Season Two

Episode Five: Remote Control

by Irismay42

Part Four

Dean heard the bullet whiz past his head; felt the air displaced by its passing; saw the little spark as it deflected off the metal casing surrounding one of the TV monitors behind which he was currently hunkered down.

He could see Sam’s silhouette against the far wall of the little basement room; knew he only had to move a couple of inches to his right and he’d be able to draw a bead on him; even raised his gun as his muscles prepared to shift him sideways.

Then he froze, suddenly struck by the wrongness of it.

Why was Sam shooting at him?

Why was he shooting at Sam?”

Sam.

Dean had taken a shot right at his little brother’s head, and if the younger boy had ducked behind the large rickety filing cabinet a millisecond later, his brain would currently be decorating the metal doorway.

He didn’t even remember how he came to be here; why he came to be doing what he was doing. He just knew instinctively somewhere deep down in the bones of himself that this was wrong. He shouldn’t be shooting at Sammy. Shouldn’t be trying to hurt him. Why the hell was he trying to hurt him?

“He’s gone Dark Side,” the voice began to reverberate around in his skull again, and he startled at the closeness of it, the insistence of it. “You have to kill him before he kills you, Dean. You know you do.”

Dean pressed the Glock sideways against his temple, oddly soothed by the reassuring solidity of the barrel.

“You know you have to do it, Dean. You have to kill him. And then you have to destroy the machine. Otherwise, both will fall into Haris’ hands. You know that’s what Sam’s doing don’t you? Trying to steal the machine for his new master? You don’t want that do you?”

“No,” Dean muttered uncertainly, scrunching his eyes closed and ducking down as another bullet shot past his ear. “No,” a little stronger this time. A little more sure of himself. “No, I’m not listening to you.” He shook his head vehemently. “You’re gone. You were exorcized. You don’t have control of me any more –”

“Kill him, Dean. Kill him. You’ve already lost him. He belongs to Haris now. Always did. You knew that. You always knew that. He’s going to kill you. He’s going to kill you to prove his loyalty to his new father. Kill you, take the machine. Use it to hurt everyone you care about: your dad; Bobby; Kyle; even Sarah. Because even she won’t be safe from him. He’ll kill everyone you care about, Dean –”

“No –”

“Dean, you have to do this –”

“You’re not in control of me any more! I’m not – I’m not possessed! I’m not –”

“Kill him, Dean. Kill him and destroy the machine. Then you’ll be safe. Your family will be safe –”

“He is my family!”

“You wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for him, Dean. You, your dad, your mom: if it hadn’t been for him, you’d have been safe; oblivious to the things out there in the dark. A normal family. He brought this down on you all, Dean. He attracted Haris’ attention. You think that yellow-eyed monster would have spared you a second glance? Come after you, put that demon in you, tortured you if it hadn’t been for him? For Sam? Haris only wanted you to get to him, Dean! That’s all you’ve ever been – a pawn in his end game. Disposable. Bait. Just like your mom. It’s too late for her, Dean. But it’s not too late for you – for your dad. You can still save your family, Dean –”

“Sammy is my family!” Dean repeated.

He shouldn’t be shooting at Sammy.

Why was he shooting at Sammy?

Mind control.

Website.

Howie freakin’ Grumnik.

God his head hurt.

He opened his eyes cautiously. “They were all unconscious,” he muttered, oblivious to the bullet pinging off the table and exploding into the TV monitor barely a foot from his face. “It was when they were unconscious that they forgot; that they became themselves again…”

His eyes darted across the room as he became suddenly aware of movement: his brother was moving toward him, gun drawn. Must have thought Dean was incapacitated when he didn’t return fire.

Hatred and anger in his eyes.

Hazel-blue eyes.

Not black. Not yellow.

Mind control.

Howie freakin’ Grumnik.

Unconsciousness…

“Kill him, Dean! Do it now while you still can!”

Got to –

Sam cried out once as the bullet sliced through the flesh of his upper left thigh, collapsing in a heap onto the concrete, hitting his head hard as he went down.

“That’s it, Dean. That’s it. Just finish it. Sam, then the machine –”

All Dean could see was the blood seeping through Sam’s jeans; the blood trickling down his forehead…

Somewhere in his head he realized that both wounds were superficial. Head wounds could bleed like bitches, and the bullet had barely grazed his brother’s leg.

So he needed to finish this.

