CHAPTER THREE

Raw terror gripped Sam. It sunk its icy claws into his mind and flung him forth from the land of sleep. He woke gasping, shoulder burning and fire spreading through his chest and down into his stomach. Even before his eyes had focused he knew something was wrong. Frantically he scrubbed a hand over his face, desperately trying to clear his vision.

He was in the car. The car was moving. But they were veering across the wrong side of the road and Dean was asleep at the wheel.

The next five seconds seemed to pass in slow motion for Sam. He may have cried out, he couldn't be sure, but within a heartbeat he was practically sitting on top of his brother, trying to gain control of the vehicle as it came off the asphalt and skidded along the gravel shoulder, narrowly missing trees and fence posts and a ditch at least four feet deep. Dean came to in a mess of arms and legs, scrambling under the weight of his brother. But despite his cursing and swearing, Sam refused to loosen his grip on the wheel.

Eventually the older hunter's foot found the brake pedal, and they were brought to a screaming halt just as the front wheels hit a bank of grass, flinging Sam forwards into the dash.

There was silence as the dust settled and both brothers caught their breath.

"Sammy?"

Sam was on the floor, still trying to work out which way was up. His heart was pounding so hard against his ribs that it hurt. He got one of his arms to co-operate and gingerly pushed himself upright, climbing back onto the seat.

Dean's shaky hand found his shoulder. "Sam-?"

Sam was not happy.

Anger welled within him and rose like the waters of a flash flood. "What the fuck, Dean?!" He threw a vicious glare at his brother, eyes piercing right into the depths of the other man's shocked stare.

Dean ran hand through his hair and sucked in a jagged breath, eyes skidding away from Sam and out through the front windshield.

Sam clawed his way to his door and pushed it open, toppling out of the car and landing in a heap upon the stiff grass. The late afternoon sun was streaking in golden rays across a silver lake, picking up the ripples on the water but doing nothing to drive the chill from the air as night came on. He lay back, panting and pushing his palms against his eyes as pain throbbed through his head. Distantly he heard Dean's door creak open and his brother's footsteps hurrying around the front of the car to where Sam lay on the ground. Sam's arms and legs were tingling as his adrenalin charged muscles began to relax.

As Dean knelt beside him with a thump of knees against grass, Sam pulled his hands away from his eyes and swayed into a sitting position.

Dean's mouth opened, but Sam barged in first.

"We're stopping at the next town. We're stopping for the night and we're not going any further."

"I was looking out for a town, but we didn't pass through any!"

"We didn't pass through any, or you didn't see any?"

"We didn't pass through any."

"How the hell do you know, you were sleeping!"

"I…" Dean appeared confused, rubbing his head and then pinching the bridge of his nose. "I swear I was fine." He shook his head, frustrated. "I don't know what the hell happened, Sam. I'm sorry. One second I was thinking about where we should stop to eat, and then the next…"

"You nearly drove us into a lake!"

Dean returned his brother's cold glare, narrowing his eyes.

But Sam had a fire within him and felt like stoking it rather than putting it out. He was strangely keen to have an argument, reluctant to let the matter slide. He pulled himself to his feet, towering over his brother as Dean stood up as well. "I should never have let you drive. Your head's not right but you're too stubborn to admit it. Bobby's not meeting us for three days so there's absolutely no reason to rush. We're finding a place to stay, and we're damn well staying there until you're better. Now give me the keys."

Dean had taken the keys out of the ignition when they'd stopped and was clutching them in his hand.

Sam waited, but his sibling made no move to hand them over. "I said give me the keys, Dean."

Again Dean fixed him with a stare that clearly spoke of his indignation.

Sam returned the expression, stepping closer.

Eventually Dean saw reason and held the keys out for Sam to take, never letting his eyes stray from his brother, who snatched them and stormed around the front of the car to the driver's side door.

Sam threw himself into the seat, casting an angry look across the surface of the lake as Dean cursed and slipped into the passenger's seat beside him.

Neither brother said a word. As far as Sam was concerned, there was no more to say. He put the car into reverse and spun them around so that they were facing the road again. The engine sounded a little rough, but it was nothing to be concerned about. They'd got lucky.

God, Sam thought furiously. If I hadn't woken up when I did, we would be dead right now.

Dean was deathly quiet as they pulled back onto the smooth asphalt.

Sam bit his tongue, refusing to comment as he noticed his brother's normally steady hands were trembling.

