Author's Note #1:
"Maybe you'll get some sleep on the way."
"Yeah…maybe"
As soon as that dialogue was said in the promo for "Out with the Old," this story jumped into my head…beginning to end. All done. Complete.
That was how long ago?
Well, real life decided to intervene, horribly, as well as my muse, who insisted that it needed another chapter, and another chapter after that (so much for my one-shot).
'Cuz, really, who doesn't enjoy a bit of distraught Sammy and Big brother Dean?
But at long last it's done. I hope you enjoy. This takes place immediately following the above referenced conversation between Sam and Dean on the snowy pier in Episode 7.16, after they get into the car.
Author's Note #2:
A Great Big thanks goes out to Riathe Mai, for her ideas, endless support, late night texts that most of the time come out of nowhere that she still manages to understand and for making sure that my words make sense. Love you.
Miles To Go
Dean revved the engine of the black car as he waited for the heat to kick in and thaw his nearly frozen fingers. Rubbing his hands together briskly, he listened to the low rumble. It by no means possessed the familiar, soothing growl of his baby, or had even a quarter of her character, but as far as their piece of crap car of the week went, the old Camaro had to place at the top; which only made his longing for the Impala that much stronger.
He glanced at his younger brother out of the corner of his eyes as he threw the car into drive and pulled out onto the deserted road.
Dean wasn't blind. He hadn't missed all the tossing and turning—the increased amount of tossing and turning, Dean realized suddenly with unease—that his little brother had been doing at night. Nor had it escaped him just how many times that he had woken up earlier than normal, only to find Sam already showered and dressed with fresh coffee and breakfast for the two of them.
If Dean really stopped to think about it, he was certain he could count on one hand the number of hours that Sam had slept in the past few days.
And still have fingers left over.
Didn't that just make him feel all kinds of good for not noticing sooner.
In their line of work, where the slightest misstep or distraction could mean the difference between life and death for either of them, sleep was a necessity. It kept you alive and it kept you sharp; and you grabbed it whenever you could.
In his brother's case however, sleep took on an entirely new dimension…and importance. It gave him the energy and strength to go head to head with Lucifer on an hourly basis and stay on this side of the sanity fence.
Lucifer wasn't real. He couldn't hurt Sam…not anymore. Dean knew that, and he knew that Sam knew that, too.
In theory.
Lucifer and his little brother's hallucinations were a manifestation of the century and a half of horrendous torture and agony he had endured; suffering Dean knew that even he could not imagine even in his worst nightmares.
And Sammy had willingly let the Devil back into his mind, had spoken with him, interacted with him-had essentially given the bastard his freedom-all to save his big brother.
Sam had made it passionately clear, even before he had explained to Dean how he had figured out what that psycho Jeffrey was up to, that Dean held no blame for what he had done and that Sam was not going to let him shoulder any fault or responsibility. He had done it to save him and he'd do it again if he had to.
And hadn't that little proclamation just make Dean's blood run cold and the hairs on the back of his neck stand up on end.
But that was his Sammy; pain-in-the-ass, emotional, empathic little brother, worrying about his big brother having 'misplaced guilt' all the while suffering with waking nightmares.
It didn't matter what Sam said, or how loudly he said it. The blame lay squarely on him for his actions, his inactions, and for laying the dominoes that had brought them to this time and place.
Guilt enshrouded Dean like a blanket, smothering him and stealing his breath. He wanted to kick himself for not heeding the warnings that had been blatantly in front of him.
He could see the dominoes tipping, leaning precariously on their razor thin edge, just waiting for the slightest breath of air to topple them over.
And he wasn't sure if he would ever be able to stand them back up again.
Sam scrubbed a hand down his face as his mouth opened in a huge yawn. He fidgeted in the seat beside him, no doubt trying to find a more comfortable position for his tall frame in the confines of the small car. It was the same thing he'd done as a kid when he was over tired and couldn't get comfortable. Some things never change, Dean thought with melancholy.
The honesty back in the parking lot had spoke volumes. The trust that had at one time been so uncertain between them was reforged and stronger than ever. Dean found it both comforting and terrifying. Sam hadn't even needed to finish his sentence when Dean had asked if he had tried his "hand-thing" to get rid of the sonovabitch screaming in his head. Dean had read the truth loud and clear in his brother's face.
And that thought—that his brother's only weapon to keep him from being driven mad was ineffective—terrified him more than the Leviathans did.
Sam looked more than just tired. He looked run down, almost bone weary; and Dean wanted to kick himself for being so caught up in revenge and hunting Purgatory's top Big Mouth that he hadn't noticed sooner.
Not that his little brother needed a babysitter or looking after. No, they were beyond that. Dean had meant every word he had said back in Pine Creek. Sam impressed the hell out of him at how well he managed the daily 'Denver Scramble' he had to sort through in his head in order to function each day. He was a grown up, equal partners and more than capable of taking care of himself.
It didn't mean he still didn't need his big brother, or that Dean could shut off what came as easily to him as breathing.
And right now, it was time for big brother to step up.
Sam's renewed squirming brought Dean out of his pensive musings. Looking away from the road for a moment, Dean followed his brother's twisted movements as he settled himself once again in his seat and opened what he had retrieved from the back seat.
"Hey," Dean chided, as he reached over and cuffed Sam's shoulder. "Ah uh. What is that?"
Sam's fingers froze. He tipped his head, his forehead furrowed as he looked over at Dean.
He glanced back down, then once again up to his brother. His eyebrow raised in a bewildered question as he pointed at his lap.
"Yes, genius," Dean answered in exasperation. "That."
"It's…um, my computer, Dean," Sam pointed out in exaggerated slowness. "You know, the thing you're constantly leaving on and frozen on your cartoon porn sites."