He was grateful Sam’s eyes were closed because he didn’t think he could have done it with his baby brother looking up at him, begging him not to.

Had to do it. Better he was dead than whatever cog he was destined to be in Haris’ machine…

The machine.

Howie’s machine.

“Do it Dean, kill him!”

His gun was pointed between Sam’s closed eyes and he never knew how it got there.

Just knew the safety was off.

And his finger was caressing the trigger.

And the machine…

The machine…

“Do it now, Dean! Put your brother out of his misery!”

At first he didn’t recognize the face filling the TV screens behind him. Just a blur of movement out of the corner of his eye, it drew his attention away from his brother and made him glance over his shoulder.

“Kill him Dean!”

The man’s lips moved in time with the words.

The voice was external.

Not in his head.

Not in his soul.

Not the demon…

Howie freakin’ Grumnik.

“I know you,” Dean mumbled, memories of bright light and rainbows and pain beyond description firing behind his eyes; strapped to a chair in a make-believe Sanatorium with a cruel, sadistic warden standing over him who wasn’t who he appeared to be. “Chappell. Warden Chappell…”

The face on the screen grinned horribly. “Good boy. I told you I’d break you in the end.”

Dean blinked. “Get out of my head, Howie!” he growled. “I know it’s you, you sick freak!”

The face on the screens positively leered. “Howard Grumnik has left the building, Dean,” he said. “This is who I am now. I’m here to save you from your brother. He’s going to tear you apart, just like Haris always planned. It’s his destiny, Dean. You know that. Deep down, you know that. One bullet and all of this can be over. One bullet, Dean –”

“One bullet?”

Dean’s finger tightened around the trigger as he breathed hard, turning slowly back toward where Sam still lay unconscious at his feet.

“One bullet.”

Which was when the world skewed sideways as his legs were suddenly kicked out from under him.

He landed hard on the concrete floor, vaguely aware of a large silhouette straddling him and a strong hand encircling his right wrist.

“It’s Howie, Dean!” Sam was yelling. “Listen to me!”

It took an almost superhuman effort to keep Dean pinned to the floor, the older brother desperately trying to free the hand still gripping his gun, eyes huge and pupils so big all Sam could see was black…

No.

Sam shook his head to clear it.

Dean wasn’t possessed. He wasn’t, not like the voice in his head had been telling him. “Get him down to the basement, Sam. He’s dangerous. Get him away from the civilians. You have to kill him, Sam. The demon’s still inside of him. It never left. Haris double-crossed you. You have to kill him. It’s the only way – the only way to save him –”

He remembered little else except waking up on the cold floor, blood oozing into his eyes and a burning pain spearing through his leg.

And Dean standing over him holding a gun.

Mind control.

Unconsciousness.

He must have been knocked out when he fell after… Had Dean shot him?

“Dean, listen to me –”

His brother kicked and bucked underneath him, desperately trying to push him off, and Sam heard the distinctive grate of metal on concrete as Dean’s boot connected with Sam’s .45 which he must have dropped when he’d collapsed into unconsciousness.

Sam watched the gun skitter across the floor, well out of the reach of either of them.

And then suddenly he was flipped onto his back, fingers still gripping Dean’s wrist, but somehow his older brother was kneeling over him now, left hand clawing at Sam’s fingers, trying to regain control of his Glock.

“One bullet,” Dean muttered, sounding so unlike Dean Sam actually shuddered, the older brother’s brow furrowing as if not quite understanding what he’d been ordered to do. “I gotta end it, Sammy. Gotta end you.”

And Sam could see it was tearing Dean apart; that somehow he knew Howie was in his head, but didn’t know how to get him out. Didn’t have the strength. Could only obey…

Was this what possession had been like for him?

“Sam –”

The pleading tone in Dean’s voice spurred Sam into redoubling his efforts, somehow managing to knock the Glock clean out of Dean’s hand before it bounced once on the concrete and slid toward the bank of TV monitors.

A microsecond passed as both of them hesitated.

Then suddenly they were both diving for the handgun, Sam beating Dean to the prize thanks largely to longer arms and a clearer head, and then he was scooting backwards, away from his brother as he brought Dean’s gun up to point directly at the older boy’s head.

“Dean –”

Dean made a lunge toward him.

There was a bang.

And then Dean knew only blackness.

