. Thank you. I need him, you understand? I couldn't go on without him, he's my big brother. I'm sorry that I had to scare you."
Sam swipes the card near the black square on the wall and a green light appears at the top while a soft metallic sound comes from the direction of the door handle. Sam testes the handle, it gives way, opening easily. Sam almost sighs in relief. The girl's still too scared to move it seems.
"Okay, okay. Perfect Phoebe, thank you. Now I'll go in, and get my brother. I'll let you go, but please, please don't scream. I know I have no right asking you that, but it will be better for everyone, trust me."
Slowly, Sam takes his hand off of Phoebe's mouth and she just spins around, looking at him with big dark brown eyes, frozen like a deer in highlights. Sam puts his index on his mouth and points in the direction they just came. She walks backwards away from him, not making a sound yet, as if she looks away he'll kill her. Sam takes out the gun from the back of his pants and that is it, she spins around and starts running as fast as she can. Thirty seconds max before the alarm is given, Sam thinks, and taking a deep breath he pushes the door of room 104 open.
Sam goes in and he sees no one, only a big table covered with papers and Styrofoam coffee cups, coats hanging on the back of chairs. Sam counts 3 coats, definitely 4 places with previous occupants judging from the arrangements of what is on the table. Voices filter from the room that opens in this one, nothing he can make out though, except that it's angry shooting. He sees shadows across frosted glass. Sam's heart thumps in his chest. That is it. He puts the sunglasses in his pocket, walks fast to the door and ever so slowly cracks it open, trying to figure where everyone is standing.
"... ridiculous. If your brother is as innocent as you say, he just has to come forward. We would love to talk to him. On the phone, even."
"Again, how stupid do you really think I am? I won't help you find Sam, no way. He got away from under your nose again boys, I won't help you look good to your bosses, nu huh."
A wave of relief hits Sam squarely in the heart to hear Dean talk like that, just there not more than 10 feet away, being the smartass he knows and loves. By the narrow strip revealed by the open door, Sam can see two FBI agents, one leaning against a wall, sleeves rolled and clearly bored, wearing a chest holster, and one with his hands on his hips, shaking his head in dismay. Sam almost empathises. Knowing it's a matter of seconds before Phoebe alarms security, Sam takes a second handgun from the portfolio, arms both, takes a deep breath and then kicks the door in hard. He steps inside and bellows.
"Nobody freaking moves or I shoot."
Five sets of surprised eyes turn to him, and unfortunately, one of the FBI guys near the window draws his gun and point it to him.
"I said don't move!!! I WANT MY BROTHER BACK, HEAR ME?"
Okay, so maybe that comes out a bit dramatic.
"Sam! " Dean breathes out, then grins. "Well here he is boys. And he looks pissed. And with weird hair."
"Shuddup Dean."
Henriksen holds his hands in the air and tries to negotiate or something.
"Okay, okay. We hear you. Hold your fire Reidy."
I can get him. Reidy replies, and Sam sees his index twitch. Sam doesn't even think, he focuses all his thought on getting the gun out of the man's hands and there it is, jerking away from Reidy and floating in the air, 2 feet front of him. The man's eyes get saucer big and Sam hears distinct gasps. Dean, too:
"Cool! Way to go Sammy! Can you get that over here?"
Sam smiles, struggles not to lose his train of thought, as he's still trying to watch 4 potential threats at the same time.
"Probably. You out of the handcuffs yet?"
Dean grunts.
"Of course, what do you think."
Sam sees from the corner of his eyes that Dean brings his hands in front of himself, so he slides the gun slowly from the middle of the room until it falls on the table in front of his brother. Henriksen is gaping like a fish right now.
"Wha... what the hell?"
"Victor? Guys? My freak of a brother, Sam. Oh God Sammy, that's so awesome."
Dean says with awe as he grips the revolver and points it towards Henriksen.
"Happy you approve Dean."
Sam cocks his head to the side, watching for any sign of trigger happy wannabe heroes.
"Will you fetch beer for me too, Sammy? God! The visions are a bitch, I know, but that... damn!"
"We still have to get out of here Dean. Don't get ahead of yourself."
As if on cue, a shrill alarm starts. Dean stands up from his wheelchair slowly, grunts and limps until he’s at Sam's side.
"Okay boys, you see what my spoon bender of a bro can do, so I'll ask you nicely to take your guns out and put them slowly on the ground where we can see. No stupid moves. Do I make myself clear?"
Nobody moves. Dean fires his gun towards the wall, in between two agents. At the same time, Sam mentally pushes Reidy in the wall, pinning him there and even lifting him off the ground. Dean chuckles.
