I DRIVE YOUR CAR
By: Karen B.
Summary: Dean's body is in the ground, his soul in hell. The heartache for Sam is almost too much for him to stand. 3.16 Rest for the Wicked. Sam angst.
Disclaimer: Not the owner
AN: Inspired by the E/O word challenge. Drabble word of the week: Fool. And the country song: I Drive Your Truck.
~ I find a field I tear it up till all the pains a cloud of dust – Lee Brice ~
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Sam wrapped the leather cord of Dean's necklace several times around his wrist and then jumped into the Impala. Both hands feverishly gripped the steering wheel, the cold metal of the amulet tucked under his right hand digging into his palm. He shoved the car into gear stepping on the gas so hard the wheels spun in place, spitting rocks out from under the tires. He let off the gas for just a second then punched it, taking off in a black streak. He hadn't even bothered to clean the blood and dirt from his fingers and face or shirt as he raced like a madman down the old country road away from Bobby, away from his brother's freshly dug grave, away from his overpowering grief.
The windows were all rolled down and the cold wind whipped his hair around in a flurry stinging Sam's eyes and drawing tears.
He blew past a burger joint, the smell of charbroiled meat lingering in the car miles down the road. Dean would have been going out of his mind with hunger and royally pissed off they hadn't pulled over for a bite. The thought made Sam smile. Just a little bit.
Several more miles ticked by.
Sam stared in the side view mirror watching 'The Little Shop of Porn' on the edge of town fade into the distance, his cheeks turning pink at what lustful comment his brother might have made about that. He crossed over a bridge slowing only marginally to gawk at a bouquet of dried-up red roses next to a white cross staked in the ground –a roadside memorial marking the loss of a loved one – forever gone.
Sam gasped. The sight of the cross sent his aching heart pounding wildly in his chest. He pressed his foot down on the accelerator picking up speed again thinking about Dean's body. Cold and alone and unguarded...six feet under in a pine box in the middle of an old growth forest far away from gawking eyes.
He'd had it out with Bobby on that one. According to him there was simply nothing else for them to do. A hunter had his proper place in death. Wrapped in a sheet and laid on top a wooden structure. Doused with kerosene and set on fire by the quick strike of a single match. Nothing left but smoke and gray ash.
Sam wasn't having it. Dean would need his body again when he came back from hell.
Sam swallowed hard choking, struggling to breathe past the pain as he stared at the double yellow line ahead.
There must be something. There had to be something.
He seized the wheel tighter, feeling the amulet dig deeper into his sweaty palm. He'd been unable to do anything to save Dean locked against that wall, forced to watch the horror of invisible claws and teeth tearing and ripping his brother to shreds… watching him bleed out onto the floor. When it was all over Dean lay silent and unmoving, his guts splayed open; while Sam's loud cries had turned to soft whimpers, his shirt drenched in sweat, face streaked with tears.
Sam shook his head, but the the nightmare wouldn't fade, playing over and over. He wasn't a hunter right now. He wasn't even a grown man. He was a scared little boy who wanted his big brother. Hot, fat tears rolled down Sam's cheeks one after another after another until he could barely see the road anymore.
What was he supposed to do now?
Keep fighting. Take care of my wheels. Sam, remember what Dad taught you... okay? And remember what I taught you. Dean's voice rang clear in his head as if he were sitting right next to him.
How? How was he supposed to do that alone and lost?
He looked over at the empty passenger seat. Dean should be there, slouched down all comfortable and relaxed. He'd stare over at Sam. Dip his head in that cocky-cool sort of way, his dark sunglasses would slip down his nose revealing green eyes – alive – peering over the rims and ginning like a Cheshire cat. Probably because he'd just pulled another stupid prank on Sam or he'd told some raunchy joke. And no matter how grumpy or sad Sam was at the time… he'd eventually laugh and smile back.
But not this time, this time there was no big brother there to make everything okay. The unoccupied space nothing more than a solid punch to his gut.
Gone. Dean was gone!
Sam boiled with anger one second and then drowned in black sorrow the next. He felt like one of Dean's favorite Casino Games – roulette. He was the white ball spinning around the track in the opposite direction of the wheel. Alternating and bouncing between red or black, black or red, odd or even, back and forth. It didn't matter what color came up. What pocket the ball landed in. Angry or sad, sad or angry….he'd lost that bet. The Trickster was right. He couldn't save Dean no matter what he did. No matter how hard he'd tried. He failed…he'd let the one person who had given him every ounce of everything for him down – literally.