****

Well, at least the humongous pain in his temple had finally ousted the sangria-induced samba that had been thumping away in Dean’s head since this morning.

This morning. Wow, that seemed a long time ago.

He remembered this morning; and the crazy lady in the diner; Manny and his self-sustaining beard; a dent in the Impala’s rear fender. But everything after that was pretty much a blank.

So he guessed there was probably a very good reason he was sitting on a cold floor with his back to a cold wall and what felt like some guy drilling a hole in his forehead.

He opened one eye experimentally, not at all surprised to see a big guy in white hospital garb holding a gun on him.

His gun.

He blinked. White pants. The guy was so round he looked like a snowman. Roll him down a hill and –

Where the hell was Sam?

Had he…?

He remembered gunfire. And he was pretty sure he and Sam had been responsible for most if not all of it.

Crazy thing was, he was pretty sure he remembered an exchange of gunfire. Between the two of them. Like Sam would ever shoot at him! Or he’d ever shoot at –

“Sam!”

His eyes opened wide then, quickly taking in the bank of TV monitors and the second massive orderly who seemed to have Sam’s .45 in his hand. Trained on his brother. Who was standing with his hands raised at shoulder height, eyes never leaving Dean’s.

“I’m right here, Dean,” Sam assured him, glancing back as the orderly took a step toward him. It could have been a matter of perspective from Dean’s position sitting on the floor, but the towering behemoth made even Sam look small.

“You two just won’t die, will you?”

The familiar voice echoed around them from the speakers positioned about the room, the image of Warden Benjamin T. Chappell – Howie Grumnik’s wish-fulfillment alter ego in the fantasy world he had created from the basement of Major Oak Mall – filling every screen with his sneering visage.

The Warden looked over at Sam. “Velma, sit yourself over there next to Daphne,” he ordered, inclining his disembodied head in Dean’s direction.

“Hey!” Dean protested, glaring at Grumnik as the mountainous orderly shoved Sam none-too-gently in his direction.

Sam sat down hard beside him, stretching his left leg out in front of him with a grimace, although the pain was almost forgotten the second he realized the fratricidal glint had disappeared from his big brother’s eyes. “At least you get to be the pretty one,” he commented with a mischievous grin.

“Yeah, while you get to be the nerd,” Dean returned.

The two of them looked at each other for a second before both muttering, “Huh,” a little disconcertedly.

“You’re bleeding,” Dean observed, noting the sticky patch of red on the leg of Sam’s jeans.

Sam glanced down. “I think you shot me, man.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up. “I did?” He thought for a second. “I did.” He shrugged. “I guess you were pissing me off, little brother. You can be damn annoying when you’ve got a gun in my face.”

It was Sam’s turn to look surprised. “I had a gun in your face? Wow. I just remember cracking you upside the head with it –”

“Oh, it’s you I’ve got to thank for that, huh?”

“Only way to get you back,” Sam explained. “Gotta be unconscious before you can shake Howie’s mind control.”

“That’s why I shot you,” Dean agreed, before adding a little uncertainly, “I think.”

Sam blew out a slow breath. “Is that what being possessed feels like?”

Dean shook his head, completely serious. “No,” he said. “I had more control then than I did this time.”

“A fitting demonstration of my newfound power then,” Grumnik interjected suddenly, drawing the boys’ attention back to the TV screens.

Dean huffed. “Howie, you’re about as powerful as a low energy light bulb on the runway at JFK.”

“And yet I made you shoot your baby brother, Dean! Even Haris and that demonic passenger of yours couldn’t force you to do that!”

Dean shut his mouth abruptly, leaving Sam to pick up the slack.

“How do you know about that?” he demanded, trying to keep the tremor from his voice.

“You know,” Grumnik said with a grin that looked decidedly creepy on his cyber-face, “when you ripped my soul out of my body and flung me into the ether, not even caring where I wound up, I thought it was the most awful thing that had ever happened to me –”

“My heart bleeds,” Dean muttered. “Someone hand me a violin.”

“Howie, you remember what happened the last time you tried to monologue me, don’t you?” Sam added with an innocent smile.

Grumnik ignored the interruption, talking right on over the both of them as if they’d never even spoken. “Could think of nothing else but finding my way back into my body and teaching you two a lesson you wouldn’t live long enough to never forget.”

“How’s that goin’ for ya?” Dean asked, glancing briefly at the two orderlies, both of whom had the same blank expression in their eyes as Sam had earlier.

