Chapter 3

Dean flashed a look at his brother across the impala as Sam gave yet another huff and raked his fingers through his hair, his eyes were fixed on his cell and his forehead furrowed like he was in pain.

This had been going on for an hour now and Dean had had enough.
It was 1,700 miles from Lebanon Kansas to Salisbury beach, Montauk, Massachusetts. No matter how you cut it that was going to be 25 odd hours trapped in a car with a Sasquatch steam engine hybrid.

Sammy was angsting and it was palatable in the confined interior, Zeppelin couldn't drown it out and Dean was pretty sure at some point soon 'talk' would happen. Dean ran his hands back and forth over his Baby's steering wheel wanting to delay the inevitable and yet just wanting it over too.

He'd been feeling pretty darned happy about the forth coming road trip and beach excursion. Even the tent and camping supplies that Sam had thrown into the back of the impala didn't phase him too much. He loathed camping, but John Winchester had taught his boys to always be prepared.

Sam was packing the cooler and their gear duffles into the car and Dean was checking Baby's oil and water when a thought hit him,

"Mom!" "Ow! son of a ..." he rubbed his head where he'd bashed it on the hood. Sam met his eyes.

Mom had told them she was going to come home 'soon' when they'd met up unexpectedly at the hunter Asa Foxs wake, she'd also said she needed 'a bit more time.' What ever the hell that meant, apparently more than a couple of weeks, the waiting was driving Dean nuts...
Dean had to admit their family breakfast together after salting and burning Asa had been a tentative step in the right direction. Since they'd parted ways they were doing better, most days she touched base via text (for some reason none of them ever called, just texts like a bunch of 13 year old girls.)

But every time Dean remembered the whole thing with Billie, he wasn't so sure anything was better - or ever would be- he felt like he was drowning, guilt that what he wanted so desperately since he was four years old had ended up hurting (in some deep fundamentally f cked up way) one of the few people who had actually loved him.
Somehow he, Dean Winchester, had turned Amaras 'gift' into another thing that imploded. He wondered whether maybe he just wasn't good enough, or worth enough, broken and used up as he was now, to get her to want to come back to them.

The look in Mary Wichesters eyes...

And that meant he hadn't just stuffed it up for him, but Sammy to, and Sam deserved better...

...That look in Mary Winchesters eyes...

Dean grabbed the whole mess of feelings and thoughts that he'd dragged up in that moment and shoved it roughly in a mental box labelled "Leave it the f ck alone" and shoved the lid on.

Nah ah not going there!

Instead he'd deal with the surface issues, they had a Mom now, and vaguely at the back of his head Dean knew you treated Moms different than Dads, different than brothers too, he supposed.

If you weren't a complete screw-up you...You were supposed to tell them you were going places, weren't you?
And when 'home' was a high security warded bunker full of arcane magic, you couldn't just leave a key under the doormat, and a note on the door.

He really didn't want Mom turning up to the bunker finding no one and nothing, unable to get in, what if she had no money and nowhere else to go... What if she called Billie...?!

Sam saved him from falling any further down the rabbit warren,

"I gave Mom a key at breakfast, Dean. I also texted her about the case and we'll check in and tell her where and when we make stops. It's fine."

A feeling of deep overwhelming gratitude swept through him then, thank God for Sam!

He, Dean, was such an emotionally retarded screw-up, he just never seemed to be up to speed.
And there was Sam, sorting things, before he Dean, even realised there was a problem. Sam was there, building the bridges and doing the right thing; Damn he loved his geeky, giant, straggle haired kid brother.

...

The rumble of the impalas engine, the road in front of him and his kid brother riding shotgun, life was pretty near perfect.

Except it wasn't, because Sam was huffing like a steam train and trying to rip his hair out in the passenger seat. While glaring at his cell like it had personally offended him.
It was driving Dean freakin' nuts.

If Sam could build the bridges between him and Mom. Then, maybe, he owed it to Sam to man up and do the whole 'talk' thing.

...

"Seriously Dude! What climbed up your butt and died?!"

Sam jumped and looked up at his brothers outburst.

He blew a huff of air through his fringe and raked his hair back out of his eyes then tossed his phone on the dashboard in disgust.

"There's just, I don't know, too much?!" he said at last.

"What'd ya mean?" Dean answered with an odd careful expression on his face.

"This case..." Sam trailed off trying to think how to explain it to his brother.

"I can't even begin to pin down what we are looking at here, we have the drowning victims, the dismemberment, and your weather signs" another huffy sigh crawled out of his chest. His head was swimming with all the research he'd read, trying to figure it all out. It was like having 4 different 1000 piece jigsaws mixed in one box.

"But then we have this whole sea of crap surrounding it... these conspiracy theories, Plum island, Camp Hero..." he pulled up short because Dean gave a bark of laughter.

"So you've been sitting there huffing like a steam train and practically pulling your hair out, over the case?" Dean clarified,

"Well Dean, its..."

"Sam" his brother cut him off "how about we get there, go see the coroner and look at the bodies like we always do, stop gettin' bogged down in the bigger picture"

"But Dean.."

"Sammy stop being an extra credit, teachers pet, swatty little bitch for a second, sometimes the conspiracy theory nut jobs are actually, get this - nut jobs. Maybe the lifeguards in good Ol' Montauk are just crap at their jobs an' all we'll have to do is sit on the beach, look at hot chicks in bikinis and drink some beer, hell we could even live a little an' build a sandcastle!"

Sam studied his brothers face and swallowed thickly, how did he even begin to explain the overwhelming feeling of drowning and spinning out of control he was feeling ever since Dean had vanished to play suicide bomber.

Toni Bevell had almost been a relief with her knives and torture.

Except, of course she hadn't been and he still woke up gasping sweating and feeling violated.

"Somehow I can't see us catching that break, Dean" he said quietly.

The next thing Sam knew Dean pulled the impala over onto the road shoulder and turned to look at him. Green eyes flicked back and forth over his face searching for something,

"Sammy" he began quietly, almost gently.

"It's Sam" he found himself muttering defensively.

Dean favoured him with a soft smile "Sammy, call me doctor Phil and you know I hate it. But maybe, just maybe, it's time you climbed out of your own ass and talked about some of the crap festering under all that girly hair."
"Yeah Sammy I know, pot, kettle black, the whole nine yards..."

"It's just... is this ever going to stop... every time I think it can't get harder, more messed up... every time I lose you or we save the fricking world. Or something good happens and we get Mom back... but maybe it isn't good, because It's tearing her apart... " Sam found himself trailing off, panting, eyes brimming with pain and fury.

His brother chuckled humourlessly "Yeah sometimes Billies offer of the big empty doesn't sound so bad, hu?"

"Y-eah."

"You know in Die hard 4, the techno fire sale one..." Sam frowned at his brothers change of track,"John McClane he has this whole speech in there about being 'that guy' the one that gets stuck fixing the crap, let's just say, I identify... No one asked us but somehow, we got designated 'that guy' and I know it sucks, big time. But who else are we going to trust?"

Without another word Dean put the impala back into drive, shot his brother a tired grin and gave Sam's shoulder a squeeze.

Sam found himself smiling back. They hadn't really said anything, but suddenly the tension in Sam's chest was gone.
For a second they locked eyes.

"Yippee Kaiya mother f cker"

They spoke the words in unison as the wheels spun and the impala ate the miles on the way to Montauk, home of the Montauk monster, 5 drowning victims (one of which was in pieces) and a whole bucket load of conspiracy theories.