The rattle comes about 260 miles in. Alex doesn't notice; Sam thinks nothing of it. Around 300 miles Sam notices the car's stalling each time he brings it to a stop. 80 miles later and the radio starts going in and out, the headlights begin to dim and Sam's ready to blow his brains out.
"We out of gas?" Asks Alex.
Sam sighs and shoulders the car door. "We have gas." He says, then steps out to pop open the front hood. It takes three minutes for Alex to grow impatient; she steps out to find Sam staring blankly at what she considers to be no more than a mess of metal.
"Since when do you know anything about fixing cars?"
Sam frowns. "Since never."
He brings both hands to his face and, for a moment, considers ripping the skin off. He lets out a frustrated noise, something halfway between a groan and a scream.
"Sam, let's just call triple A." Says Alex, and Sam wants to cry.
He laughs instead. "They'll take an hour to get here, and that's just for a tow. It'll be at least a day until we're back on the road and that's time we don't have."
Silence follows his words. Alex watches as he rubs red into his face and refuses to make eye-contact with her.
"Sam, what are we doing?" She asks.
That seems to remove Sam from the trance he's in. He looks at her then, and she notices there's significantly more anger in his eyes than there is any confusion.
"What's that supposed to even mean?"
Alex sighs. She pulls up the sweater she's wearing so it covers her shoulders; the air is cold.
"It means what are we doing, Sam? I mean, it's three in the morning! We're driving through God knows where and-"
"Kansas."
"Excuse me?"
Sam sighs before looking her directly in the eye. "We're in Kansas."
For a moment, Alex considers a response, but then opts to ignore his interjection.
"I'm sick, Sam." She says softly. "I'm not getting better-"
"Don't say that-"
"It's true." She presses. She takes a step towards him and places a hand on his shoulder. "I'm dying, Sam. The cancer's not going away and this… this 'special' doctor of yours is not going to change that."
Sam stands stiff and remains silent. He seems frozen beneath her touch.
"I don't want to spend my last months like this, Sam." She continues. "I'm tired. In pain. I just want to go home… I just want to stay home with you. Please."
For the next few moments, Sam says nothing. It takes a while for Alex to realize he hadn't been listening.
"There's someone I can call." He finally says.
"What?"
"Someone who lives nearby – he can get the car running in a few hours, maybe less."
"Sam-"
"Just give me a second."
He returns to the front seat of the car to retrieve his cell from the dashboard. He proceeds to select a number that hasn't been dialed in what seems to be an eternity. It rings twice. Sam imagines the third is merely a moment of disbelief.
"Sam?"
"Dean."
Sam releases a shaky breath. His voice cracks as he says, "I need your help."
I need you.
"Where are you?"
Sam pauses. He runs a hand through his hair before looking around for road sings. "I-35. 50 miles north of Wichita."
"I'll be there in fifty minutes, Sam, just sit tight."
The line is disconnected. Sam ends the call and sits back in his seat; he's not quite sure when Alex got back in the car.
"Fifty minutes." He tells her.
She says nothing. It becomes clear to him that they will be spending these minutes in silence. Sam uses two of them to do the math. He knows where Dean's been living; he's known for a while. A small area called Corbin, 40 miles south of Wichita. That puts him 90 miles from their location, which means Dean will be pushing 100 to get to him. He thinks this is an emergency. It is an emergency.
It isn't an emergency.
The fifty minutes pass slowly. Alex is crying now, but she's trying to hide it so Sam says nothing. The silence is eventually broken by the unmistakable purr of a well-maintained 1967 Chevrolet Impala, and Sam's not sure why he'd been expecting him to arrive in anything else. Part of him doesn't want to get out of the car.
Get out of the car.
He gets out of the car, and Dean's already closed the space between them. He can't see them, any of them, not even slightly, but Sam's fully aware of the angel blade hidden in his jacket, the gun tucked away in the back of his pants, the flask of holy water held in his pocket, the demon knife strapped to his leg…
"Sammy, what's wrong?" He says, and his voice is as low and gruff as Sam remembers. "C'mon, man, what's the matter with you? What the hell happened?"