The next town happened to be less than a mile away. Sam skidded into the car park of the first motel they came across and stomped on the brakes just outside the reception. Dean had remained silent, but now he swore under his breath at Sam's rough handling of his sweetheart.

Sam, for his part, was seething, yet completely unable to explain the frustration boiling within him. "Stay here," he spat at his brother.

Dean raised an unimpressed eyebrow in response but made no move to follow the younger man into the building.

Sam wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand and went to book them a room. He felt entirely fed up and just damn tired of everything. He snatched the key from the lady behind the desk and returned to where his brother waited in the car, slumped in the passenger seat with a hand over his eyes. Dean looked exhausted, fingers gently curling to massage his temples. Sam drove them around the back of the reception to a door displaying a gold plate with the number 12, and parked ungracefully out the front.

He swung his legs out of the car and stalked to the trunk to retrieve their belongings. "I need a drink."

Dean was not far behind. "You need to eat, Sam. That's what you need."

Any other time, Sam would have let the comment go. Not today. "You are in no position to tell me what to do. God, you never stop. Sam, do this, Sam, do that-"

Dean was gaping at him.

"Well I'm not listening!" He slung his bag over his shoulder.

Dean made no move to get his bag. "What the hell has gotten into you?"

Sam held up an accusatory finger, shaking it in his brother's face. "You. I'm sick of you, Dean. I've had enough."

It was funny, the expression that flashed across the older hunter's face. Sam almost laughed. Dean looked slightly taken aback. It was satisfying.

"Is this about me falling asleep?"

Sam wasn't listening. He'd already started towards the door.

Dean caught up with him and made the mistake of attempting to spin him around by grabbing his injured shoulder.

Sam hissed, drawing back, his good arm shooting out to hold his brother at a distance.

"Sam?" Now Dean was staring at him, concern mixed with uncertainty. "Look, it's been a long day and we're both tired. You're right. I probably shouldn't have been driving, but-"

Sam turned his back, unlocked the door and strode into the room, flicking the lights on as he went.

"Hey!" Dean's voice was angry now, coming closer as he also entered the room. "I'm trying to talk to you here, establish what I've done to piss you off so badly that you're refusing to accept my apology. And I am apologizing, Sam. I'm sorry."

Sam threw his bag onto one of the mattresses and spun to face his brother. He was so angry. He wasn't even feeling sick anymore, just shaky and completely on edge. He needed some space. He needed some space now. He began to walk out of the room.

Dean rushed to stop him; another mistake.

Sam's good hand flew out, pushing his sibling against a wall. The force was enough to bring a framed painting down with a crash and they both stood there, staring at it before locking eyes.

"I need a drink," Sam stated. "I'm going to the bar."

Dean composed himself, straightening his jacket and saying nothing, though it was obvious he was shaken by his little brother's sudden burst of physical aggression.

"I don't want you to come with me." Sam started walking.

Now Dean's expression wavered between pain and confusion. HH e made no attempt to hide it.

A wave of vertigo washed over the younger man and he stopped abruptly, clutching at the doorway.

"Sammy-"

"Don't touch me." Sam sucked in a sharp breath and stepped back out into the car park. "I'm going to the bar." He continued walking. "I swear, if you follow me…"

If Dean followed him, Sam felt like he'd knock his brother's teeth out. The anger just kept rising. He had to get away. Deep down he knew it was wrong but there was nothing he could do to stop it. It was painful, but at the same time it felt so good. It was like there was an actual fire burning within him.

Dean shouted something from the doorway, but Sam chose to ignore him.

God, the youngest Winchester thought bitterly. He's such a pain in the ass.

Dean closed his eyes, and then blinked them a couple of times.

What the fuck?

His hands were shaking and he had a headache that was threatening to split his mind in two. All he could do was stare after Sam as his brother's tall figure stalked across the road to a bar with a dodgy neon sign. He couldn't even begin to attempt to work out what, exactly, had happened to lead them to this moment. He was still reeling from the thought of falling asleep and nearly taking them for a swim- in the freakin' car.

He took a step forward, ready to go after Sam. But something in his brother's tone had scared him and he wondered whether it wouldn't be better to leave the kid alone for a moment. Perhaps he should sit down and munch some pain killers, take some deep breaths and calm the hell down. At least then he'd be able to deal with Sam in a reasonable manner. At the moment, he was wavering between completely freaking out, and crossing the road to kick his brother's ass.

