Chapter Text
“Can we just pick somewhere? I’m starving.”
“Says the person who did not stay up driving all night,” Dean mumbled back, screeching to a halt at the millionth traffic light in this labyrinth of a city.
“Okay here, let's just park here and walk somewhere.”
Dean swung the wheel around aggressively, a symptom of his empty stomach and newly forming headache.
As they walked down the road in silence, they both had their hands in their pockets. Many of the shops were empty, most had ‘for sale’ signs in the windows (if they even had windows)
“The ‘Original Beef of Chicago land.’ Come on thats the most authentic you’re gonna get around here.”
“You’re an idiot.” Sam rolled his eyes but walked inside as Dean swung the front door open and theatrically gestured for Sam to enter. As they walked in, the smell of petrified grease hit both of them in a wave. But within that overwhelming stench was an irresistible melody of flavors.
“Hello, what can I help you with today?” The man behind the register had closely cropped hair that did nothing to hide the dark bags under his eyes.
“Well hello Jiminy Cricket, been a rough day on the flute?” Dean smirked before Sam stomped on his foot and stepped in front of him. “Ow–”
“Hi there, we would like to get two of the Italian Beefs and… a side of onion rings.” Sam dug in his wallet, pulling out a credit card with the name of ‘Ben Krasnick’ on it.
The man behind the register took the card, gesturing over to Dean who was glaring daggers at Sam. “The fuck is his problem?” He mumbled, working on the register.
“We haven’t let him out in public much.” Sam said, fake apologetically, accepting his card back.
“Hey–”
“Your order number will be called be ready over on that counter.” The man laughed to himself and Sam forcibly grabbed Dean's shoulders and guided him to the other room to sit.
“I’m not a freaking child,” Dean said as he sat down, beginning his pout.
“Sure, that’s why you don’t act like one.”
Dean crossed his arms, staring out the window in defiance of this mistreatment.
“You remember that time you ran away?”
Sam deeply signed and leaned back in his chair. “How many times do we have to hash that out? Dad was the one that told me that if I went to college—“
“Not when you went to California, when we were kids.” Dean looked up at Sam. “We were staying at Pastor Jim’s for a bit while dad was hunting those Spirits up in Idaho.”
“Oh. Yeah, I mean…Dean, I was like 6–“
“Yeah I know.” There was a pause.
”So, what about that? Having fond childhood memories of our fucked up formative years again?”
”It’s nothing.” Dean shook his head and it was his turn to lean back in his chair.
“Is it?”
“I was just thinking about how many times you’ve run away is all.”
Sam rolled his eyes.
”Dean I was a kid-“
”It’s nothing, I just was thinking about it.”
“Do I seriously have to repent of everything I’ve ever done since the age of 2 for you to stop being such a butt hurt—“
“Let’s just drop it. Sorry I brought it up.” The two of them sat in a thick silence until the salvific sound of “Order 59!” carried from behind the counter.
Dean slid out of the chair, the escape welcome from the tension of the two overly tired and hungry men. He carried the tray back and immediately started stuffing his face with the softest, most tender and flavorful sandwich he had ever had the heavenly pleasure of tasting.
Suddenly a scream not too far off split the air in the restaurant. It sounded like a women outside, both Sam and Dean jumped to alert (both looking apologetically at the food they dropped on their plate) before they ran to the back of the restaurant.
—--
Minutes before…
—--
Carmen was being a bitch today. Well, to be fair, he was being a bitch this whole week, but the bitchdom had really got on Sydney’s nerves.
So what, he was the most accomplished chef in the country, inspiring millions of chefs worldwide to follow their dreams and showing even those who came from rough beginnings that anything was possible if you put your mind and heart to it– he was still a bitch.
A tiny. little. bitch.
Sydney huffed as she threw herself against the back door, leading out into the alley. She scrunched her face with both of her hands, wondering why for the thousandth time why she came to work here.
It was going to be okay. She was following her dreams, nowhere that takes her is a waste of time.
An odd chill rolled down the alley. Sydney shook her eyes open and darted around her. The same shit-filled alley as always.
Except–
There was a figure standing behind the dumpsters. No, not a figure. Well, at least not a figure in any traditional sense. It was only there out of the corner of her eye. When her eyes landed on the movent it ceased to be there at all.
I am going crazy. This place finally got to me just like it did to Carmen, just like Michael–
A sound echoed nearby. Despite herself, Sydney’s heart was racing. She felt in her back pocket for a Bic ballpoint pen, holding it tightly. Out of the corner of her eye the movement was closer, approaching. She felt the air part, making room for its close presence. It was cold. She felt cold. She felt like she was 8 years old.
She was at a park in Lake Michigan with her family. Her family was on the shore watching the spectacular Fourth of July fireworks. She was in the dark water. Alone. She could not see her legs, the water swallowed them up and her fingers were tingly. She was too cold to scream. She was getting further from the shore, but even though she watched all her family disappear, she was not alone… Something Someone was coming nearer.
“--re you okay?” She was not alone. Someone, a physical being was nearby. “Sydney, fuck, are you with us?”
“I-” Sydney found herself on the ground, limbs clenched. She was shivering, but the ground below her felt warm from the sun baked bricks.
“Shit, uh, let me go get you some water.”
“No,” Sydney sat up. “Please.” She lifted her head and made eye contact with Carmen.
“Okay, okay. I won’t leave you.” His eyes darted around, trying to stay calm. He ran a hand through his hair restlessly. The problem was he was used to doing something under pressure, just sitting here being still was going to kill him.
Sydney tried to swallow, but her dry throat tightened. She was so cold.
“Did you see anything there?” She stared at the garbage bins.
“Uh- no. I heard a scream and found you on the ground out here in the alley.” Carmen looked concerned. “Did someone attack you? Are you hurt?”
“No, I- I don’t think so.” Syney reassured but paused. Something was here.
She shook her head. “I think I’m just tired, or losing my godammned—.”
“Okay, are you good to stand? You need some water and if I can’t go get water without you, I have to like take you to the water—“
Without warning, the kitchen door slammed open, the sound of the metal against brick sent a shock down the alley.
Two figures stormed into the alley: a man sloppily dressed, posture ridged and holding a gun like an action flick; and a taller man behind him, just as alert, his eyes scanning the scene before them.
”What the F—“