The corner of Grumnik’s mouth lifted in a forced grin. “You two nearly killed each other,” he said. “Much more entertaining than having you die in some random car wreck or diner holdup.”

“The key word here is ‘nearly,’ Howie,” Dean observed. “We didn’t kill each other; none of the ‘assassins’ you sent after us managed it either – not the desperate housewife or the city geek or the psychopathic maid service. That’s pretty lame man. Especially for someone who claims to be as all-seeing as you do.”

“It’s not just a claim, Dean,” Grumnik said, voice as honeyed as it was when he’d been tearing Dean’s soul into little pieces back at the Sanatorium. Dean shuddered at the memory, despite his best efforts. “And it took me a while to realize my own power,” Grumnik continued. “First, I had to figure out where I was and what I could do from there. Somehow, some link my soul had to my body guided me here – and I began to realize I could ‘see’ everything that went on here – through the security cameras. They’re everywhere these days. And as soon as the implications of that began to sink in, all I had to do was get into the computer systems controlling them and I became virtually omnipotent.”

“That’s how you know about Haris,” Sam shifted uncomfortably. “There were security cameras all over his complex…” What else had he seen? Did he know? Did he know about the deal?

“That worries you, Sam?” Grumnik asked, and for a brief second Sam wondered whether he could see into his head too. “I knew there was something – off – about you two.” Howie raised an eyebrow and tilted his head to one side. “But one of you touched by a demon and the other protected by a magic necklace? Gotta admit, I didn’t see that coming.”

Sam tried not to appear too relieved, conscious of alerting Dean to his edginess. “So you figured out how to be the ultimate voyeur?” he prodded, trying to derail Grumnik from the subject of the Winchesters and back onto the topic he loved best – himself.

“Nothing so trivial,” Grumnik replied. “At first, I just thought I could use my powers to gather intel –”

“Spy on people,” Dean put in. “Yeah, that’s called voyeurism, Howie.”

“– Figure out a way to put myself back into my body; maybe communicate with someone. Then I happened upon that pawnshop – and the crystal – and a website by some sideshow hypnotist who reckoned he knew how to control a person’s actions through a complex but virtually undetectable pattern of coding embedded into a website’s background. He’d never gotten it to work himself –”

“Naturally,” Dean put in.

“– But he said he had proof that advertizing companies had been using something similar for years. Kind of an extreme version of subliminal advertizing –”

“So that explains Celine Dion.”

“– And it was only a matter of time until someone else perfected the technique.”

Sam’s brow crinkled. “And that ‘someone’ was you?”

If a disembodied head could preen, Howard Grumnik preened. “That was me,” he confirmed with a self-satisfied smirk. “Of course, it only works for short periods of time – until the subject falls asleep or is rendered unconscious. As you two somehow managed to figure out. But it was enough. Heard Carolyn Richards talking about introducing the internet to this godforsaken hole. Insinuated my shiny new website onto her computer screen when she least expected it. Wasn’t long before I had her showing it to everyone in the place, providing me with a nice, convenient army to do my bidding and help me build my new machine. Because I had different people under my control at different times, no one was any the wiser. And of course the added advantage was the people accessing the website on the outside. Hadn’t really anticipated that. Made it so much easier, using them to get the parts I needed –”

“Commit robberies,” Sam amended.

“– obtain funding –”

“Rob banks,” Dean translated.

“– sort out any other little problems I might have –”

“Like us?” Sam asked.

Dean sneered. “I guess that part didn’t quite work out, did it Howie?”

“And the crystal,” Grumnik ignored them. “It’s the twin of the one I had in my original machine.”

“What are the odds?” Sam interjected.

“Surprisingly low,” Grumnik replied smugly. “What, with my being omnipotent and everything. Which was when I came to realize something: All of these people in my thrall –”

“Thrall,” Sam repeated with a snigger. “Told you.”

“Shut up.”

“– All fulfilling my every need, obeying my every command; that was when I realized you two had actually done me a favor ripping me away from my body: You released my true potential when you released my soul from the putrid flesh in which it had been imprisoned.” He lifted his chin slightly. “Because now I’m beyond the physical; beyond soul and matter; beyond life and death. I’m eternal. I’m forever. I’m everything. I’m God…”

“Ah hell,” Dean muttered. “Now look what you’ve done, Sam.”