Kicking his ass wont help, he realized soberly, recalling the look he'd glimpsed in Sam's eyes. He'd only kick back.

He pulled out his phone and took note of the time. It was nearing six o'clock. If Sam wasn't back by seven, he resolved to go and find him.

And if he so much as tries to throw me into another wall...

Dean gingerly rubbed his aching back.

What the hell had gotten into his brother?

He narrowed his eyes at the bar, watching the door Sam had disappeared through.

One hour.

One hour and he would head over there, and Sam had better have a damn good explanation for himself.

Sam took a very deep breath and counted to ten. The stool he was sitting on was wobbly and uncomfortable. He'd been perched at the bar for a grand total of twenty minutes and had just drained his first drink. Barely melted ice blocks clinked against one another as he set it down on the sticky countertop and ran a hand over his face. His anger was beginning to subside, but in its place, the nausea and dizziness he'd experienced earlier was returning. He had no idea what had caused him to explode at his brother. He wasn't quite ready to feel bad about it just yet.

To his left, the bar curved around. An old, bearded man sat at the counter's end, stooped over his glass. Every now and then he'd lift his eyes and glance at the young hunter. Sam twitched a polite smile, but offered nothing more. The rest of the bar was as empty as his glass, which wasn't all that surprising. It was barely scraping six o'clock and they were in the middle of nowhere.

"You look like you could use another drink."

There was a young guy behind the bar, probably about the same age as Sam. He wiped his hands on a tea towel before removing the empty glass from the counter and scooping new ice into another.

Sam nodded appreciatively.

A shot of this, a bit of that; Sam watched the ice cubes bob drunkenly as the glass was set before him.

"Hard day?" the guy asked casually.

Sam almost laughed. It was a genuine enough question, but he couldn't help but wonder how many hard day's this guy saw week in, week out. He set his lips on the cold rim of the glass and took a sip. The liquid burned his throat. As he replaced it on the counter, he nodded. Most days over these past few weeks had been 'hard'. "Family dramas," he admitted, and again scrubbed a hand over his eyes. "My big brother's being a pain in the ass."

A knowing expression passed across the young man's face. He leaned against the counter. "Yeah they seem to specialize in that, don't they?"

Sam cocked a brow. "You have an older brother too?"

The guy nodded. "Drives me crazy sometimes, always telling me what to do, trying to control my life."

Sam ran a finger around the wet rim of his glass. "Mine treats me as if I'm five."

The guy laughed. "God, I hear you on that one. Mine's completely stuck in the past. It's like he doesn't realize I'm an adult and can make my own decisions."

A weary smile cracked Sam's features. He took another sip of his drink, holding a block of ice in his mouth for a moment before smashing it with his teeth. He replaced his glass and extended a hand. "I'm Sam."

The bar guy glanced at Sam's hand and then shook it. "Matt."

From the corner of the bar, the old man lifted his eyes to watch them, before returning his gaze to his drink.

Matt noticed the movement and shook his head, lowering his voice. "That there's the town crazy. He comes in every afternoon, same time, without fail, and sits in that very spot. Makes me nervous as hell. He can't hardly see, you know. Walks all the way from his creepy little cottage by the lake. Apparently he used to be married, and normal, too. Went strange after his wife died. If you ask me, by the looks of him, I wouldn't be surprised if he was the one who killed her."

Sam shifted his eyes from Matt and glanced again at the hunched figure. "He lives out by the lake?"

Matt nodded, but said nothing more.

"My brother nearly drove us into that lake just a moment ago." The words were tumbling over Sam's lips before he could stop them. "He was driving and he fell asleep. I told him this morning that I didn't think he was okay to drive, but he didn't listen. He's convinced he always knows what's best even when it's obvious he's wrong. He could have killed us. God, he would have if I hadn't woken up in time."

Matt raised his eyebrows, his expression indicating that he was searching for a response.

The old man sat up straighter and stared at Sam.

For the first time, it dawned on Sam that it was actually strange that he'd woken up in time.

"You got lucky."

Matt flinched as the old man spoke.

Sam turned in the direction of the gravely voice and was met by steely blue eyes.

"There've been a heap of accidents on that road," the stranger continued in a tone that made Sam's hairs stand on end. "All of 'em on that bend as you approach the lake. Not many without fatalities. Some say it's cursed."

Sam swallowed thickly.

The man nodded. "You're the first I've heard who's survived."

An awkward silence descended and Sam shifted in his seat.

Matt cleared his throat. "Yeah, well. It's a dangerous stretch."

