The explosion sends Sam flying backwards through the air, crashing into a door at the end of the hallway. Something in his shoulder gives with a sick crunch, and when he opens his eyes he sees the bones of his left wrist have punctured through his skin.
He and Dean always laugh at the obligatory bomb sequence in action movies, mostly because they all look like they were shot and framed exactly the same, camera staring down the hero as the force of the blast hurtles the actor towards the audience.
It's not so funny now.
He must have been close to the source, can still feel that strange expansion of air that took his breath away and made his eyes water, his hair stand on end.
"Fuck," he mutters as he pushes up with his good arm and staggers to his feet, tries to make his way through the rubble back to the lobby, back to the party. It was surely the point of origin, though he's not sure what happened. None of their plots about this night involved explosives, that was something they only resorted to when there was no chance of hurting innocents.
But someone had seen fit to try to bring down a 32-story building packed with people; someone had detonated a bomb in the middle of Roman's annual Shareholders Gala.
Where Dean was.
"Fuck," he says again, and then “Dean!” he bellows. His voice is muffled, hearing almost completely blown, the world muted and chaotic, screams that sound like whispers, exploding bricks that pop like snappers thrown down on hot summer pavement. Farther away, Sam feels more explosions in his bones that he can't even hear. Walls crash around him as he staggers down the hallway, calling for his brother, cursing Dean’s name.
The hallway is filling up with revelers in sparkly gowns and tuxes, fleeing the source. Sam has to fight his way past them back to the main lobby.
As he gets closer to the origin of the blast, the air fills with thick smoke, with pulverized concrete and drywall. It's hard to see, harder to breathe, but he has to get to Dean, get to where Dean was supposed to be.
He walks straight into a panicked Kevin.
"What are you doing?" Kevin shouts in Sam's face, though he sounds like he's calling from a quarter mile away. Kevin tries to turn Sam around, steer him towards the exits, but Sam shrugs him off and continues trying to fight his way to Roman.
“Where’s my brother?” Sam yells over the ringing in his ears, but Kevin is screaming at him that they have to get out now, there might be more explosives, enough to bring the building down. Sam shrugs him away easily. He shoves his way through the crowded hallway and into the rubble-strewn lobby, shouting his brother’s name, but he doesn’t see Dean anywhere.
All he finds is a boot.
A worn, size 10 workboot with a foot still nestled inside.
Sam turns away and heaves, but he hasn’t eaten in days and all he manages to do is choke on bile before he gets hold of himself again.
Nobody was supposed to die today. Not even Dick-fucking-Roman, who deserved to die for ushering in this state of slave labor with his glib lies and catchy sound bites.
Who deserved to die for killing Bobby.
This was not how the plan was supposed to go down. Nobody was supposed to die today.
Part 1 Masterpost