“Created a monster,” Sam agreed.

“And that pathetic body of mine? Weak and useless. Why would I want to imprison myself in something so limiting?”

Sam frowned. “So…wait a second. You’re saying you went to all this trouble to build a new machine to get you back into your body and now you don’t want to get back into your body?”

“It’s every god’s prerogative to change his mind.”

“You’re not a god, Howie,” Dean reminded him.

“As good as,” Grumnik replied defensively. “And now it’s time for me to complete my journey to divinity.”

A clunk to their left caused both Winchesters to glance at the door, which had swung open to admit a young woman in a starched white nurse’s uniform, eyes the size of saucers, pushing a familiar figure in a wheelchair.

“Captain Pike, I presume,” Dean muttered, eyeing the physical manifestation of Howard Grumnik as his wheelchair was abruptly brought to a halt in front of the bank of TV monitors. “Beep once for yes and twice for no.”

“And you call me a geek,” Sam commented, shaking his head.

“Don’t knock the classics, Sammy,” Dean replied defensively.

“Thank you, Julie,” Grumnik honeyed. “You can go back upstairs and go to sleep now.”

The young nurse nodded, turning and exiting the room without a sound, while the face on the TV monitors returned its attention to the orderly still holding Dean’s 9mm, who proceeded to empty the clip methodically, before replacing one bullet and reloading the weapon.

The other orderly raised Sam’s gun then, pointing it at the younger brother’s head emotionlessly.

“Hey –!” Dean jumped to his feet and took a step towards him, but froze as the orderly released the safety with a click that seemed to echo around the concrete room. “Howie,” Dean growled. “I swear to God, if you –”

“Remember who’s God in this room, Dean,” Grumnik warned him, nodding at the orderly holding the reloaded Glock.

The young man took a step toward Dean, who resisted the urge to fall back, eyes widening slightly when the bigger man suddenly grabbed the barrel of the handgun and thrust the grip in his direction.

Dean hesitated, eyes flicking between the proffered automatic and the one pointed at his brother’s head.

“One bullet in there, Dean,” Grumnik taunted him. “I’m going to let you decide what to do with it. Make the right choice and I might consider letting you and your brother go.”

Dean’s attention gravitated back toward the gun held out toward him, while Sam eyed him nervously. “Dean –?”

“One bullet,” Grumnik repeated, and Dean shuddered as a vague half-memory of his aiming that same gun at his brother suddenly flashed before his eyes.

One bullet, Dean…

Slowly, he reached out and took the weapon, gripping it tightly before looking up at the TV monitors uncertainly.

“Good boy,” Grumnik said, once again inclining his head toward the orderlies, who instantly began to back away in the direction of the door, Sam’s gun still trained steadily at the younger brother’s head.

“What the hell…?” Dean began, as the two behemoths left the room, another resounding clunk indicating they had locked the door behind them.

“So here’s your dilemma, Dean,” Howard’s processed voice was even more smug than his smugly grinning face. “You’ve got one bullet: Do you shoot out the crystal, thus destroying my machine and ensuring I never use it to steal another soul as long as I –” he chuckled, “ – exist; making sure I never find a way back into my body so that I can’t wreak the same havoc I did at the mall. Or –” His gaze slid to the figure in the wheelchair, something almost distasteful in the expression on his pretend face. “– Do you shoot my body, thus destroying any chance I might have of returning to my former existence, where I might find an even better use for my army of automatons.”

Dean glanced back at Sam, who merely shrugged at him, as if they both already knew the decision that needed to be made.

“Your choice, Dean,” Grumnik continued, eminently pleased with the quandary in which he had placed the older Winchester brother. “Risk my continuing to wield this weapon on innocent bystanders; or risk my getting back into my body and inventing something even worse –”

Dean didn’t even hesitate, the gun raised and the bullet fired before Grumnik even finished his sentence.

An ominous fizz, almost like the sound of an electricity generator going into overload, began to emanate from the machine the second the bullet hit the crystal, but instead of the shower of sparks that had heralded the beginning of the end for Grumnik’s first invention when it had been Sam who had shot out the crystal, there was instead a blinding flash of white light and a bassy throb that seemed to emanate from the concrete floor before vibrating right up the boys’ legs.

