gavemea_45 | (no subject)

"Shouldn't be a problem," he says, rummaging around in the trunk. Sam comes up with a very large sack of salt and sets it on the ground, then leans back in to reach for a wooden box.

"It's not like they're gonna have anyone here to possess -- any of them that get out, anyway. They'll be stuck as smoke. Here."

He picks out a black cord with an old tarnished silver charm hanging on it, and holds it out to Andrew.

"Wear that. It'll keep them off of you."

He reaches for the charm.

"So possessing is all they can do in that shape? We're not gonna get any, anything physical coming out?"

"Didn't last time," Sam says, flatly.

Or not exactly, anyway.

He picks up the salt bag and starts for the tracks.

"...okay. Okay, good."

Andrew loops the cord around his neck, tucks the charm into his shirt.

Maybe he's wrong. Maybe Sam has thought this through, contingency plans and all, and just doesn't have the patience to go over it with him.

Sam carefully pours a thick line of salt across the broken width, making sure to extend it far enough on either side to keep there from being any break. He repeats the process, doubling it, and then twists the sack shut and returns to the car.

"There."

The bag goes back in the trunk on top of the wooden box, and Sam starts to close it, then hesitates, glancing from it to Andrew.

"You need anything from in here?"

He glances at the trunk too.

"You got any extra holy water?" he asks, low. "In case we do wind up having to go in?"

"Couple gallons."

He steps up to the trunk, leaning to look in. "Let's take some?"

Sam shifts a blanket out of the way and lifts out two gallon jugs, passing one off to Andrew.

"We can put it in the back seat. There's still a short way to go yet."

Back in the car, he glances sidelong at Sam again.

"So the last time I ran a hellbreak," he starts, and hesitates for half a beat, watching for Sam's reaction.

The flash of sudden, desperate hope that passes over his face is clear to see, even in the still-dim light.

"The last time?"

"Yeah," he says. "The, um. Only successful time."

(Not the only time, though.)

"We had to go in, and -- our guy didn't recognize us. He tried to fight us."

Sam looks away and steps on the gas, sending the Impala on up the road in a cloud of dust..

"Dean'll know me."

For a split second he considers telling Sam who it was they went in after --

No.

"Course he will," he says. "Once he's out. But ..."

"He's my brother," Sam interrupts, ignoring the way his voice cracks on the last word. "He'll know me."

"Sam --"

He's trying hard to keep his voice gentle, but it's a struggle to say anything at all, in the face of Sam's vehemence.

"What."

He swallows.

"All I'm saying is he might be in pretty bad shape when we get there."

That's what I'm afraid of.

He doesn't say anything. Sam steps down hard on the gas; the engine roars, and the Impala surges forward.

Hold on, Dean. We're coming.

He's not listening --

"And we have to have a plan," he amplifies, a touch desperately.

"So we'll make one, okay?"

The headlights pick out the edge of an upright stone; Sam slows the car and pulls around at the side of the cemetery, then shifts into park and leaves the engine idling.

"There." He nods to the massive shape of a mausoleum, across the grass, with several graves between them and it.

"That's it."

He looks where Sam indicates, and nods.

"Okay." A breath. "I'll start setting up?"

Sam shuts off the engine and nods.

"Want to take a closer look first? Hard to see from here, but there's a lock where the Colt fits--"

He doesn't wait for an answer; he's already getting out of the car as he talks. The predawn darkness is slowly giving way to light in the east; enough that his silhouette is easily visible as he walks across the cowboy graveyard toward the tomb.

He opens his own car door, and hurries after him.

The faint glow in the east isn't quite enough light to study the gate by. Andrew plays the beam of a flashlight over the lock, examining its design.

"Thorned pentacle," he murmurs. "Or supposed to form one, anyway. Heavy stuff."

"Colt knew what he was doing."

Andrew's studying the lock; Sam's watching Andrew.

"Can you open it?"