He wasn't even sure if it would work. It was broad daylight and he had no idea if Sam was even capable of contacting him. All Dean knew for sure was that Sammy had visited him in his dreams on more than one occasion. It wasn't a premonition; it was real. He had been aware of it from the day they tussled on the bed back in the motel room. He'd tried to ignore it. Sam had been sleeping each time it happened, but Dean couldn't be sure Sam was asleep now.
To keep his father away, he had shown him the video of the blond man that seemed to be at every location they had filmed at. He sent his father in search of the man and Shane. Dean didn't go into details but just mentioned that a childhood friend was in town and went missing. He then asked his father to get a map of the town. He also gave his father all the background information they'd gathered on the six men that had disappeared. He was looking for a pattern in and he knew if anyone could find one, it was his father. Dean figured that should keep John Winchester busy for a few hours. His only problem now was finding a way to sleep. Quite frankly he was too keyed up to sleep. He sensed Sam was in danger and the last thing he wanted to do was waste time sleeping. In the end, Dean trusted his judgment. He felt strongly that there was a link between him and Sam now. In fact, he suspected the link had always been there, growing stronger day after day.
He never explained to Sam why he'd come back the night Jesse died. He had driven off that night, disappointed that Sam was returning to his normal life. He'd stopped at a red light and a flash of something ran across his mind. He went cold inside and could practically see a terrified Sam staring up. The next thing he knew he was turning the car around, tires screeching as he raced back to the house. His gut instincts had been right then; he only hoped they'd be right now.
?????????
John was on the phone with Missouri. He was filling her in on all that had occurred. When he recounted Dean's plan and the instructions he'd received from his son, the portly black woman could hear the pride in his voice.
"Sounds like Dean has things well in hand," Missouri drawled.
John chuckled, "He sounded like me when I was giving them orders."
"John," Missouri began. She hesitated for a moment before speaking. She wasn't sure John could handle what she had to say. "Things have changed between your boys. What they are now...it doesn't fit into what we were taught to believe."
John smiled into the receiver. His friend was trying to tell him what he already knew.
"Don't worry about me Missy. I've long since given up following the rules of polite society."
Missouri was silent. She tried to get a sense of whether the senior Winchester really knew what she was saying. Sensing that, John spoke again.
"The day I put Sam into Dean's arms...I guess it was symbolic. I guess that's where Sam belongs."
John shook his head, not believing how easily he'd accepted it.
"John, it will be alright. They'll be alright," she reassured.
"I...I just feel so useless. I wasn't there for them before and I don't know if I can help them now."
"John Winchester. This is no time for self-pity," she scolded. "You can't change the past but you can shape the future. What you've given those boys seems to be what they need?"
"And what is that exactly?" John asked skeptically.
"Each other. Now get off this phone and get to work. I'll wire you some money this afternoon and don't tell me you don't need it."
John heard the phone click off. He shook his head and laughed. He had given Dean all the cash he had. Missouri was right, Dean and Sam had each other and he had work to do.
??????????
Dean kicked off his shoes and lay fully clothed on his bed. The only other motel in town was a step up from where he and Sam had been staying. He'd drawn the curtains and locked the door. He lay staring up at the chipping paint on the ceiling, frustrated because sleep wouldn't come.
"This is stupid," he grumbled. "I should be out looking for Sam."
He clasped his hands on top of his stomach and thought about his brother. He yawned a few times and shifted on the bed.
"Where are you Sam," he fretted, yawning again.
He thought about taking a pill or having a beer but he didn't have either. Besides, he'd tried pills and booze at one point to numb his senses to the madness around him; it never worked. If anything, he became more acutely aware of his surroundings and saw things he didn't care to see. It was as if when he was high, a whole new world was opened up around him. He was well aware that in certain cultures, elders and priests took mind altering drugs to connect to the spirit world. With all that his father had told him, Dean was pretty sure now the things he'd seen were not pink elephants but another world coexisting with his own.
Dean yawned again as he pictured Sam's face back there in the shed. Highlighted by the moonlight, he looked almost angelic. He remembered the warmth of the soft black wings, the rustling sound they made. When he'd first come back to the motel to find Sam changed, the sound had unnerved him. Now it was comforting.
"My angel," Dean whispered, his lids feeling heavy.
Dean felt a weight across his chest and his arms seemed to be pinned down at his sides. His first instinct was to fight.
"Don't struggle Dean, I won't hurt you."
"Sammy?"
"Relax, don't try to open your eyes just yet Dean," Sam's voice whispered.
"I can't see you."
"Sssh, relax Dean. I'm here."
Dean's whole body felt heavy and it scared him, but he obeyed what he hoped was his brother. He felt soft kisses placed to his lids and suddenly his eyes were opened and he saw Sam sitting on his waist, legs spread out on either side of him, wonderfully naked again. Black wings spread wide. He tried to reach out for him but his arms still felt like lead weights.
"Sssh, don't struggle," Sam ordered. He leaned in closer and kissed him.
