6. Realizations
Dean is sitting in the car, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel out of tune to the music. He feels out of sync with the world. One half-step behind everyone else; it leaves him feeling surreal. There is something he should understand, he knows that. He just doesn't know what.
He is in his FBI personality, donned like the suit and tie. His badge does not match his name and Bill knows his real name, so he sits in the car while Sam does the round among the dead siblings' neighbors.
As the tape comes to its end he sees Sam coming out of a white painted house with flowers in front, the same as all the others. He walks up to the Impala and sits down in his regular seat and shakes his head, he does not look at Dean.
Dean starts the car and revs the engine perhaps more than is necessary. He asks, "Where to?"
Sam pulls two fingers inside the collar and tugs outwards, trying to loosen the tight fit of the shirt and tie. He looks professional and the dark suit looks good on him but Dean knows he finds the clothes constricting.
"Tammy worked in a small shop next to that all night gas station outside of town. We could try there," Sam says at last at the glove compartment.
Dean nods and turns the car in a sharp U-turn on the small residential street. He miscalculates and the turntable of the Impala is too large for the space available. He runs up the curb and into a mailbox, the white pole bends and stops at an acute angle. The noise as it scratches the side of the car is the sound of flesh tearing, of bones breaking. Dean can feel it like it's his own body that breaks.
There is a second of complete silence, of blank whiteness where all sound is blocked out and time stops and Dean floats in the middle. Then as suddenly as it stopped, time starts again and it seems like it moves in double speed, trying to catch up to itself.
Dean is instantly filled with blinding rage; it is red and all consuming and aimed solely at his brother. Because this is his fault, for pushing Dean away, making him lag behind reality. As they turn completely and the horrid scratching noise goes away Sam actually turns to look at him, something that could be pity in his eyes.
Dean feels the anger escaping him, bubbling up inside until he cannot contain it and it comes out all bent and hideous looking.
"This is your fault! He shouts at Sam and in the moment he cannot see that the logic is off.
"My fault?" Says Sam, sounding taken aback.
"Yes you," Dean rages, "You never talk to me anymore. You shut me out and now you have broken my car."
Sam's mouth closes. He seems to realize that it is not about the car, the torn Impala is just a sign, a manifestation of Dean's soul.
"You want me to talk to you?"
The air goes out of Dean like a deflated balloon and he finds himself begging, "Yes, please," voice pleading.
He can see Sam fidgeting with the seam of his jeans, running his thumb up the side. He seems on the brink of opening his moth and Dean leans forward, all anger washed away as hope instead replaces it.
"Why him?"
Dean does not doubt whom Sam is talking about.
He shrugs his shoulders, "I dunno," he says honestly, because he does not. This is not something he has thought about. It just happened. He tells Sam as much.
Sam does not seem surprised, he simply nods. Dean waits, he does not want to frighten the moment.
"I thought maybe…" Sam starts, but then trails of.
"Sammy," Dean says, wanting to urge him on.
Sam looks up at Dean, looks at him for real, for the first time in months. Dean can see that same burning in his eyes again and he realizes he has seen it before, the months leading up to Sam leaving him for Stanford.
He holds his breath, fear rolling in suffocating waves through him as he realizes he has seen this for a while now, just he hasn't wanted to acknowledge it. This is why he was so afraid this morning.
Sam looks at him intently and he leans forward towards his brother one hand reaching out and Dean panics, he can't help himself, he blurts out.
"Don't leave me again."
Sam stops inches from Dean, pain and fear replacing the look in his eyes that Dean can't, or rather won't, understand and Sam bolts. He turns and opens the door and takes off down the street, hands in his suit pockets, long legs almost running.
Dean sees him go in the rearview mirror. He is not doing anything to stop him even though the street continues straight on and he sees Sam's back for a long time before it disappears over a ridge.
He sits in the car paled and shocked, trying desperately to banish the ludicrous idea that his brother had just tried to kiss him.
ooo
Dean allows the door to ping closed behind. The shop is small and gives the grubby impression of years of uncleaned dust in the corners. A girl is shelving canned goods in the back; she glances up at him and then returns to her beans and tomatoes.
He grabs a basket and puts some random items in it, a bottle of scotch being not so random. He makes his way along the aisles slowly closing in on the working girl. As he walks he makes sure he bumps into things or makes some small sound so she will hear him coming and be accustomed to his presence.
As he reaches her he coughs politely and reaches for a can of beans. She turns and hands him one absently.
"Thank you," he says and turns on his most radiant smile. She starts to instinctively smile back then seems to notice his suit and stops. She fidgets with the cardboard box, now almost empty. She looks over her shoulders as if trying to decide if they are alone or not. Then she speaks.
"Are you the detective trying to catch whoever killed Tammy?"
Dean is not surprised the news is already out, in a town of this size, not strange at all.
"Yes, yes I am," he nods at her, "We are doing all we can," he assures her in his most official voice.
The girl looks at him and then suddenly bursts into tears, shoulders shaking from great hulking sobs. Dean is left standing awkwardly with a can of beans in his hand, not having a clue of what to do and whishing desperately that Sam was here.