His hands are on him now, and Sam doesn't ask what he's doing. He knows. He's searching for injury. Searching for a reason to murder whoever or whatever provided the motive for Sam's 3a.m. call. Sam still says nothing and allows Dean to turn and twist and rub his body in whatever which way. Dean's getting frustrated.
"Damn it, Sam, say something!" Dean shouts.
Sam has yet to make eye-contact.
"My car broke down."
A beat of silence.
"Excuse me?"
Sam still doesn't look at him. His voice gets quieter, but in no way less confident. He's determined to be an asshole.
"My car broke down. I need you to fix it."
Dean stares at him for a long moment, as though he's waiting for him to give the real explanation. Nothing comes his way, so he laughs instead. It's a sarcastic laugh. Most of his laughs are sarcastic. He takes a step and turns his back towards Sam, walks a small circle only to face him again, now standing a few feet away. All while laughing.
"You…" He says, but he trails off because he's still laughing that sarcastic laugh. "Your car broke down."
Sam swallows and nods. "Yeah, Dean. My car broke down."
Dean hears the flare in his tone and raises his eyebrows. Sam heard it too. He's not sure if he regrets it yet.
Dean's not laughing anymore.
"You haven't called me in two years, Sam." He says. His tone is soft, but it's soft in a way that Sam can tell it'll only get louder from here on out. "Two years, I haven't laid eyes on you or heard from you once intwo years, and now, right now, on some random ass night you call me at some godforsaken hour because your car broke down?"
His voice is loud now. Sam keeps his quiet.
"I just need you to fix it. Please."
Dean blinks. He repositions himself for another rant, but the sound of a car door opening stops him before he can begin.
Alex steps out of the car. She no longer looks like she's been crying.
"Sam, what's going on?"
She's confused. So is Dean. Sam just wants his car fixed.
"Sam?" She calls.
"This is Dean." Sam says.
"Dean?"
"My brother."
"… You never told me you had a brother."
Dean's laughing again.
"Now that," he says, "that's just awesome."
I'm sorry.
"Could you please just fix the car, Dean?"
I'm not ashamed of you.
"We need to be somewhere."
I don't deserve you.
"Somewhere soon – we can't waste time with a tow."
Dean's still laughing.
"Is that right?" He says. "Then tell me, Sam, where is it you need to be at three in the morning and who's this lovely young woman here with you? Oh, and perhaps you can let me know how it's been going for the past two years!"
Sam swallows. "This was a bad idea."
"You're damn right it was!"
Alex feels awkward. Dean's upset, and Sam has still yet to look him in the eyes. The silence continues until Dean starts up an angry march towards the front hood of Sam's car. He looks inside for about five minutes. Seven minutes. Ten minutes, and Sam's fairly certain he's just trying to cool himself down.
"Your battery's dead." He says.
"Jumper cables?"
"Don't have'm."
"You're a mechanic."
"Does this look like an auto shop? I don't have'm."
Silence.
"Your engine's failing, too."
"Okay."
"Do you ever take this thing in for tuning?"
"No."
"Yeah, well, your car's a piece of shit."
"I gathered."
Alex tightens the sweater around her shoulders. "What are we supposed to do, Sam? I thought you said he could help."
Sam says nothing, looks at nothing. Dean looks at Alex.
"Well, sweetheart, your boyfriend here forgot to mention on the phone that, apparently, I'm 24 hour roadside assistance. Right now, all I can do for you is take you guys back to my place, get you a car to drive, and have you pick this one up when you get back from wherever the hell it is you're going."
There's some silence for a while. Alex is frustrated and confused, but she can tell by the look on Sam's face that she won't be getting an explanation any time soon. Dean looks back and forth between them and for a moment he thinks Sam might actually say no. But, then again, what other option does he have? Dean doesn't have jumper cables.
They're in his trunk. They're always in his trunk.
"Let's get moving." Sam says, and they're piling into the Impala.