A bit of a Christmas tale, in four chapters.
Chapter One
Dean and Sam had been in the car about 26 hours. In the last four days they'd finished a hunt, in this case a Wraith-gone-bad, then tangled with some demons, then went and fought a freaking Gremlin who was slinging sickness and pestilence in Tennessee. They'd been doing the Energizer Bunny thing across the U.S. for the last month. Anything to lose the picture of Ellen and Jo waiting like sitting ducks for the hellhounds in that abandoned hardware store…They'd both thought, without saying a word to each other, that keeping busy would help with the grief and the fury. It did, only because they were so busy not dying most of the time, that they couldn't think about anything else.
But now, things had calmed down. Well, calmed down meaning there wasn't a life-and-death crisis at the moment. It was giving them too much time to think. So, Dean just kept driving, stopping to fill up the car, use the john and get more bad food. Sam had called around, tried to find out if there were any hunts to be had, chatted up Bobby and Rufus and surfed the web. Strangely, there was nothing. Nothing but them, alone in the car, for hours and hours.
It was a little too up-close and personal. There was still too much between them and the ease of just shooting the shit and listening to music between hunts had pretty much dried up. Dean mostly saw the back of Sam's head as he stared out the window. Even turning up Zeppelin's II, which Sam hated, didn't get a rise out of him.
Well, this just sucked. Dean wondered if he should suggest they get separate rooms at the next motel, just to get a break from each other. Sam would give him that look, though. The one that said, 'yeah, I know you hate me…it's fine…' Dean was sick to death of that look. He didn't hate Sam. He could never hate him. He just, too much had happened and he didn't understand the kid anymore.
Dean knew, he was holding too tight to the past. The Sammy who was his geek-boy little brother, the one who rolled his eyes at Dean's crude humor and tried to get him to read books and be nice to people; that was the kid Dean was wishing was sitting here with him. This guy? This closed-down, hollowed out version of muscle and remorse? Not so much fun.
Dean sighed and followed the state highway into the next town. Rumford, Missouri. Sam didn't look over or comment. Seeing the street all lit up with white lights strung between the telephone poles, it occurred to Dean that it was actually Christmas Eve. Not that it made much difference to the Winchesters. Christmas had not really been a big happy event for them, at any point in their lives.
Dean pulled into the parking lot of a diner on the main street through the center of town. "You hungry?"
Sam rolled his neck. "Not particularly."
Dean barely kept from sighing. "Well, whatever. I'm starving. If you want to come, come."
Sam got out of the car. "Think I'll walk around a while. Text me when you're ready to go."
Dean watched him walk off, hands in his pockets, breath steaming out in front of him in the dusky, cold night. Well, Merry Christmas to you, too, Sam. There was something wrong with watching Sam walk away, on Christmas Eve, no less, and not caring. Sure, Sam and he were tied together, always had been, always would be. But, now…it was all knotted up. What had been so easy all their lives, had become a big, fat ball of awkwardness. At this point, he kind of wondered if they'd ever get back to just being brothers, doing the job and helping people. Now, they just rode around with regret, trying to clean up the mess they'd made of the world. The two of them, as friends? As brothers? Just didn't factor in any more.
Truthfully, the reality of Sam, and his crazy, sad-eyed, demon-fueled self, just felt too heavy sometimes. I don't really want to be rid of him. But, maybe, just…it would have been easier, for all of us, if he'd just never been born. Without Sam, maybe our family would have had a chance…
But, there was no going back. Sam was his brother, and he'd do the best with that that he could.
Dean went into the diner and asked for a booth.
The hostess was a cute blond, about 20, and she gave Dean a bright smile. "Just one?"
"Yep. Just one." And, if he felt a little relief in saying that, well, no one had to know.
********
If Sam could have seen his woeful expression, he would have slapped his own head and told himself to get a grip. But, he couldn't, so he didn't. Instead, he walked around the cold Missouri town and sought something. Inspiration? Hope? Any excuse to keep walking so he didn't have to go back and face Dean wanting him gone?
