Supernatural: Season 10

Chapter 4

Half an hour into the nine hour drive back to the bunker, Sam was rethinking his decision to not stow Dean in the trunk of the Impala. When he wasn't bitching about his "Dean-napping", he was shoving his knees and feet into Sam's spine via the back of the front seat. Which was really quite a feat, since Sam had shackled Dean directly to the handle of the rear passenger-side door.

Shoulda gone with the OUTSIDE handle, he thought to himself as he shifted uncomfortably against the foot that was currently lodged into his back.

Not that getting him into the backseat had been any easier than shoving him in the trunk would have been. It had taken Sam the better part of 40 minutes to cram his brother through the door, while Crowley stood by, idly watching with his hands in his pockets. Even with both hands secured, Dean had managed to put up quite the fight, spreading himself across the entire opening, all the while shouting and cursing at Crowley about what a upstanding person he wasn't. Sam had used every ounce of energy he had (with two currently enraged knees) in an attempt to push the older Winchester far enough to at least get the door shut (and if that door happened to shut on said older Winchester's foot or leg or arm in the process? Well that would just be a karmically happy accident).

Three hours later, well after night had fallen (and about twenty minutes after Dean had finally calmed down and stopped his grumbling), Sam spotted a car wash. It was sketchy, at best, and in the middle of nowhere; one of those do-it-yourself numbers, which made it perfect. Sam didn't announce the stop, just slowed down and pulled in. He drove around to the back and stopped next to a vacuum behind the building. Dean looked around, a bemused expression on his face.

"A little secluded for a first date, Sammy, don't ya think?"

"Ok, first of all? What the hell kind of dates have you been going on? And second, I just want to clean up this mess a bit," he said, gesturing at the interior of the car. "Honestly, Dean. I can't believe this is your Baby. I mean, there's so much dust on the dash I can hardly see car."

Dean stared glumly out his window, fidgeting, as Sam unfolded his legs from the car. "My car…can leave it a mess if I so fuckin' choose to…asshat," he mumbled.

Sam showed no sign that he had heard him, and set to work cleaning the front area of the Impala. The back could just stay filthy, at least until they had reached the bunker and Dean was safely tucked away. Be that in his bedroom or the dungeon, Sam wasn't quite sure yet. He had a feeling that, for the time being at least, it was going to be the latter.

Dean slid his legs back over to his side of the car, pulling himself upright for the first time in hours. He groaned inwardly at the way his muscles protested after being in one position for too long, and tried to flex his legs to find a more comfortable spot. His foot knocked into something, stopping it from stretching out as far as he wanted. He looked down at the floor and saw the corner of a box sticking out from under the front seat. Without pulling it out, he knew what was inside: his cassettes. Part of him from before that his current self wanted nothing to do with. He closed his eyes, damping down the grief that occasionally threatened to overtake him when he thought too hard about what he had become. He didn't want to be a demon, he certainly had never asked for it. He didn't want to feel this insatiable need to harm, to ruin, bring controlled chaos to the lives of the people he met. But that was the hand he had been dealt, and damn if it wasn't a difficult thing to deny.

He pulled himself from his reverie, watching as Sam threw out the last bit of trash from the floor of the front of the car and pulled his cell phone from his jacket pocket to answer it. Dean pressed his head closer to the window, hoping to at least catch some of what was being said, and maybe some of Sam's plan.

"If he's even got one," he murmured to himself, then quieted to listen.

"Hey Cas….Yeah, I found him, I'm bringing him to the bunker….Ummm….No, no I think he's alright...I mean, he's definitely not dead, but he's not….I think you just need to see it to believe it….Yeah, another few hours…..Alright, see you then."

"Like I thought. No plan," Dean rolled his eyes, closed them, and leaned his head back to rest it against the seat.