"I said do we make ourselves clear? Sam may prefer making you levitate, what I'm sure is an awesome experience in itself, but I'll shoot, don't be fooled. Victor, man, I really wish you'd understand that we haven't done anything that wasn't necessary. I told you, we never killed anyone that was not evil. There is a whole lot that you are not even aware of, weird stuff, dark stuff."
Henriksen shakes his head from side to side, visibly trying to get some hold of the situation or stall things until reinforcement makes it to them.
"You are both clearly insane. Dean, Sam, now don't be stupid. You'll never get out of here, and if you kill someone, it's going to be way worse. I tell you."
Sam cries out, enraged.
"That's why you take your fucking gun out right now and put in on the ground!"
Saying it is as effective if he's doing it himself, Henriksen's revolver springs from his holster and falls on the ground, sliding towards Sam's feet. But it seems Sam can't do two things at once, so the agent that was squirming 3 feet in the air falls down on the ground with a whimper. Sam snaps his neck towards the 2 remaining agents and one by one gets their revolver. He makes the three guns float to his portfolio. He knows he's not supposed to like the feeling of power that comes with this, that he should keep it in check as much as possible, but it's exhilarating.
Dean looks at him with his mouth opened, in total wonder.
"Well attaboy Sammy! That will come in handy, I’m sure. Unless..."
Sam turns his head towards his brother, squinting.
"Unless what Dean?"
Dean scrunches his nose, and he says "Christo?" with such a need to not have it work that Sam starts laughing out loud.
"It's okay. I'm not possessed. Shower me with holy water later if you wish to be sure."
I may do, but don't take it personally, okay?"
Sam grins.
"Okay, only fair. Now let's get out of here."
Dean nods.
"I totally approve of that plan. Erm. Well. If there is a plan. There is a plan, right?"
Sam puts a gun back in his waistband and takes a grenade out, showing it to Dean.
"Well I though about something going boom. What do you think?"
Dean eyebrows shoot up and then a shit eating grin forms.
"I thoroughly approve. Brought one for me?"
Sam gives him the grenade and takes another one out.
"Of course."
"Oh my god."
Says the youngest agent of the group, who falls on the ground with his hands behind his head. Sam thinks fast, then orders to the other agents, motioning with his gun.
"Okay, yes, come here by your pal's side."
The four men line down on the ground. Henriksen is the only one that dares to talk anymore.
"You are not, I say NOT going to get out of here, hear me? Goddamn grenades? We are not in a Rambo movie. Somebody is going to get killed."
"Shut up." Sam says, rolling his eyes. He takes out the taser and zaps him, then the 3 others.
"Thank you Sammy." Dean says. "I had more than enough conversations with Henriksen for today. Geez that man is patronizing."
"Ok, let's go." Sam's gaze falls to Dean's leg, discerns a thigh bandage under hospital-like pajama pants. "You okay to limp for a while?"
Dean nods.
"Almost as good as new. They gave me tripping meds, man! In fact I may be hallucinating all of this!"
"Tell me if you need some help. Let's roll."
Dean has a crooked smile.
"Let's shake up the place! Won't be easy to get to the door though, hope you can use your super mojo for some of it."
Sam raises his eyebrows and points to an outside wall.
"And who says we can't make a door of our own? We just need to divert attention a bit."
Dean understands immediately and exits the interrogation room, goes across the other room towards the hallway. He opens the door, and quickly looks out in the corridor. Sam asks.
"Is Bob gone?"
"Who?"
"Never mind."
"Whatever, we have company." He tells Sam unnecessarily as gunshots starts and bullets fly near the space next to where Dean's head appeared for a fraction of a second. Sam overturns a table in angle, making a makeshift barrier against what is to come.
"Ok so let's fire two grenades simultaneously. One for the outside wall, one for them. Seven seconds right? So at 2 we take the pin out, then at 4 you throw it out. Ok? Not too close though."
"Of course not. They are just fools following orders." Dean cries out. "Gentlemen? I'd back up if I was you, I have a little surprise!"
Sam goes under a window and blocks a grenade behind a conditioned air unit. He starts counting out loud
"1, 2 ..." takes the pin out, sees that Dean does the same. Sam runs behind the table as he continues counting "3, 4 ..." Dean makes the grenade roll in the corridor.
"Here it comes, get away guys!" Dean stands up and limps behind the table too. Sam hears a couple of "shit!" "take cover!" and sure enough, 3 seconds later two deafening explosion that can pass as one shakes the building and debris fly everywhere. Sam realizes that Dean draped himself over his back to protect him. Sam huffs. Of course he did. Must be ingrained in his genes or something.
"Ok, let's go." Sam says, standing up and running to the door, rolling a new grenade in the corridor. It should make them think.
"Here comes another one boys!!!"
