Sammy, you wanna take the Impala?
Sam shot awake, sitting up in bed, feeling the chill of a nightmare prickling his skin.
Where was Dean?
The motel room was dark but Sam could see enough to see that there was no second bed, no duffel, no Dean.
Where was Dean?
Thoughts and fears and images ricocheted in his head – Dean was gone, Dean was dead, Dean had had enough. The Trickster, the hellhound, the demon blood, something had pulled or dragged or driven Dean away and he was gone, and still swimming up from sleep, Sam couldn't remember which one it was.
Sammy, you wanna take the Impala?
He tripped out of bed and hit the windowsill a little too hard with his hands, but he had to know. He pulled the curtain aside to look out into the dark parking lot.
No car.
No Dean and no car meant the car was with Dean which meant Dean was still in a shape to drive it. Which meant –
Which meant –
Which meant Sam was alone.
Again.
He sank back down on the bed and worked to get his breath back to normal. Dean was all right. He wasn't dead. He wasn't in hell. Dean had stayed while Sam had left so Dean was okay. He was just – someplace else.
Someplace that wasn't where Sam was anymore.
Sammy, you wanna take the Impala?
Yeah, Sam had made the decision to leave and brought up the possibility to Dean, but Dean hadn't even blinked. Just 'here's your hat, what's your hurry?' and Sam was out the door and down the road and now God only knew where either of them were.
It just wasn't with each other.
Well, to quote a movie Dean liked, 'that's just geography'. They hadn't been with each other since – when? Since before the hellhound? Since before even then? Did it even matter? Whenever the fractures had started, the break was complete now, wasn't it? Sam had left and Dean had been relieved to see him go and that was that. This time it wasn't a case of 'if you leave, don't ever come back', this time it was just 'leave' with the 'don't ever…' implied in the speed of Dean's response.
He hadn't even had to think about it. Which maybe meant he'd been thinking about it awhile already. Maybe even before Sam started thinking about it.
They were done. They were so done there hadn't been any fight, any argument, any sound.
Just the common agreement that Sam needed to leave.
And he was alone.
Again.
Sammy…
Even pushing Sam away – letting him go – even then Dean couldn't resist the nickname he'd purposely plagued Sam with half their lives, ever since Sam decided to be called 'Sam' and only that. Dean still used it though. He used it whenever –
Whenever he was happy and wanted Sam to be happy too. Whenever he was worried and wanted Sam to understand how worried he was. Whenever he was lost and reaching out to Sam for an anchor. Whenever he thought Sam needed an anchor of his own.
Whenever he felt close to Sam and couldn't express it any other way.
Sammy.
Never when he was angry.
Never when he was fed up.
Never when he was done.
Sammy...you wanna take the Impala?
Sam had said no because the car was Dean's, make no mistake about that, and Sam couldn't take it from him. And anyway, having the car without having Dean would be too much a reminder of everything Sam didn't want to be reminded of.
And if he woke up from another nightmare and saw the car in the parking lot, he wouldn't know if the nightmare was real or not, if Dean was dead and in hell and those four months were just dragging on and on and on into infinity.
Starting the Apocalypse and being a monster was worth Dean being back from hell.
You wanna take the Impala?
Suddenly Sam realized that Dean had offered him more than the car; he'd offered him the bulk of the weapons, the ice chest and beer, the really good first aid kit, the ability to get anywhere without hitching for a ride, a dry place to sleep when a motel wasn't possible. He'd offered Sam the single biggest connection to their lives and each other.
In that one little offer, Dean had offered him everything.
Blindly Sam reached for his phone and pressed Dean's number on speed dial. If he couldn't be with Dean, he could at least hear his voice. If he couldn't say 'thank you' he could at least say –
What?
Dean's phone had barely rung once and Sam disconnected the call.
What could he possibly say that Dean would listen to and that would make any difference?
Sam held the phone and stared at Dean's name and number on the display. 'Apart' meant 'apart' and they should just stay that way. It's what he wanted after all, and it's what Dean agreed to. No contact, no phone calls. No nothing.
Just like they agreed to.
Sam jumped when his phone rang and he didn't know whether to cringe or smile when Dean's name came up on caller ID.
"Hey." He answered tentatively.
"What?" Was all Dean said. His voice was thick with sleep.
"What what?"
"You called me, College Boy."
"Yeah – I – sorry – I didn't – it's – I was – no, nothing. Sorry."
"You okay?" Dean asked and sounded so much like he meant it. But there was absolute silence for a moment as everything Sam wanted to say ran into the wall of everything he wouldn't admit to.
"Yeah. I'm okay."
There was silence again, from Dean's end of the conversation.
Then –
"You can call me, you know."
"Yeah. Uh – yeah. Thanks."
Then they listened to each other breathe another minute or so.
"'Night Dean."
"'Night Sammy…"
The End.