A/N: I want to thank everyone for their reviews. I do read them, and although I'm horrible at replying, they honestly mean a lot to me, and I appreciate the time taken to comment. Special thanks to ysbail, who this story was written for, PA Davis, and Aurilia. Thank you.
Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me, please don't sue.
Chapter 4
The Impala would fly on this road, Sam thinks. For now there is an absence of cars, room to breathe. He can imagine the way the car would purr as Dean pressed his foot down on the pedal; certain power jolting only slightly when he shifted gears. This moment, here and now, Dean would have the windows rolled down, his music on, something loud, obnoxious, the drum and guitar caught between each other.
"What are you thinking about?"
"How I wish we had a car," Sam says.
Camilla nods in agreement. All of this space is just temporary. Already in the distance Sam can see the outline of a vehicle half-on, half-off the road. But he still thinks about the time—he'll die—they're losing even as they put one foot in front of the other.
"Hey," Camilla points at the shadow. It's big, Sam notices, a truck, not a car. "It's army."
"So?"
She steps up her pace. As they draw along side the wrecked truck, Sam considers it; how the back is angled awkwardly into the air. Camilla has dropped her pack, lifting herself into the back. The people are all gone. Sam doesn't know what she's looking for. He stands on the road, a useless sentry.
"Nope," she says a few minutes later as she crawls out. "Bust."
"You're bleeding."
"Yeah," she answers looking at the thin red line on her arm. "There was some broken glass. It's not bad. Just a scratch."
"What were you looking for?"
"Wanted to see if there was a radio or something."
"Was there?" From where he stands, the truck looks empty: no packs, no guns, no supplies.
"Like I said. Bust."
He pulls out some anti-septic and gently cleans the cut for her. When he goes to bandage it, though, she pulls away. "Best to let it breathe."
Sam watches her pick up her pack and start walking. How many times had he wanted out of that car? When he was little, he'd get sick and he'd beg to walk, just for a little, just to get some air. He readjusts his own bag, looks at the truck, deserted and useless, looks back at Camilla. Bust, he thinks.
~*~
He'll die
"What are you thinking about?"
"Nothing."
"Yeah," she says.
They never talk at night, not like they do in the day. Just in case.
"How's your arm?"
"Fine."
Sam sees Dean in the dark. Lying on his back with his hands clasped behind his head, wide green eyes watching the sky, Dean is nothing more than a child in a man's body. Nothing more than a childish imagining.
~*~
It rains all night. They sleep curled into each other. Her skin feels warmer than his. They dream together and neither of them knows what the other is seeing.
~*~
Suddenly Camilla stops. It's as though she's suddenly encountered an invisible barrier, eyes wide, face stricken. Sam reaches out a hand to her, unsure.
"Camilla?"
Her breath quickens. There's a twitch in her muscles and Sam's reminded of a mouse holding still under an eagle's focused glare.
"I…" she says.
"What's wrong?"
"I can't…"
"Camilla?"
She's shaking her head back and forth like a child. That sense that she's really screaming, somehow, in a way more primitive than sound, makes his hair stand on end. Frowning, Sam stands behind her small frame and stares in the same direction. It's another stretch of road. Over the days the road remains their constant: a conveyor belt, with the scenery around them shifting steadily. There were signs, exits and warnings. At one point they passed a construction zone, detour twenty miles.
What is it she sees?
He bends lower, cants his head, squints, but there's nothing to see.
"I can't see anything."
For the past several days they've been walking eastwards, sticking mostly to the back roads. Both of them are in good shape and he figures they're covering almost ten miles (give or take) a day, more on days where they both have nightmares and wake before dawn. Soon, if Sam's reckoning is right, they'll reach the state border, although they'll have to stock up on water.
Abruptly, Camilla takes a deep breath. "Sorry," she says. Her voice is small in a way he's never heard before. "I'm sorry."
"Hey," he puts his hand on her shoulder. "Hey, it's okay."
She's crying he realizes with a start. Not sobbing, but weeping, her shoulders shaking under her pack and her face, originally staring into the distance now covered by her hands. All this time Sam's never seen her cry. Maybe this is where she breaks, where she's reached her limit coming up on a construction zone somewhere near the Nevada/California line. He wraps himself around her and her pack awkwardly and knows that's wrong.
"Shh…" he whispers, staring ahead, trying to see what it is that—grinning at me—scared her so badly.
When she finally takes her hands away, her face is splotchy, almost flushed, and her eyes are red. Using a sleeve, she wipes the snot from her nose. Camilla is still muttering apologies as Sam lays his hand on her cheek. It's warm.
~*~
Bobby would know what to do. And that's what Dean will need, someone who knows what to do. It's where he'll head first. Afterwards to Pastor Jim, or is Caleb the better option? No, maybe Caleb first and then Bobby…
All he has to do is find Dean. But where would Dean go? What's left for Dean to go to?
"We can't go through Nevada," Camilla tells him, her voice is hoarse.
"It's the quickest way to South Dakota."
"That where your brother is?" Tilting her head up to look at the stars, she takes a sip of water then suddenly spits it out in a coughing fit. Sam slaps her on the back.
"Went down the wrong throat." She meets his eyes. "That's where he is."
"Who?"
"You know who."
"What did you see, Camilla?"
"He lies, Sam." She stretches out on the ground beside him. "Whatever it is you're seeing…he lies."
~*~
Even the way he stands is jaunty, nonchalant, that guy in the room everybody wants to meet: a rock star, but so much more. When he smiles his blue eyes twinkle. It reminds Sam of Dean on those rare occasions when they had a night on the town, just the two of them with the whole world at their feet--
C'mon Sammy, we'll have a hell of a time
--Sixteen again, trying to be an adult, trying to get away through school but still a Winchester, always a Winchester in all the ways that counted: the little jokes between them, the drills, the isolation. Those twinkling eyes are the best memories Sam has.
They're also the worst.
~*~
When he wakes up, Camilla is gone; up north towards Oregon, or down south to cut through Arizona. Sam thinks he could catch up with her if he tried.