Sam could feel it, running there between them most of the time, now. Dean's distance, his sense of duty keeping him next to Sam, when all he really wanted was to be rid of him. It sounded melodramatic, but Sam really thought that's where they were. He'd put a lot of time into thinking about how to change that. But, considering all that he'd done, all that had happened to Dean, and the whole angel/demon tug-of-war they were in, he didn't see how to fix any of it. So, they worked it out the best they could. They did the job. All their habits were intact. They were good hunting partners, knew each other's moves and watched each other's backs, no problem. But, the camaraderie, the bond just wasn't there. Sam knew it, so did Dean. They couldn't really talk about it, because what was there to say? Sam knew he was mostly responsible for it, didn't shirk that responsibility.
But, he could still wish it wasn't so, right?
He turned the last corner of the main street, and kept walking. On the next corner, he saw an all-night Laundromat. There were a few machines turning, but it looked empty. It looked warm. Sam walked up and ducked inside. Some of his best memories of Dean were actually from the time they'd spent in Laundromats across the country. They would get so bored waiting for the last drying cycle, they would inevitably make up some game, or start some kind of one-upmanship competition, just to pass the time. "Hey, Dean, how many times in a row do you think I can get this pair of socks into that far dryer, chucking it just from here?" Or, "Okay, Sammy, ten hottest girls on t.v. right now, no age limit." Always something to amuse themselveswhile they finished the mundane chore of laundry.
Now, they did their laundry separately. Sam, in the middle of the night, because he wasn't really a champion sleeper; and Dean, after lunch and before dinner, so he could nap to the sound of the machines.
It was just one more thing that was gone.
Sam took a plastic chair at one of the long tables and let his shivers subside. He watched a dryer go round and round, and thought about the different ways to lose a person. Losing someone to death was like being in a hurricane, swept up so fast, so final. There was nothing to be done, no questions to be asked or answered. No point in having regrets. But, to be in the process of losing a person, not to death, but to distance and difference, that was more like a slow drowning. You knew it was coming, could feel it all around you, but there was nothing to stop it, just the long wait for the inevitable. It really was pretty agonizing. He wanted to stop it, wanted to find some kind of reset button, put things back the way they'd been, but, he couldn't seem to do it. It was like, all that was easy and good between him and Dean had been burned away, and what was left was just…two guys, working toward the same goal, at the same time.
It pretty much sucked.
"Young man, can I ask for your help a minute?"
Sam looked up, noticed an older man standing about five feet away. He was tall, white-haired, with a short, stubbly beard. Sam hadn't even heard him approach. Nice focus there, Sam. Way to be alert. He cleared his throat. "Sure. What do you need?"
The man pointed to one of the machines that had stopped. "Hard to reach inside with my bad shoulder. Could you help me get those into a dryer?"
Sam nodded. "Of course." He walked over to the washer, began moving the clothes to one of the wall-mounted dryers. The man smiled, sat in one of the few folding chairs. He watched Sam, pulling on his ear, his head tilted to the side. Sam felt like the old guy was trying to figure something out. When he finished moving all the clothes, he turned to the man, "Regular or Heavy Duty?"
The man considered. "Heavy Duty, I think. Don't want anything damp in this cold weather."
Sam set the dials, loaded in quarters from his own pocket, set the machine to spinning. The man patted the seat next to him. Not wanting to hurt the old guy's feelings, Sam went and sat. The man had a soft smile on his face, and dimples showed through the scruffy beard. "You're not from around here, hmm?"
Sam shook his head. "No. My brother and I, we're just passing through."
The man nodded, rubbed at his short beard. "Where's home, then?"
Anywhere Dean is, is what came to him. But, that wasn't strictly true anymore. He looked into the old man's smiling brown eyes. "Nowhere, really."
The man nodded. "Yeah. Nowhere, and everywhere, hmm?"