"I do not freeze 'our' computer, Sam. Contrary to what you may think, dude; I do know how to use one," Dean complained indignantly. Okay, so who knew that clicking on that little button over and over again didn't, in fact, speed things up. Sam didn't need to know that little tidbit.
"And it's Anime, Sam. Anime. Jeez, how many times do I have to explain that to you? It's an art form," Dean defended. "Besides, I leave it there for you. You know, broaden your horizons, expand your knowledge…relax you a bit."
"That's just…You don't…Yeah, um…No."
"Yeah. Your right," Dean grimaced. "That sounded so much better in my head."
"It should have stayed there." Sam rubbed his eyes with his left hand, the fingers on the other breezing over the keyboard as he searched for the site he was looking for. "But seriously man," Sam continued as he typed in the required information. "Broaden your own horizons; pick a classier site now and again."
"And now what sites would those be, little brother?" Dean grinned. "Sounds like you're talkin' from experience. Something you wanna share with the class, Sammy-boy?"
"What? No…That's not what I…I didn't…," Sam let out an annoyed huff through pursed lips and fixed his brother with a glare. "Is there a purpose to any of this, Dean?"
"Ahhh, Sammy." Dean couldn't help but laugh, not only at the bitch face that his younger brother had made into an art form, but at the embarrassed stammering and slight blush that had infused his cheeks. It eased some of the icy terror that gripped his heart that even after everything that his brother had endured—was still suffering with—that there was still a bit of the innocent boy deep within the man he had grown into.
"To annoy you? Never need a reason for that, Sammy," Dean smirked before sobering. "The computer, Sam. What are you doing with it?"
"Pulling up a map program, figuring out the most undetectable way to get to Portland," Sam explained, turning the screen towards his brother and showing him the route he had highlighted.
Dean slowed and came to a stop at the traffic light. He took the opportunity to turn his attention fully towards the computer his brother was holding, tracing the route and the surrounding area with his eyes and committing it to memory.
"Sam,—"
"Thought I'd do some research," Sam continued quickly, spinning the computer back towards himself and resuming typing. "Check out the area a little,"
"Sam—" The light turned green and Dean punched the accelerator. His hands tightened around the steering wheel into a white-knuckled grip, the frustration at his brother deliberately ignoring him growing.
"See if I could figure out what we may be dealing with. It might be—"
"Sam!" Dean barked. It came out much harsher than he had planned, and he blew out a sigh, cursing himself for letting his worry once again creep out as anger. It got the intended results, though; he had his brother's full attention.
Dean knew exactly what his brother was doing. He had done it himself a thousand times.
Deny. Bury. Ignore.
And Sam had called him on it every freakin' time. No way in hell—pun intended—he was going to let his little brother get away with it.
"Sam, it could be a cursed object, a hex…hell it could be Crowley and his buddies havin' a party up there. Anything. It could be nothing for all we know. There's nothing to research until we get more clues. We play the waiting game. This means it's siesta time for you."
"Dean, I'm just—"
"No, Sam. You're rockin' Hell's Infernal Top 40, for cryin' out loud. You're just about mainlining caffeine. You should be a jittery, spastic mess with all the juice you've got buzzing through your pipes, but you're not. It's barely affecting you. So you are not just anything."
Sam huffed out a breath and dropped his head back onto the seat with a loud sigh of annoyance. He glared up at the roof above his head, and by the way the muscle in Sam's jaw was twitching, Dean suspected his brother was trying very hard to refrain from glaring at him.
Dean said nothing, his glance swinging from the road to his stubborn brother and back. He saw Sam's eyes drift closed and he held his breath, silently counting the seconds in his head.
He'd barely reached a count of five when Sam's eyes snapped open, a small shudder shaking his body, leaving Dean to wonder if it was sleep he had just been fighting or something—someone—else.
"Need to tell Juan Valdez that his product is defective," Sam muttered into the worn and faded upholstery above his head.
"Caffeine isn't the answer, man," Dean remarked lightly.
Sam looked at Dean out of the corner of his eye then turned to look out his window. "Sleep isn't an option, either," he said quietly.
Dean watched with growing dread as his brother fisted his hands into tight balls and then released them, repeating the gesture continually as he stared out the window at the passing scenery.
He rolled his head slowly towards Dean, a sad smile on his face. "Can't stay awake and can't sleep; only a Winchester could find himself in a predicament as screwed as that."
Dean reached over and grasped his brother's left wrist gently, stilling his agitated movements. "Ya gotta sleep, Sammy."
Sam shrugged his shoulder. He pushed himself up straighter in the seat, forcing Dean to release his grip. He pulled his laptop closer, effectively telling his brother that he had said all he was going to say on the topic.
Not like that had ever deterred Dean in the past.
Dean studied his brother. He knew that Sam wasn't seeing the words on the screen. If a lifetime of caring for his kid brother and living in each other's hip pockets hadn't told him that, then his flat stare and the stiff set to his shoulders clinched it.
Dean could see his eyes tracking movement only he could see; watched his head tip slightly as his body and mind responded to sounds only he could hear.
Dean took one hand off the steering wheel and slowly closed the laptop. Sam jerked at the sudden intrusion and his head snapped up. He looked back at Dean with an almost sudden surprise, as if just remembering who was with him and where he really was.
"Put the computer away, Sam." Dean's voice was soft, almost gentle, but his tone made it clear that anything but compliance wasn't an option.
Sam cleared his throat as he shook his head slightly. His eyes darted briefly around the car before finally settling on the tan satchel at his feet. "Yeah. Alright." His voice was quiet, but it was clear and free of confusion, and Dean took that as a small victory in their favor.
Sam opened the laptop back up, powering it down before closing it once again. He slid it into the bag along with the research papers and notes he had been attempting to study, and spun around to place it on the back seat.
And froze.