"Take it easy, Dean."
"Since when do you care if I take it easy?" Dean retorted. He trudged through the hospital parking lot; the ground was still wet from the rain showers. John trailed along behind him. Dean wanted to put as much space as possible between himself and that hellhouse they called a hospital. He had mostly recovered from the wounds in the two days since he had awoken, (they had kept him in the hospital an extra day for observation, a move that Dean had vehemently opposed) aside from a few tender spots on his scalp.
"Since you look like shit. Damn, Dean, you lie in a bed all day and you still look like you haven't slept at all." That was probably because he hadn't. His nightmares refused to go away and they got worse each time. He couldn't stand to see Sam like that so he had just given up sleeping. It was the easiest route to deal with it.
"I'm fine."
John had shown up the evening before, shaking his head resignedly before Dean could ask the question. Dean expected nothing more. John loved Sam, but these things were Dean's area of expertise. Big brother DNA at work again.
"So where's the car?" Dean was already feeling unsteady. He knew nothing could compare to the Impala, but it didn't help when John had said used the words "cheap" and "I don't think you'll like it," it was a dead giveaway.
"It's right up here, as I remember. You can drive," he said as he tossed the keys to Dean. They turned the corner and Dean froze.
"Dad. You've got to be kidding me. You're shitting with me, right?" He couldn't believe it.
"It was the best I could find in our price range at short notice. It doesn't go very fast and it gets really crappy mileage but it'll last us until we can get another one."
Dean was in too much shock to speak. He finally managed.
"I can't be seen driving that."
"Well, Dean, do you want to wait until you can get your hands on a vintage black Mustang Mach 1 or do you want to get in the damn car and find your brother?"
Dean hesitated for about half a second before opening up the door of the powder blue Volkswagen Beetle and climbing in.
John climbed in just as Dean put the key into the ignition.
"Do you want me to drive, Dean?" John asked exasperatedly.
Dean was torn. He rarely let anyone else drive but he really couldn't be seen driving this. Without a word he yanked the door open and got out. Sulkily he climbed in the passenger's side.
"Well," Dean said as they exited the parking lot, "at least it has a cassette player, because there is no way I'm switching to CDs. But the trunk isn't even in the back! It's under the hood and it's called a bonnet, for god's sake!"
"Dean! Can we get off the subject of the car for now? We've got a sixteen-hour drive for you to bitch during, alright?" Dean shut up.
First Snuggles, now this? Sam would have had a freaking Field Day.
Riding with John was different than riding with Sam. In some ways he preferred riding with Sam. With Sam it felt less like awkward silence and more like the comfortable silence where neither person really wants to talk. There wasn't much to talk about once you'd gone on that many trips with someone. Sam had always been perfectly content to retreat into his own personal bubble and leave Dean to his music.
Dean missed Sam's presence more than anything. He couldn't feel comfortable like this.
First of all, he was not in the Impala. He never would be again.
Second of all, he wasn't driving. As long as this was their car he never would.
Third of all, Sam wasn't with him. There was no telling as to when that would change.
During the past two days he had tried as hard as humanly possible to block out the bad thoughts of what Sam could be going through right now. He didn't want to think of his baby brother suffering. Yet that was inevitable as long as he was with Meg. She just brought that sort of thing everywhere she went. Suffering.
In the darkness he could still hear the screams, haunting him, blaming him. He could have stopped Sam. He could have shot Meg. He could have done something. He might have been able to talk Sam out of it if he had just freaking listened to Sam in the car rather than simply answering "I don't want to hear it." He had never considered that he would have to save Sam from his own decisions. He never thought Sam would be that stupid.
Somewhere in his train of thought he must have drifted off. He had barely slept more than an hour at a time since he had woken up two days ago and he couldn't have held it off for much longer.
He was in a room full of mirrors. Everywhere he looked there were more, reflecting his pale reflection back at him.
He could see what was coming now.
"You did this, Dean," said a whispered voice in his ear. He looked around but there was no one.
"It's true, you know," said a low voice behind him. He turned again to meet his own reflection mirrored back at him, except with a mind of its own. It stared at him with hate in its eyes. "You did this. To your own brother. You claimed you loved him, Dean. And how did you show that? You protected him, did you?"
"It was his decision," Dean said quietly, falling to his knees as his chest started to seize up and he felt the blood running down his cheeks. "He had a choice."
"Did I?" Dean's head snapped around so fast he felt lightheaded afterward. Sam stood there, hair matted with blood and dirt, face covered with gashes, eyes red-rimmed. He still managed to glare at Dean, his face a mixture of revulsion, betrayal, and loathing. It broke Dean's heart to look at him.