“What the –” Dean blinked as the blinding light receded, lowering the Glock and squinting at the place where the crystal had been – where the crystal still was… “Howie –”

“It’s all done with smoke and mirrors of course,” the simulation informed them casually. “I just wanted to see if you’d have the guts to shoot a defenseless man. After all, if I let you shoot out the crystal, the explosion wouldn’t be nearly big enough to take out the whole room and everything in it…”

“To what?” Dean demanded, voice raised not merely to ensure he was heard above the increasing thrum of the machine. He scowled furiously at the images on the TV screens before turning disbelieving eyes on Sam.

“Dean, what the hell did you do…?” Sam asked slowly, attention drawn to one of the monitors which suddenly appeared to be displaying a digital countdown; a digital countdown which at the moment was enthusiastically ticking off four minutes.

“Hey, don’t look at me, man!” Dean burst out, shrugging defensively.

“Four minute warning, boys!” Grumnik grinned, self-satisfaction oozing from every pixel. “When that clock hits zero, there’s going to be a loud bang and some pretty fireworks, and then I’ll be rid of the both of you, along with that pathetic shell of mine.” A menacing sneer leeched across his simulated face. “For me to make my new existence more permanent, there are two things I can’t have existing in my brave new world. Firstly, this machine, barely even completed, but it has to go. I can’t risk any more little boys with inquisitive fingers looking for buttons to push –”

“Who you calling ‘little,’ Howie?” Sam demanded, struggling to his feet and straightening to his full imposing height despite his injured leg, the look of disdain on his face causing a grin to light up Dean’s.

“And secondly,” Grumnik continued. “My body. No one will ever imprison me in such a restrictive vessel again. Both must be destroyed.”

“Along with us,” Sam clarified.

“Four birds with one stone,” Howard smirked.

“You booby-trapped your own friggin’ soul-stealing machine?” Dean burst out incredulously, trying to avert his eyes from the rapidly-ticking countdown.

“Don’t need it any more,” Grumnik said, “Don’t want it any more. I have everything I ever needed, everything I ever wanted right here, right now, like this, in this existence. I’ll never be lonely again.”

“You sick son of a –”

“Dean.”

“I’m gonna –”

“Dean!”

“And then I’m gonna –”

“DEAN!”

Sam grabbed his brother’s shoulders, spinning him in his direction.

Dean just looked at him. “What?”

“We’ve got two and a half minutes to defuse this thing somehow!”

Dean glanced at the thrumming machine and the crystal, which had begun to glow a sickly yellow, before settling his gaze back on Sam. “Defuse?” he echoed. “Defuse a booby-trapped soul-stealing machine? Dude, do I look like friggin’ Jack Bauer to you?”

Sam glowered at him before limping over to the nearest monitor and shoving randomly at a few of the buttons on the keyboard underneath. “If we can’t stop it,” he said, trying to balance himself on his uninjured leg, before glancing up at the monitor as a control menu suddenly popped up in front of him. “Then we at least have to get Howie back into his body before the whole thing goes up in smoke.”

“What?” Dean burst out. “Why?”

Sam didn’t even spare him a look, fingers tapping furiously on the keyboard, total concentration in his eyes. “We have to stop him, Dean. We did this to him. We made this possible. We created this monster, Dean. This is our mistake. It’s on us. We can’t leave him out in cyberspace, free to do whatever he likes whenever he likes to whoever he likes –”

“Alright, alright I get it,” Dean groused.

“What are you doing, Sam?” Grumnik intoned, perfectly mimicking the whacked out computer from that weird ’60s sci-fi flick. “This is highly irregular –”

“Shut up, Howie!” both Winchesters snapped in unison.

Dean dragged a hand through his hair helplessly as he watched Sam struggle with the computer. “You know how to work this thing?”

Sam nodded, before glancing up at his brother, shrugging apologetically, and shaking his head. “There was this big red button…”

“You see a big red button?”

“Er – no.”

“Then I guess we’re screwed, Sammy.”

Sam spared his brother another exasperated glance. “Get the door,” he ordered tersely. “I’ll figure this out.”

“Sam, we’ve only got a minute and a half –”

“Then get the goddamn door, Dean!”

Dean just stared at his brother’s back, shoulders hunched as he pored over the computer. “For the record,” he grumbled, patting down his pockets as he turned to size up the door lock. “You are so not the boss of me.” He grimaced as realization hit him. “The Incredible Hulk took my lock pick. You got yours?”