The stranger took another sip of his drink, but said no more.

Sam eyed his own glass, suddenly light-headed. He squeezed his eyes closed as the dizziness passed and felt his stomach turn. His shoulder was beginning to throb again and he was quickly losing the heart for getting drunk. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, because he'd been angry and the alcohol had made him feel good. But now his old exhaustion was returning and he wanted nothing more than to curl up in a ball.

"Hey." Matt leaned forward, possibly noticing the change in the young hunter's mood. "Don't listen to him."

Sam rubbed his brow. His forehead was tingling. He shook his head and slowly stood up, feeling his drink in his knees. I'm such a light-weight, he thought miserably.

The old man remained silent and unmoving.

"I should go," Sam mumbled, knowing that he didn't need to justify himself but feeling like he should explain anyway. "It's a miracle my brother hasn't burst in here and torn me apart. Usually he would have shredded me for having a go at him the way I did."

Matt nodded understandingly. "You staying across the road?"

"Yeah. We travel in style."

The barman cracked a slight grin. "Well, good luck then, with your brother and all."

Sam took a deep breath and attempted to mask the nausea he was feeling. "Yeah, thanks. You too." He threw one last glance towards the old man.

The man didn't move.

Sam's mind was chewing over their conversation. He wandered towards the door.

"Later," Matt said.

Sam nodded half-heartedly, and walked out.

Dean had paced for a good ten minutes once he'd entered the room. He would have paced longer, only his headache had grown worse by the second and his legs had kept threatening to fold. Annoyed beyond belief, with Sam and with his own physical state, he'd grabbed the half empty packet of painkillers out of their first aid kit and had collapsed into the room's only chair, heaving a groan as the motion had jarred his brain and sent splintering pain through his skull. He hadn't even bothered with water, chewing two pills and swallowing them despite their bitterness. He'd leaned his head back and had closed his eyes.

Without even intending to, he'd drifted off to sleep.

Now the click of the opening door shattered the silence that had surrounded him. Cold evening air spilled in from outside and Sam gingerly entered, glancing behind him before turning to blink at his brother who was slumped in the chair, snoring gently.

The younger man frowned, eyes falling to settle upon his sibling's chest; a nasty habit they'd both developed quite recently.

Dean's chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm.

Sam's features relaxed in a silent sigh of relief. He's only sleeping.

Closing the door and latching it, Sam made his way over to his brother. The packet of drugs had fallen from Dean's lap and onto the floor, and Sam reached down and retrieved it, popping two pills from their casings and curling them into his hand. Dean's eyelids fluttered, but apart from that the older didn't stir. Sam stood watching his brother, a strangely sad expression drifting over his features as he chewed his lip. As quietly as possible, he moved to one of the beds and gathered up a blanket. In a gesture that was more an apology than anything else, he draped it over his sibling's lap. Then he wandered across the room and disappeared inside the bathroom.

The bathroom was small and the fluorescent light reflected badly off the stained tiles. Sam closed the door and turned, staring at himself in the mirror with a troubled expression gracing his features. He rubbed his head, as if trying to banish bad thoughts. His eyes flicked around the room, as though he was expecting someone to appear, but nobody came. He uncurled his palm and popped the pills into his mouth. Twisting the tap, he leaned over and washed them down in one go, straightening and drying his mouth with the back of his hand.

Sam was tired, but he knew he wouldn't sleep. There was a restlessness within him that tumbled his thoughts over one another, adding to his discomfort. The events that had just taken place in the bar across the road were fresh in his memory, and behind them, there were hoards of other nonsensical thoughts that fought for space in his brain; his outburst towards Dean, their brush with death on the road, his two most recent meetings with Ruby… None of the questions these thoughts lead to had answers. He pulled his shirt off his shoulder, stifling a wince, and inspected his cut. It was still puffy and bruised, and burning like hell. Burning like Hell, he thought absently. Quickly he shook his head.

He needed time. He needed time to get on top of all this. Dean needed time; the older man was equally as unwell. But Dean wouldn't listen. Dean was set on going to Atlanta. The only way they'd get to stay would be if they found a job.

'There's been a heap of accidents on that road… Some say it's cursed.'

Sam held onto the old man's words, turning them over.

If he could find enough evidence to back up the idea that there was something going on here, there might be a chance Dean would agree to stick around.

He peered through the doorway towards his sleeping brother, and decided that it was worth a shot.

tbc