"Did I have a choice, Dean? Do you think I could have really let her kill you? You're my older brother! You're supposed to protect me," he spat out.
"Do you have any idea of what I'm going through, what I've sacrificed for you, Dean?"
Dean couldn't find the right words.
"I thought not. And the thing is, Dean, I tried to tell you. I tried to tell you one last time that I loved you! That I was doing this for you! But you didn't want to hear it!" Sam was yelling and with every word Dean felt like a stake was being driven through his heart.
"I did this so that you could have the life that you always wanted! You said you wanted to be a family again!"
"Not without you…" Dean whispered, barely audible. Sam heard him.
He laughed. Dean had never heard such a threatening sound coming from his baby brother. For his next words, he walked swiftly, eerily--- almost like one of the sprits that they normally hunted---- over to Dean and leaned down to his level, so that he was whispering in Dean's ear.
"Well, I guess you really fucked that up, didn't you," he hissed. The words stung. Sam backed up.
"I love you, Sammy." Sam didn't react at his words.
"Don't ever," he spat out the word, "call me Sammy again. I hate you, Dean. I want you to remember forever that you did this to me."
"Sam…" he breathed. Sam simply kept glaring daggers at him.
Then, as quickly as he had appeared, he was gone.
Dean felt the bleeding stop and the pressure on his chest release. He was alone in the mirror room again. The screaming started again, the sound from his brother that he never wanted to hear again, louder than it had been last time. Dean covered his ears, but that did nothing to block the horrific noise intruding on every pore of his body. Then he could feel the pain and he screamed along with the Sam.
Somehow, over the noise of his and Sam's screaming, he could hear the voice again.
"You deserve this. You did this to me, Dean…" The last word echoed in his mind over and over again.
"Dean…"
"Dean…"
"Dean…"
"Dean!"
He was suddenly aware of someone slapping him hard in the face.
"Dean, snap out of it!" He took a great gasp of air, realizing he had been holding his breath. His throat felt raspy and, looking around, he realized that John had pulled over to the side of the road and had been trying to bring Dean around.
"Are you alright?" John asked, looking pale.
Dean was shaking all over. He was cold and he could still remember the pain, though he didn't feel it at all anymore. He was dizzy and nauseous and could still see Sam's face in his head.
"I'm fine, what happened?"
"Well, Dean," John started angrily, "I'm just driving down the highway and I hear you start to mumble something in your sleep. I don't worry. Then I realize you're saying Sam's name over and over again. I still don't worry. I've had some pretty bad nightmares about him, too. It's a natural reaction. Then your breathing starts to get weird and I'm officially concerned. I pull over. Once I do, I try to wake you up. But you won't wake up. Now I'm terrified. The feeling only multiplies by ten when you start to scream. You're thrashing and fighting me and covering your ears. You scream the name Sam and I manage to pull you outside the car. Then all of a sudden you start breathing again and wake up." Dean pushed himself up and blinked.
"What the hell was that, Dean?" John asked, genuinely concerned.
"It was Sam. I was back at the place where we fought Bloody Mary. My eyes started to bleed just like she would make happen. Sam showed up and started to tell me off. He told me it was my fault. That I had no idea what he had gone through, what he had sacrificed for me." His stomach churned and he willed himself not to be sick at the memory of Sam's face and injuries. "He knew what was going to happen. He saw it in a vision before we found you the second time." John visibly reacted to this news. Dean had never told him. "On our way there he tried to tell me. He tried to warn me. He wanted to tell me something."
"He told me…. In my dream… that he wanted me to remember forever what I did to him… and that… that he hated me for what I'd done." He suddenly couldn't breathe. He didn't think he was crying, but he felt like he was definitely going to start panicking soon. The anxiety was just too much.
John looked taken aback now. Neither of his sons had ever had this reaction before, especially Dean. He awkwardly leaned forward and pulled Dean toward him in a hug.
"It was a nightmare. It wasn't real. And it wasn't your fault. We're going to find him. We're going to kill those sons of bitches that did this. We're going to get Sammy back. We'll be a family again. It's alright. He didn't mean it. It was just a nightmare." John gently but firmly pushed Dean away from him and froze in shock at what he saw.
Dean had thought maybe he had started crying or something. He could feel some sort of liquid running from the corners of his eyes. But he was wrong.
Clean drips of blood were running from the corners of Dean's eyes. Seeing his father's glance, he reached up to check. He brought his fingers down and his eyes widened, lost in shock.
"A nightmare?'
Author's Note: I hope you liked this chapter.
If you are wondering about the cars mentioned, do a google image search on either 'vintage Mustang Mach 1' or 'vintage vw beetle' depending on which you want to check out. I just had so much fun picturing Dean in a powder blue beetle.
Please review!