Howard’s boomingly magnified laugh shook the surround sound speakers, drawing Sam’s attention back to the monitors.

“You think I’d make that mistake again, Sammy?” Grumnik asked, and Sam’s memory flashed briefly to being trapped in a locked supply closet with only a soulless, gray-eyed Dean for company. “Come on. How stupid do you think I am?”

“You really want me to answer that?” Sam asked. “’Cause I really don’t think I’ve got that long.”

Grumnik sniggered. “C’mon Sammy, don’t be like that,” he wheedled. “You wanna play chess or something? It’ll calm you down –” He stopped abruptly as a resounding clang clamored to be heard above the thrum of the self-destructing soul-stealer, and his simulated eyes skittered over to where Dean had just succeeded in smashing the security camera from its housing above the doorway with a well-placed blow from the grip of his 9mm.

Dean turned and grinned up at the camera mounted behind the bank of monitors, Grumnik’s mouth compressing until his lips disappeared completely when the young man produced a thin piece of the camera’s metal casing, brandishing it at him like a trophy before setting to work on the lock with it.

Sam swore he saw the computer simulation shrug. “You’re not getting out of here,” Howard ground out. “Not matter how hard you try or how trying you are.”

“Trying’s my middle name, dude,” Dean muttered, glancing behind him at the clock, which now read fifty-nine seconds. “How’s it coming, Sammy?”

Sam positively growled in frustration, jabbing one key after another as his growing sense of panic began to escalate towards ineffectual anger. “Dean, I don’t think I can do this,” he said. “Everything I try to do he countermands right away as if he’s – he’s reading my mind, or something!”

“You forget I’m omnipotent and omniscient, Sam?” Howard virtually sang. “I know what you’re going to do even before you do.”

“Thirty seconds,” a pleasant female voice announced helpfully. “Please vacate the area immediately.”

“Love to, sweetheart,” Dean muttered, jabbing at the lock, before glancing back over his shoulder. “Sam –?”

“I can’t –”

“Can’t you – you know – use the Force or something, Luke?”

“It’s just –”

“You really don’t know how to push my buttons, do you, Sam?” Grumnik’s mouth widened into a smug smirk.

“Twenty seconds.”

“Sam?”

Sam grit his teeth, glancing at Dean as a loud clunk signified his brother was having more luck with the door than Sam was having with the computer.

“Fifteen seconds. Fourteen. Thirteen…”

“God, this is such a clichéd way to go out,” Dean muttered, shaking his head as he shoved at the door.

Then Sam saw it, and it was suddenly so simple an eight-year-old could have worked it out. “Man, I’m such a dork sometimes,” he mumbled, tapping out a furious concerto on the keyboard, before suddenly stopping and glaring up at the monitor, a defiant half-smile flickering across his lips. “End of line, Howie,” he said, ramming his finger against the Enter key.

Dean ducked instinctively as brilliant white light invaded every crevice of the dingy gray room, rainbow color arcing out from the crystal to the insensible form of Howard Grumnik, whose body suddenly began to buck, back arching as gray eyes opened wide before the irises regained their previous dark blue.

As the light began to dissipate, Dean became suddenly aware of two things: First, his brother, crouched down beside Howie’s twitching body, and second, the helpful female voice intoning, “Seven. Six. Five…”

He wasn’t sure whether he grabbed hold of Sam’s arm or of Howie’s wheelchair first, but before Dean was entirely certain how he came to be there, he was huddled in the dark service corridor, one hand held protectively over his head, the other over Sam’s, as an ear-shattering explosion ripped through the air above them, spitting fire out through the basement door which was blown clean off its hinges, plaster, masonry and bits of soul-stealing machine raining down on them before the fire alarm started to wail and the overhead sprinklers kicked in, cold water soaking them in seconds.

Blinking water out of his eyes, Dean’s fingers found purchase on Sam’s jacket, and he managed to drag his voice up from somewhere near his boots.

“Dude, you totally blew us up,” he muttered.

Sam scrubbed wet curls out of his eyes, blinking back at his brother in slightly stunned amazement. “Big time,” he agreed. “I haven’t had this much fun since that coroner guy almost did an autopsy on me.” He placed a hand flat against the wall at his back, trying to lever himself to his feet as his gaze fell to the prone figure of Howard Grumnik, lying in the upturned wreck of his wheelchair.