One couldn't get any farther down than the pit of hell. It was as far down as anyone could go. And Dean was there. Right now. Most likely strung bow tight across a rack by hooks and chains, terrified and burning. Rotting and screaming out Sam's name.
Sam squeezed his eyes shut tight against the pleading, soul-shattering sound. The vision of spewing fire and the smell of sulfur and burning flesh made his eyes shoot back open wide. Just in time too, he'd swerved over the double yellow and just narrowly missed on oncoming truck as he darted back into his own lane.
The rusted- yellow Dodge blew past, its owner laying on the horn in outrage.
Sam shuddered hard. He had to calm down, had to get a grip on his emotions. He reached over and popped the glove box. Nabbing Dean's sunglasses he put them on as if they would magically make him see better, magically stop the tears. With trembling fingers, he flicked the radio on for distraction.
Of all the songs on all the radio stations in all the world, Bon Jovi had to be playing:
And I walk these streets
A loaded six-string on my back
I play for keeps I've seen a million faces
And I rocked 'em all
'Cause I'm a cowboy…
Every emotion known to man grew pointy, razor sharp teeth and started chomping, devouring him from the inside out. Sam winced, the emotional pain as physical as any. He let out a breathy moan, his only defense was to crank up the volume and drive faster.
On a steel horse I ride. I'm wanted...
Glancing to his right, he saw an open field in the middle of nowhere.
Sad or angry, red or black, dead or alive…what did it matter for him anymore without Dean by his side?
Out of the blue Sam spun the wheel hard. Jumping the curb, he drove a straight-stretch across the field. The ground was bumpy and rough, but that didn't slow the car down as Sam tore through anything in his path. Once, he even plowed over a log ripping off the muffler, the Impala's usual rumble turning into a grating, sickly growl.
Dirt and rocks dinged and pinged against metal. Mud splattered sticking to everything in thick clumps, and patches of tall grass went flying like a lawn mower possessed.
Baby rattled and Grrred and squeaked and groaned in her disapproval of the abuse.
Sam didn't give a rat's ass. He pushed her harder, joining her in protest. Screaming and yelling and begging and crying out loud. "Why? Why, why, why, why, why?" He lifted his right hand off the wheel slamming it back down on the amulet, ignoring the sharp pain.
Round and round he drove, tearing up that field until everything was one blurry cloud.
Until the only thing he could see was the blank steady look of dead green eyes staring at absolutely nothing.
Until the only thing he could feel was Dean...heavy and cold and stiff in his rocking arms. Crushed against his heaving chest as he cried hysterically for what seemed like hours on the bloody floor.
How could this be? How could he have failed at such an important job? How could he have let the largest part of his life be taken…removed…body as well as soul.
Sam circled the field for the third time when he noticed a massive Willow tree near a small pond. In anguished grief a single thought crossed his mind. He had to get to Dean. And there was one surefire way he could.
Sam straightened out the wheel and steered the Impala at top speed directly for the center of the weeping branches that brushed lazily along the ground. Behind that curtain of green was a very large trunk and if he hit it, head-on, just right –
The sun streaming in through the front windshield damn near blinded him even through Dean's dark sunglasses and the amulet beneath his hand burned hot.
"Noooo!" Sam slammed on the break and the Impala slid to a jolting stop. He tore off the glasses and threw them on the seat. Lifting his hand from the wheel he stared at the gold charm that lay in his bleeding palm.
"Dude, that's not how you take care of my baby. Drive her...don't wreck her."
The amulet had turned cold again and Sam trembled violently in disbelief. He'd sworn he heard Dean's unearthly voice in his ears. Could his brother still be trying to protect him now, even from the bowels of hell? He'd go with that thought. It was at least something he could cling to.
Ending himself wouldn't help Dean. He'd only find himself strung up next to his brother. That would not help anyone's cause.
No. No way!
He had to be strong enough to carry on alone. Sam unwrapped the leather cord from around his hand and draped the necklace over his head, tucking the amulet safely under his shirt.
He took a few deep breaths willing his pounding heart to settle, sucked in his sobs, and breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth. He ran his hand over the wheel lovingly.
"Sorry," he muttered breathlessly weak and spent. "I'm sorry."
Crazy Dukes of Hazard run done…Sam turned the car around and headed back to the road. He had to find a carwash…maybe a mechanic. Then he'd get to work. Flip over every rock and dredge every river bottom, blindly bumble around every black oubliette on earth.
Call him a fool, but if he had nothing more than his bare hands, and even if he didn't, he'd find a way to dig and claw his way to hell, fight every demon and hellhound in the pit. He'd get to Dean. Bring him home.
The end