"Sam…"
Dean? Go away… Can't you see I'm trying to sleep…
"Sam, wake up Sammy…"
Dean please, I'm so tired…
"Sammy! You gotta wake up Sammy!"
No, I don't Dean… Can't you see? I just want to stay here… I don't have to run away here…
*13 Days Ago*
"So remind me again what the heck we're heading into this time?"
Sighing, I pull out a sheet of worn paper with a newspaper clipping attached to it. I roll my eyes as I realize this will be the fifth time in one hundred miles I've told him all of this.
"Ok, so there has been a pattern of strange deaths in Meadow Vale, Kentucky. One person every twenty-four years has been found trampled by a horse, so all of the deaths have been ruled as accidents. However, the pattern suggests something else, especially since it seems the victim is always a young lady, around twenty-seven, with brown hair and green eyes."
"Wow, that's pretty specific, even for a spirit." Dean says for the fifth time. I am starting to think he's either really bored, or really trying to figure this out before we even get there.
"Yeah, but at least we already know what we're going into. Oh and guess what's coming up this week?" I decide to throw a new bit of information at him, even though I'm sure he has already figured it out.
"The next cycle in the pattern is coming up soon?" He replies, never taking his eyes off of the road.
"That it is. So that means we have to get this job done, and quick. We only get one chance here." I shuffle through the folder in my lap, putting everything back in its place before turning to stare out the window.
"You couldn't find anything that would have given us a lead, right?" Dean asks, apparently hoping my answer is going to change.
"No, apparently whatever event that happened to set this off, happened before they really kept track of accidental deaths." I hear him sigh and know that he's disappointed, but I can't let it get to me. It's not my fault that this goes so far back, the trail disappears. "Maybe once we get there, I can find something in the archives at the library." I tell him, hoping to cheer him up a little bit.
When he doesn't reply, I continue to stare out of the window, lost in my own thoughts. Well, actually trying not to get lost in my own thoughts, because I know where they will take me and I just don't want to go back there.
Dean leaves me alone for a few miles, singing along to the songs on the radio, or complaining when it isn't playing anything good. Hands drumming on the steering wheel, he takes us along the long winding roads, where we hardly pass anyone. I contemplate taking a nap, to get away from the endless forests that seem to stretch out forever. Deciding that a nap would only lead to bad things, I resign myself to staring at endless forests for the next few hours.
"Sammy?" Dean starts.
"Don't. You already know what I'm going to say, and I know you've been watching me for the past hour. Just don't." I snap at him before he can say anything else.
"I'm worried about you Sam." He tells me anyways. "You haven't really been the same since…" he trails off, knowing I know where he's going with that thought.
"Yeah, well, how would you feel watching me die every day for at least a hundred days? Oh and not being able to do a damn thing about it." I don't mean to be angry with him, I really don't. He has no idea what I went through… I still can't bring myself to tell him about what happened on Wednesday… Instead, I just keep dragging him around the country to places I already visited and took care of things. Surprisingly, many of them still exist, even thought that part of my timeline was rewritten. Guess not everything got rewritten.
The only problem is that deadline that is still looming over both of our heads…
"Sam, you're my brother, and I can tell when something is bothering you. I just wish you would let me help you instead of dealing with this on your own." He keeps trying, and I know he means well, but how do you explain something like that to someone?
"I'll be fine Dean, really. I just want to forget all of it and just move on." I turn to look at him, remembering how it was only a few weeks ago that I was the one driving, all by myself, around this god forsaken country. "Please Dean, I just can't talk about it."
Dean looks like he's going to say something, the way he's scrunching up his face, I can tell he's trying to think of something to say that won't make me mad. I feel bad, I really do. All that crap I gave him about talking about how he felt after the whole ordeal with dad and now I won't do the same for him when he asks. Though he would never say that, not Dean.
I resist the urge to grab his shoulder, and try to reassure him that everything will be fine, in its own time, but I can't even tell myself that. The nightmares, the sleepless nights, the fear of waking up and it being Tuesday or Wednesday… It's just not something that will go away anytime soon. Not to mention all the memories I have of that time without him. None of that is going anywhere, so how can I tell him everything is going to be ok with me?
After a few miles of silence, Dean reaches for the knob on the radio, fiddling with it until he finds a new station to listen to.
"Sammy please," He startles me with the tone of his voice and the way he pleads. "I just want to help you."
"I know you do Dean," I reply, knowing there's no way he could ever understand. "I know I probably seem like a complete hypocrite as well. Talking about it just isn't going to help though."
"Alright Sammy, but please," He looks away from the road, trying to make his point. "Just please remember I'm here for you, no matter what's going on."
My unspoken reply fills the car with a deafening silence as Dean turns back to looking at the long stretch of road before us.
After a couple more hours of driving, we finally arrive in a little town. Meadow Vale, Kentucky. Less than a thousand people, normal looking enough, and a slew of mysterious horse trampling's.
"Hey, look!" Dean exclaims, pointing across the intersection. "White Castle! Late night runs for sliders and fries, here we come." The big goofy grin on his face, he continues driving around trying to find a motel.
"Wonder what crazy thing we're going to find this time." Dean chuckles as he pulls in to the parking lot of what looks like a typical motel.
The funny thing about living out of various motels across the country is you learn that many of them are still stuck somewhere between the 50's and 80's when it comes to their décor. Either that or they look like a Jetson's episode. Although I will have to say, the mirror thing on the ceiling is getting really old. Who came up with that idea anyways?
"Dude, some innocent girl is about to be trampled in two days unless we stop it from happening, and you're wondering about a motel room?" I ask, even though I myself feel a little curious as well.
"Yeah, I've actually been thinking of starting a collection." He gives me one of his shit-eating grins as he puts the car in park. "You know, like that chick from Hollywood? Just instead of Polaroids of the crew, it would be Polaroids of America's strangest motels." Laughing, he opens his door and gets out of the car, the purr of the engine shutting off as he does. "Seriously though, as long as it doesn't have mirrors on the ceiling again, I'll be a happy camper.
"I know what you mean." I reply as he starts walking away. Dean heads over to the main office to book our room as I grab the duffel bags and backpacks from the back seat. We've stopped going to book the room together, fed up of people assuming we're gay, so we usually take turns booking and lugging everything around. Setting the bags on the ground, I lean on the front of the car in my usual place and wait for him to get back.
These are the times I have started to hate the most: the ones where I am either asleep, or I am sitting by myself, and have absolutely nothing to do. Except think, which I've been trying to stay away from. All it does is being back bad memories…