Sam nodded. "I suppose." He considered the old man. His clothes were comfortable, loose, but not dirty or worn. His eyes were brown, and seemed kind, calm. He looked to be at least 80. "Listen, can I get you something to drink? Or eat? Your clothes are going to take a while. There's a diner just a couple of blocks down."
The man shook his head. "Oh, no. I'm fine. It's you I'm worried about, Sam."
Sam was about to reassure him that he was fine, when he realized the man had used his name. All his easy, relaxed posture evaporated. He sat up, put his hand on the demon-killing blade in his pocket. "Who are you? What are you?"
********
Dean finished up his burger, ordered some pie to go, then changed it to eat-in. He didn't really have any place to be. Sam knew he was here. Why not stay and enjoy another cup of coffee and warm pie? If the fact that Sam hadn't shown up yet irked him, he tried to let it go. The kid's a frickin' grown man. He can walk all night, for all I care, Christmas or not.
An old woman, pushing 80 if she were a day, came up to his table. She was bundled in a sweater, wearing brown stretch pants, her white hair in a bun. "I wonder if you can help me, young man?"
Dean straightened his posture, gave her a smile. "Sure, what do you need, ma'am?"
She indicated something out the window. "My car won't start. Can you imagine? In this weather? You just have the look of someone who knows his way around cars. Maybe you can take a look at it?"
Dean nodded, "Sure. No problem. Let me just tell the waitress to hold my pie."
They walked outside, Dean asking her to point out her car. When she indicated a dark green Chevy Nova, Dean asked for her keys. "Here, give me the keys and go back inside. I'll come get you when I get her started."
She shook her head. "Oh, no. The cold doesn't bother me. I'll just watch. Maybe I'll learn something. You're never too old to learn, you know."
Dean tilted his head in acknowledgement. "Very true. You sure you don't want to go in where it's warm?"
She laughed, touched his arm. "No, dear. I'm fine. Really."
Dean shrugged, popped the hood on the old clunker. He pulled his penlight out of his pocket, saw the problem right off. He smiled, turned to the old lady. "Well, ma'am, your distributor cap is missing. Any chance you heard something fall off in the last block or so? Cause, unless there's a service station nearby, this car isn't starting."
"Oh, dear. Is there anything you can do?"
Dean tried not to sigh. They'd just done about 30 days straight of constant activity, and he'd just wanted his damn pie…then, he glanced at the old woman, saw the kindness in her blue eyes, the calm expectation that he would help her. He nodded. "Sure. Why don't you go inside, and I'll call around, find a parts place somewhere around here, get you hooked up in a jiffy."
She pursed her lips in disappointment. "Oh. Well. Do you suppose I could come with you? I'm not all that interested in sitting inside a diner by myself."
Perfect. Why not spend the evening driving Miss Daisy? He called up a smile, "Sure. Come on. There's got to be something close by."
They drove. Dean called information, found a mall in the next town over that had an AutoZone. The woman said her name was Mary, and that she was here to visit her children. Dean perked up at that. "Well, I'd be happy to drop you off with them, bring your car around when it's done. I'm sure you'd rather be with your family, tonight, anyway."
Mary 'hmmed', patted the dashboard, smiled. "What? Oh, no. They're stubborn kids, they don't appreciate anything that they have. I wish I could have done more to make them see…well, can't really say I didn't make mistakes. Because, I did. Big mistakes. But, nothing I can do about that now, right? Just try to make those stubborn boys see how lucky they are…" She trailed of, looked at the cars passing now that they were on the interstate.
Dean saw a sign for the mall. "If we hustle, we can make it, and have you on your way to your family in no time."
Mary sighed. "Do you think much about family, Dean?"
Dean laughed. If you only knew, lady. He shrugged. "I suppose, as much as the next guy…" He turned to her, his easy demeanor blown away. "How did you know my name? Who the hell are you?"
TBC
