Author: kaly
Category: Gen; angst
Rating: K+
Spoilers: none
Summary: Sometimes it's the seemingly insignificant things that bring insight.
Notes: I had intended to write a silly and fun ficlet and the damn thing went and grew a plot. Who knew? ;)
Disclaimer: Not mine. The pretty, snarky, angsty brothers belong to the WB & CW.
Beneath the Surface
Sam looked up from where he sat on the bed with the laptop in his lap, researching possible hunts and watched his brother. Dean was rooting through his duffel, muttering under his breath, and had been for at least five minutes.
They'd just wrapped one up - so far southwest they were almost in Mexico - and if there was something Sam was more tired of than the heat, it was the dust that coated everything. He would've thought the heat wouldn't have been so bad - it was December after all - but with their typical luck, there was a hot spell that had refused to break.
It was miserable enough that even Dean had given up and was only wearing a t-shirt. Which said something to Sam, considering he was hardly ever without his leather coat even if it was sweltering.
Sneezing, again annoyed with the dust, Sam continued surfing sites for anything interesting as long as it was somewhere north - someplace cool and, if possible, wet. He looked up again when Dean sighed. "Dude, what are you going on about?" he asked just before Dean swatted at his bag - as if it had committed some offense.
Moving the laptop to the bed, Sam crossed his arms over his chest. He tried to think of what might be causing the problem. They'd put up the weapons the night before and he knew for a fact everything was accounted for. At a loss, Sam tried again. "What are you looking for?"
Dean glared at the bag again before stomping over to the door. "Car towel," he said over his shoulder, pulling the door open and stepping outside.
"Wha?" Sam asked, admittedly talking to himself since Dean was already out of earshot. He thumbed the power-button on the laptop before closing it and following his brother outside.
The heat was almost staggering, like walking into a wall, and Sam threw up his hand to block the sun from his eyes. Amused by the absurd answer, he couldn't help laughing. "Dude, a car towel?"
Dean nodded his head in short, jerky movements from where he was digging through the trunk. "It's around here somewhere," he replied, tossing one of Sam's bags out of the way.
Sam watched Dean search for another minute before snapping out of his stupor. "I know how you are about the car, Dean. But I saw an automatic car wash just up the road. No fuss."
"You think I'm letting some mechanical monstrosity touch her?" Dean tossed a wadded up pair of socks that were loose in the trunk at Sam's head. "I think not, Sammy."
Rolling his eyes, Sam could only watch as Dean's search moved from the trunk to the back floorboards of the car. Somehow he managed to fold himself so that all Sam could see were his legs. "Dean? It's a towel, man."
"It's not just a towel, Sam," Dean snapped, still looking. "It's..." His voice faded and Sam waited in vain for the rest of the explanation.
Confused and - if pressed he might say even concerned - Sam squatted down beside the open door. He turned so that he was looking out toward the unending plain that surrounded them. Lowering his voice Sam asked, "What is it then?"
He heard Dean sigh, the sound almost muffled by the car's interior. "You don't remember, I suppose?" Dean turned then, sitting on the seat and facing the same open sky, refusing to look at Sam. "Then again, you and Dad were fighting a lot right about then. You probably don't."
Doing his best to hide his surprise at the serious reply - it would be far too easy to spook him and be right back to smart ass Dean - Sam tried to remember what Dean was talking about.
They'd had the Impala for as long as he could remember, longer than he'd been alive, even. Their dad had given it to Dean when he turned 16, complete with joking threats about taking care of her that Sam did remember. He almost smiled at that - he'd been twelve and jealous as hell when Dean got the car.
But Dean hadn't slacked. Oh no, he took every word as gospel and babied the car more than he'd ever babied Sam. And even Sam had to admit that was saying something. Taking care of the car he understood, but he couldn't even begin to guess what was so important about a towel.
"Sam?" Dean asked, shaking Sam out of his thoughts.
Sam glanced over at Dean. "I get you wanting to clean the car. Believe me, I'll be just as happy to see the end of all this dust for a while. But what's so special about a towel?"
Dean shrugged but Sam could see there was something more going on. "Nothing, I suppose."
Sam smirked, gesturing toward the car. "This isn't 'nothing', Dean."
"Maybe it's not about the towel, Sam," Dean said, standing and closing the car door. It was easy to see he wanted to declare the topic closed.
