The drive from South Dakota to Florida was, in Dean's opinion, damned close to torturous. After an abrupt argument over which route was faster, Sam hadn't spoken except to let Dean know he was hungry or had to take a leak. In the back of his mind, Dean understood that his little brother was carrying a hell of a lot of guilt but that didn't mean the broody, sulking emo crap didn't grate on his last freaking nerve. The jut of Sam's lower lip seemed to push further and further out with each passing mile. When he crossed his arms over his chest and huffed, Dean had finally had enough.
Sasquatch was due a beat down and he couldn't think of a better time than the present.
Without a word, Dean swung the Impala down a dirt lane just off Highway 90 in Florida. They were somewhere between MacClenny and Baldwin, about a half hour or so outside Jacksonville and while they really didn't have time for this, Sam was in desperate need of an attitude adjustment. Dean didn't know what they were going to find when they reached their destination but he damned well wasn't going into a potential fight with his wing man not firing on all eight cylinders.
Looking up through his bangs, Sam asked in a voice laced with irritation, "Where the hell are we going, Dean?"
Dean shifted up into park and killed the car's engine before stepping out and slamming the driver's side door. He waited for his brother to follow. He didn't have to wait long.
"Dude, what the hell is your problem?" Sam demanded showing more life than he had in a week.
Pursing his lips, Dean replied, "You wanna know what my problem is, Sammy? It's you."
The taller brother recoiled as though he'd been slapped. "Me?"
"Yeah, Sammy. You. You're a liability. You don't talk to me, you sure as hell don't listen to me. So you tell me how that's not a problem?"
A flare of pain flashed in Sam's eyes before his expression hardened. "You're the one who threw out the ultimatum, Dean not me. All your life you've wanted to be just like Dad. Well, congratulations. You are." Shoving his hands into his hair in helpless frustration he added, "You're a selfish bastard, you know that?"
Dean cocked his head to one side and asked, "You done?' When Sam just shrugged, Dean nodded. "Okay then."
A half a second later he let his fist fly connecting solidly with his brother's jaw. Fire exploded in his knuckles but Dean ignored the throbbing pain. Instead, he followed the blow with another to Sam's middle.
Tears were clouding Dean's vision. He'd never been one for emotional speeches. Chick flick moments were Sam's territory but sometimes things just needed to be said.
"You really don't get it, do you?" he asked as he fisted his hands in Sam's shirt, holding him upright. "You're my brother, Sam. No matter what, you're still my baby brother. And it don't matter that you drank demon blood or broke that damned seal. You're all I got left, dude."
By the time he'd finished, tears were slipping silently down Dean's cheeks. "I love you, dude."
When Sam finally raised his head, he was crying in earnest. Everything he'd been feeling, all the guilt and anger and fear and hopelessness washed over him in a tidal wave of emotion. His arms reached up and all but crushed his brother. He held onto Dean, weeping in harsh, almost guttural bursts.
To his credit, Dean didn't mock Sam for it. This was pretty much what he'd been angling for. He just didn't expect his 'tough love' to actually produce the desired result. He'd thought Sam would hit him back and they'd fight it out. All would be right in Winchester-land again. Well, as right as it ever gets anyway.
Instead, Sam was hugging him for all he was worth, choking out words like "I'm sorry" and "I love you, too" between wracking sobs.
Maybe Dr. Phil wasn't such a moron after all, Dean thought as he rubbed soothing circles over his brother's back, shushing him just like he'd done a hundred times before when they were kids.
"S'okay, Sam," he said, his own voice gruff with emotion.
After an impossibly long few minutes, Sam pulled back enough to give Dean a timid, watery smile before he wiped his face on his sleeve.
"So," he coughed. "Are we done with the chick flick moment?"
Dean laughed heartily. "Hell yeah."
"Jerk."
"Bitch."
****
The sun was barely peeking over the horizon painting the morning sky in brilliant hues of scarlet and gold when Beth silently unlocked the back door of the house and let herself inside. It was only a few minutes after six a.m. and she didn't want to wake the other occupants of the house, not just yet. She toed off her shoes and hung her keys up on the peg beside the door before padding over to the refrigerator.
Beth's fingers closed around the handle of a porcelain pitcher on the top shelf. The snack she'd had in Olivia's office had been enough to keep her belly satisfied through her shift. Now, she was in need of a full meal. She pulled an oversized mug from the cabinet and filled it. Forty-five seconds in the microwave warmed it to the temperature she preferred.
As she sipped her dinner, Beth retrieved the bag of exotic coffee she'd purchased as a birthday gift for Camille. For a thirteen year old, the girl had expensive taste. Jamaican Blue Mountain didn't come cheap by a long shot. Beth measured the beans then flipped the switch on the grinder. The sound echoed through the two hundred seventy-five year old house and was followed quickly by the thud of feet hitting the floor overhead.
The rich, full aroma of the coffee was just beginning to fill the room when a slender body launched itself at Beth, nearly knocking the mug from her hand.
"Happy birthday, Camille," Beth said, pressing a kiss to the top of the girl's blond head.
Big, blue-green eyes looked up at her then were rolled dramatically. "My birthday was two weeks ago."
"Yeah," the vampire replied. "Sorry about that. The stuff was on back order."
Just as Beth was turning around to pour her young friend a cup, the broom in the corner clattered to the floor. Startled, she looked down at Camille expectantly.
All the cheer had left the girl's expression when she whispered, "Company's coming."