Dean shakes plaster out of his hair as they go for the new hole in the wall, easily big enough to let them get out. Sam is relieved to see that it's the side of the building, as he suspects the police could be in the front because of the car accident. Sam helps Dean get down on the lawn, and they jog, crouched, to a series of car in the parking as they hear the third grenade go off. They could hotwire a car here, but Sam thinks the Civic would be safer, so he motions to Dean to follow him to the street. At the end of the parking, he stands up.
"C'mon. We have to cross the street, we should be okay in the woods. Limp casually."
"Ha ha." Dean says, but does it none the less.
Sam can't help it: he looks over to the accident site before they go into the trees, sees the paramedics and wonders how the woman is doing. But it's more important to get out of here fast, he'll look it up later. Once hidden by the vegetation, Sam breathes a little better. Almost there. Dean is one step behind him and grunts at one point when he loses his footing because of a rock. His thigh definitely makes him suffer.
"Just a bit more Dean, we're almost there."
"Couldn't you just, like, I don't know, float me to the car?"
Sam laughs and does try to steady Dean by thought, but it throws him off balance more than anything. Dean flails a bit and then holds up a hand in between him and Sam.
"Whoa, no, no. Not cool. Too weird."
Sam goes to Dean and supports him the old fashion way, hooking Dean's arm around his shoulders and dragging him along. They've done this one way or the other dozens and dozens of time, too much really. They only have about 500 feet to do anyway, so in minutes Sam sees the car. He hauls Dean to the passenger door and sees how his face drops when he realizes the getaway car is that Civic and not the Impala. He doesn't say anything though, but Sam can see him swallowing hard.
Sam goes to the driver side, gets in after throwing the portfolio in the back and starts the car. Dean takes a deep breath.
"You know, I thought I had told you not to do anything stupid Sam."
Sam chuckles as he maneuvers the car in the little streets, driving as normally as he can.
"Like you never did worse! Got you back, didn't I?"
Dean sighs loudly.
"Yeah. Thanks man, I gotta say it was quite awesome."
He doesn't sound cheerful though, not manic like he would normally be. Sam is pretty sure he knows why. He fishes for a key in his pants and throws it a Dean's head.
"Hey!" Dean protests, but then looks at the keychain tag. "Uncle Bob's self storage?"
Dean looks at him with such a hopeful smile at that Sam laughs out loud.
"Yep, she's in a locked garage."
Dean brandishes the key in his fist in a victorious gesture.
"Yesss! Oh my god, you scared me, I though we'd be stuck in this shit."
Sam rolls his eyes.
"Would be better for us, you know. The impala will get us caught one day, I tell you."
Dean grins.
"Whatever."
They've had this discussion already, countless times. If you can count Sam pleading and Dean answering something akin to "over my dead body" as a discussion, so Sam lets it go. Sam's phone starts ringing in the back of the car, and Dean twists and gets it. Dean points to it.
"Want me to?"
"Yeah, take it."
Dean flips it open.
"Hello?"
A short silence.
"Hey Bobby!"
Sam grins. Well that will be interesting.
"Yeah, it's Dean! Why do you sound so surprised? Oh, I guess Sam told you about my little misadventures then!"
Sam snorts. Dean 'Understatement of the year' Winchester, yep, that's his brother's name.
"Bobby? You still here?" Dean hums. "Yeah yeah, they shot me in the fucking leg, the dogs. I'll be okay though. You know what Sammy did? He came and got me with friggin' hand grenades, man! "
He throws his head back laughing, totally gleeful.
"Ha, come on! Of course it's funny!"
Sam checks the traffic before cutting onto the boulevard, hearing Dean list the highlights of their day:
"Yeah, Bobby, think about it! We were hunted by a SWAT team, I got shot, got caught by the FBI, got a blood transfusion, totally got groped by a hot nurse at the hospital, by they way, Sammy put 4 or 5 different law officers unconscious by electrocution, we fired hand grenades, escaped federal custody..."
Sam adds to the list:
"I stole a car, bought illegal ammo from white supremacists, caused a car accident, took someone hostage for a minute, discovered I could move things with my mind..."
Sam shakes his head, impressed in spite of himself. Dean grins, making a thumb up.
"Well Bobby, I'd say that's a full day, and it's not even 7 pm yet."
Dean then laughs and hangs up. Sam smirks.
"He's pissed, isn't he?"
Dean snorts.
"Well sorta. He says that we achieved one thing only today."
Sam turns to look at Dean, who is biting his lower lip short of bursting laughing out loud again. Sam raises his eyebrows, questioning.
"And that would be?"
Dean winks at him.
"Moved our asses up the "most wanted morons involved in domestic terrorism" list ..."
The End.
;)