More confused than before, Sam followed him back into the room, refusing to let it drop. "Then what is it?" He was beginning to wonder if the heat was getting to Dean. This was far too long of a serious conversation - about a relatively not-serious subject - for his brother. "You feeling okay, man?"
"Oh shut up," Dean smirked, zipping his duffle bag shut.
Sam held up his hands, occasionally he did know when to back down. "Just asking. You're acting a little off."
"Never mind." And Sam could only watch as Dean grabbed his bags and disappeared through the door once more. He was about to follow when Dean came back inside, blinking several times in the lower light. "Let's get out of here," he said. He didn't look at Sam, instead gesturing toward the door.
Sam refused to budge. "Dean, would you just tell me what that was about?" They'd only been traveling together again for a little over a month. However, one thing he hadn't forgotten was how frustrating his brother could be when he got like this.
"Sammy..."
"Dean."
When Dean sighed, Sam knew he'd won; however small and hollow a victory it might prove to be in the end. Sam dropped down onto the bed, the laptop sliding against his thigh. He waited, not daring to speak.
"Dad always said to take care of her, you know?" Dean asked, not looking at Sam.
"And you do." Sam interrupted, unable to stop himself. "Dean you..." Holding up a hand, Dean shook his head slightly and Sam shut up.
He wondered what Dean saw, staring off into space; Sam doubted it was the faded beige walls. After taking a deep breath, Dean continued. "Anyway. It wasn't long before you left." Sam winced but he doubted Dean noticed.
"You and Dad were fighting like pit bulls and we were still trying to hunt, to boot. I got tired, lazy... sloppy." He laughed but Sam didn't hear any of Dean's normal humor in the sound. "Dad came home from a hunt, beaten and bruised and all he cared about - first thing he said - was about what lousy shape the car was in. Really let me have it."
Sam flinched, hating how empty Dean's voice sounded. He remembered Dean tinkering with the car, changing the oil and rotating the tires. Hell, he even remembered the monthly ritual of washing the car. Whenever they couldn't find a car wash, they'd 'borrow' a water hose and soap and, usually to Sam's chagrin, they would spend hours washing and polishing and shining. By the end you couldn't find a speck of dirt anywhere on the car, inside or out.
And the kicker was their dad knew that. He knew about it and still tore into Dean over it. "I don't remember that," he finally said, a long moment later.
Dean began fiddling with his ring, a surefire way of knowing when Dean was ill at ease. "No, I think you were at school or studying or something. You were pretty scarce around the old man in those days, you know. Couple of days later, out of the blue, I go out to the car and there's this kit sitting on the hood. One of those fancy carwash kits, not the cheap kind."
Realization dawned. "The towel."
"Yeah. Stupid huh? It's the kind you buff the wax with. All that's left - was left - of the kit, too. Not surprising, after so many years."
And then Sam understood. Since then Sam had left and their dad had disappeared, but the car - the other member of Dean's family - hadn't. Taking care of her had probably grown even more important in the years between. The towel... Sam had to fight back a sigh. It was a rather sad connection to their dad. One that he was totally unsurprised Dean had latched onto.
"Maybe it'll turn up," he offered, almost as a peace offering for mocking him about it before.
Sam watched as the nonchalant mask fell back over Dean's features as he shrugged. "Just a towel, dude."
And although Sam nodded in agreement he couldn't help but hope it would turn up again. Maybe on laundry day. Pushing the computer into his bag, Sam stood. "Come on, you wanted to get on the road."
"Yeah, lets get away from this dust bowl already. I was thinking we could head north. Maybe into the Rockies." He pulled at his damp t-shirt with a grimace. "Less dust. Less heat."
Sam laughed, even after years apart he was still never surprised when Dean's thoughts mirrored his own. "Sounds good to me. I'll try to find us something on the web."
"Works for me," Dean said, pulling the hotel room door shut behind them. "I'll go drop off the key before we hit the road."
"Hey, Dean?" Sam asked, waiting for Dean to glance back at him before adding, "That car wash I saw had a self-service part. It's not the old-fashioned way but it might do in a pinch."
Sam felt relieved when Dean smiled and it actually reached his eyes - even though the familiar smirk fell back into place seconds later. Being in one another's faces 24x7 again had been an adjustment and there were days he didn't think he could get a word right by his brother no matter how hard he tried. This time, at least, he couldn't help but think maybe he'd actually said the right thing.
fin