The former security guard slowly opened one eye, piercing gaze coming to rest first on Sam, then on Dean. “You idiots!” he screamed, his own voice slightly less intimidating than that of his computerized alter ego. “You’ve ruined everything! I’m going to kill you both stone dead! I’m going to rip you into little pieces! I’m going to tear you limb from limb and –”

Dean reached over and patted his shoulder reassuringly. “That’s nice, Howie,” he said with an innocent smile. “But I so can’t hear a word you’re saying, dude. Jeez, my ears are ringing worse than that time I jumped the fence at Ozzfest…”

****

“…Police remain baffled tonight after a resident at a small Pennsylvania care facility embarked on a seemingly motiveless explosive rampage…”

Dean glanced up at the TV, for a moment grateful for any distraction from watching Sam wince as he cleaned out the long graze where Dean’s bullet had strafed his thigh.

“You know, I could help you with that,” he offered, sitting forward slightly on the lumpy motel room mattress as the chick on the evening news continued to ramble on.

“No residents were injured when what local authorities are describing as a home made incendiary device detonated in the basement of Locksley Residential Care Home, some twenty miles south of Bethlehem…”

“Perv,” Sam said seriously, glancing up at Dean when his brother failed to make the anticipated snarky comeback. “I’m kidding,” he assured him with a forced grin, trying to ignore the guilty look on his brother’s face.

Dean nodded. “Uh-huh,” he agreed, forcing himself to look at the TV rather than at the damage he’d inflicted on his kid brother. “I knew that.”

“…Long term resident Howard Grumnik, who has been in a state of vegetative catatonia for the past six months, was found near the scene of the explosion, his miraculous recovery being suggested as the possible catalyst behind a deranged campaign of terror waged against his former caregivers…”

“Miraculous my ass,” Dean muttered, running a whetstone across the blade of the knife he habitually kept secreted in his boot in an effort distract himself from Sam’s wound and Howie’s enraged grimace as a camera was shoved in his face just as the cops began to wheel him out into a waiting ambulance.

“You think this is over? This is not over!”

Sam and Dean both looked up at the TV as Howie’s maniacal screech blared from the speakers.

“You can’t do this to me!” he screamed, bucking and kicking as two police officers and a paramedic attempted to strap him down to a gurney. “I’m a god, goddammit! You should be kneeling at my feet! All of you! I’ll get you! I’ll get all of you – every last one…!”

“Aw, shut up, Howie!” both boys yelled, Dean throwing a pillow at the TV just as Howie’s cursing form disappeared into the back of the ambulance.

“Mr. Grumnik was this evening transferred to a secure psychiatric unit after declaring himself the mastermind behind a recent crime spree in the Bethlehem area, claiming to have exerted some form of mind control over helpless members of the public who then went on to commit a string of crimes from armed robbery to wanton vandalism…”

“At least that might get Sandie off the hook,” Sam ventured hopefully.

“Mr. Grumnik’s condition will be closely monitored until a decision can be made as to his long term treatment…”

Dean sniggered despite himself.

“What?” Sam asked a little uncertainly.

“Payback’s a bitch,” Dean replied, an evil glint in his eye. “Dude’s gonna get locked up in a sanatorium.”

Sam set his jaw. “Good,” he said flatly, grabbing the remote control off the bed and switching channels to some station with a god-awful green color scheme. “Serves him right for what he did to you last time. And for messing with our heads this time.”

Dean risked a quick glance at him. “Like our heads aren’t messed up enough already.”

“Speak for yourself, man!” Sam protested. “Stanford, remember?”

“My point exactly,” Dean replied. “Who in their right mind would give up all this –” he gestured around the crummy motel room, “– to sit in some stuffy classroom with stuck up girls whose IQs are higher than their bra sizes?”

Sam shook his head at him before returning his attention to disinfecting his bullet wound, Dean wincing in sympathy as his brother hissed out through gritted teeth, face drawn tighter than David Gest’s at a Liza Minnelli concert.

“Sam –”

“Dean.” Sam blew out a breath, flashing his brother a determined “don’t you dare apologize” look before his expression melted to a teasing mock-grimace. “Man, I can’t believe you shot me,” he said.

Dean raised an eyebrow innocently. “Maybe Howie’s not the only one on the receiving end of some karmic payback tonight, Sammy,” he said. “You think I forgot about Roosevelt Asylum?”

The End

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The Winchester Chronicles