Dean tried to speak but now his voice wouldn't work.
"Use your mind Dean. Don't fight it."
Sam was smiling down at him and Dean started to relax.
"Tell me where you are," Dean said, amazed he was really communicating with Sam.
"Shane has me. He's drugged me."
"Sammy...where is he keeping you?"
"I'm not sure. It's a cabin. I can't hear any cars."
"Can you show me where you are?"
"Not sure."
"Try Sammy."
Dean had a sudden and horrible sense of vertigo. When it stopped, he had the sensation of floating. He was seeing things but somehow, he knew he was seeing through Sam's eyes. He was in a cabin. It was sparsely furnished with a wooden dining table. There were dishes still on the table and remnants of breakfast on them. He turned around and stared at a familiar form lying lifeless across an ugly plaid sofa.
"Sammy," he gasped. He tried to make his way over to his brother but something was tugging him away.
"Don't...don't wake me," Sam's voice commanded.
"Where are you Sammy? Why can't I see you?"
"I don't know. As soon as you come a get me, we can figure that out."
"Show me something...anything so I can figure out where you are."
Dean was getting frustrated. Apart from cheap furniture, there was nothing in the room to indicate where Sam was. Dean's eyes were now focused on a staircase. The floating sensation was back again and he was in bedroom. The covers were disheveled and his blood did a slow boil.
"Did he?"
"Nothing happened," Sam soothed, from somewhere just out of Dean's line of sight.
He walked to the window and looked out. He could see a short driveway with a white mailbox at the end of it. He was able to look down onto the driveway. There was a black Ford 4x4 sitting there.
"Is he in the house Sammy?" Dean asked, panicked to see the car.
"No. He left me here. He said time was running out and I needed to make decisions."
"Decisions about what?"
"Dean, find me and we can sort the rest out later."
"Can you take me outside?"
He'd barely gotten the words out when he went soaring through the glass window and tumbled to the ground in front of the mailbox.
"Smooth landing," Dean quipped.
"Hey," Sam's voice said offended, "I'm new at this and you've put on a few pounds."
Dean was about to come up with a pithy reply but decided to save it for when he actually had Sam back by his side. He stared at the numbers on the mailbox.
"565," he muttered as he searched through his pockets.
"What are you looking for?" Sam's voice whispered in his ear.
"A pen to jot down the address," Dean said, as if it should have been obvious.
"Um...Dean? I hate to break this to you, but you're not physically here so the pen thing..."
"Oh..."
"Oh," Sam mocked. "I guess it's true what they say about blonds."
"Keep it up and I'll leave your ass right here. Now take me to that pick up truck. I need to see the license."
He was glided up the driveway and gently landed in front of the truck's grill.
"That's better," Dean teased.
Dean stared at the plates, trying to memorize the number. He only hoped that this psychic connection with Sam came with good short term memory.
"Sammy, I'm going to find out whose truck that is and I'm going to find you. It's a long shot but the plates are from Georgia so maybe this is the owner's house. Do you think you could take me further onto the main road? Maybe I could get a street address.
"Dean?"
"Sammy, what's happening? Your voice sounds so far away."
"Dean? I think I'm waking up."
"Not yet Sammy, I need more information."
"Try to remember?"
"Remember what Sammy?" Dean felt his own eyelids fluttering and the same freefall sensation he'd felt before ending up in the cabin.
"The license."
Dean stared at the plate saying the alphanumeric combination over and over. That queasy freefall sensation was coming over him again. His body lurched and his eyes flew open and he was back in his room, staring at the chipping ceiling again. It took a while before he realized his lips were moving and he was actually speaking.
"AAZ 2794...AAZ 2794."
He rolled out of bed still muttering the plate number. Dumping the contents of his bag onto the bed, he sifted through until he found a pen and paper. He jotted the license down and searched around for his cell phone. John Winchester once told him that a great deal of the family business relied on contacts. Staring down at the license plate he'd written down he hoped his father was right. He dials the Hibbing, Minnesota number and smiles into the receiver when a woman's voice answers.
"Hey Kathleen, it's me, Dean Winchester...I wonder if I could ask a small favor of you."
????????????????????
John sat in his truck by the pier. It was becoming a regular hang out for him. Through newspaper clippings, he'd managed to piece together some information on the missing men. He'd also done some research on similar cases and found that all over in rural areas in the south and Midwest, men were going missing.
"Ian Hess went missing first," John muttered, scribbling down the name.
There was no pattern to the dates and the ages of the men ranged from their late teens to mid forties. The only thing any of them had in common was strange dreams before their disappearances and only three of those had been corroborated. There was no proof that all men had similar experiences. He went from clippings to his notepad until he had compiled a complete list:
Ian Hess Sean Hanes Wes Nash Ashe Jansen Jess Shaw Shane Hansen
Then something jumped out at him, the names themselves. They all shared common letters. John dialed Missouri.
"Missy, jot these names down and find out every thing you can about their meanings; numerology, demonology...everything. I think I may be on to something."