Supernatural belongs to Eric Kripke and the CW. No copyright infringement intended.
Warnings: Some bad language, but that's about it. Also, this won't make much sense unless you've seen the Scarecrow episode.
The Last Straw
Chapter 1
Sam found himself behind the steering wheel of the Impala, not quite knowing how he got there. When they had left the bus station, he had been in his customary seat and had closed his eyes, the rumbling of the engine a soothing lullaby in the background.
It hadn't even been close to lunchtime when his brother had awakened him with a muttered, "Your turn to drive." Switch made, Sam had pulled back onto the road.
Now, as the last song on the tape wound down, Sam hit the eject button and turned off the radio. Without the wail of guitars or the thundering beats on a bass drum, Sam realized Dean hadn't said anything in over an hour, hadn't even moved. With a quick glance to his right, he confirmed that his brother was asleep and he frowned.
No matter where the hunt took them, the Impala always got them there. The car was sometimes a weapon, occasionally an emergency vehicle. It was always their sanctuary. Dean drove it most of the time because it was "his baby" and he trusted no one else to show her the respect and care she deserved. Despite his feeling on the matter, however, Dean was still human. Therefore, every now and again, Sam, after the standard lecture on the right way to treat the Impala, was allowed to drive.
But there had been no lecture.
A spark of unease flared in Sam's gut and he looked over at Dean again.
Usually after ridding the world of yet another evil, Sam knew his brother needed to get out of the crazy hunter headspace that could wreak havoc with one's psyche. Dean had always found his release behind the wheel, his foot heavy on the gas pedal. It was what Sam referred to as the Heavy Metal Phenomenon. Play enough Sabbath and Metallica loud enough to almost blow a speaker and let the needle climb on the speedometer, and you could outrun any demon, drown out any pain. Driving the Impala was definitely Dean's version of a comfort zone.
There were less than a handful of times that Sam could count which he'd been allowed to drive away from a hunt. Granted, Dean had actually driven away from Burkittsville, but it had only been a couple of hours--maybe less--before they'd changed places.
Sam put a hand to his stomach, feeling it knot in trepidation. He pulled the car onto the shoulder and turned off the engine. So maybe he was overcompensating for the guilt he felt at abandoning his brother, leading to Dean almost being sacrificed to a Norse god. He ignored the voice in the back of his head that tried to assuage his guilt by pointing out they each had separated of their own free will. But if Sam had made the decision not to turn back...he refused to finish the thought.
"Dean," he called, disturbing the silence.
His brother didn't stir from where he was tucked between the passenger seat and the door, his head resting on the sill, eyes closed.
Sam shifted closer to Dean, bracing himself with one hand on the dashboard the other on the bench seat. "Dean!"
Still nothing.
Sam again ignored the stupid voice in his head that told him Dean should have registered the car coming to a stop, the silence of the engine, someone leaning into his personal space. He already knew something was wrong; more proof wasn't going to change that.
Sam went over the past events in his mind, trying to account for his brother's unconscious state. Guilt reared its ugly head again as he realized there was no way he could. Dean had pretty much handled the whole scarecrow fiasco on his own. Sam had only managed to stumble in on the final act.
He glanced down at his brother's arms, noting the way Dean had them curled across his stomach, hands tucked away. Sam didn't need to see Dean's wrists to know they were ringed red where the rope had chafed them raw.
Sam's gaze traveled upward, focusing on his brother's face. Leaning in closer, Sam's eyes narrowed on the bruise above Dean's left eyebrow.
"Dean," he called again, shaking the other man's shoulder. "Come on, man, wake up."
This time Sam's plea was met with a groan. As Dean opened his eyes, he jerked back. "Sammy, shouldn't you be watching the road?"
Sam observed the wince Dean tried to hide. "I'm not driving."
Dean scowled. "You should be." He leaned away from Sam, almost wedging himself into the corner of his seat, and glanced out the window. "We're wasting daylight."
Sam touched the bruise on Dean's face. "What happened?"
Dean flinched as if Sam had hit him. "Dude, back off. Get out of my face."
"You never did tell me how you came to be a sacrifice," Sam said quietly.
"Not much to tell," was the expected answer.
"Dean," Sam said as he leaned forward to tower over his brother. He didn't think he could intimidate him, but it was worth a try. "Tell me." He brushed at the bruise again. "How did you get this?"
Dean pushed at Sam's shoulder. "You have a problem with personal space? Gimme room."
"Dean!" Sam snapped at him, losing patience. "We don't have time for this."
"You're right," Dean growled. "So get back on the fucking road. That is unless you want me to drive."
"There's no way I'm letting you drive," Sam bit out through clenched teeth.
"Sammy--"
"And we aren't moving until you tell me what I want to know." It was like pushing at a heavy door, wanting to get in, but being kept out. Dean always had a way of keeping things locked away from him, especially his pain. It was Dean's version of normal. Sam felt a measure of comfort that Dean was acting like his usual protective big brother self. It didn't mean he wasn't going to get his answers though.
Dean muttered something Sam thought might have been a curse. "You aren't going to drop this, are you?" Dean leaned his head back against the seat. "Fine. As I was leaving the professor's office, the town sheriff clocked me with the butt of his shotgun. Happy now?"
"Ecstatic," Sam muttered sarcastically. "How long were you unconscious?"
Dean shrugged. "How the hell should I know?"
Sam resisted the urge to shake his brother. It would aggravate the headache Dean was probably feeling. "I'm not asking for an exact time, you jerk. Just give me something to work with. You might have a concussion."
"Of course I have a freakin' concussion," Dean growled. "It wasn't a love tap, Sammy." Dean exhaled and Sam could see some of the tension leave his body. "But it's only a slight concussion. So you can just--stop worrying about it."
"How do you know it's only a slight concussion?" Despite Dean's dismissal of his injury, Sam was still concerned.
"Because I've had enough of 'em to know."
Sam wished he could argue with that, but he couldn't. He sat back and noticed as Dean relaxed even more, practically melting back against the bench seat. His brother really didn't like anyone in his space. Sam knew if it had been anyone else but him, Dean would have launched a right hook. "Yeah, all right." He moved back behind the wheel and started the car.
"Good," Dean grumbled, closing his eyes.
"Dean, stay awake," Sam ordered. He waited for Dean to comply before checking for traffic and pulling back onto the road.
"Give it a rest. I told you it was okay," Dean said.
"You also said you had a concussion. It's probably not a good idea to sleep." Sam tried to keep his tone reasonable, but it was hard when he remembered the difficulty he had in waking his brother.
A grunt came from the passenger seat of the Impala. "I'm not going to slip into a coma, Sam, trust me."
"You can't know that for sure, Dean." Sam's hands tightened on the steering wheel. You wouldn't wake up. You weren't moving.
"Of course, I do." Sam heard the smirk in Dean's voice. "It was sometime yesterday afternoon when that son of a bitch hit me, and I was tied to a fucking tree most of last night. Hell, I don't think I've gotten much sleep since this whole damn thing started."
Sam was astonished at such an honest admission from his brother. Dean must be exhausted and Sam felt guilty. "Right. Get some sleep then."
"Thanks for your permission." The sarcasm was laced with a yawn. "Wake me when you need a break and I'll drive."
"Right." Sam had no intention of waking his brother now that he knew Dean wasn't going to suffer any ill effects from the blow to the head. Sleeping in the car, though, was probably not the best way to rest so Sam resolved to pull into the next motel.
TBC
Feedback is craved. Thanks! Oh, and part 2 should be up soon. Stay tuned.
