Hello Everyone!! Another chapter is up! It took a while to get it out of me and into the computer. It's kind of awkward…but bear with me, I'm trying. Some things are just harder to write than others. Sam has some anger issues and I'm trying to figure out how he deals. So please read and review…I'd love to know how much you all love or hate this thing!!
Sam held his breath while he made sandwiches. He was sure that Dean would make his way to the kitchen at any moment and end this whole thing. I'm fine, just let it go and don't want to talk about it anymore then of course no chick flick moments. But Dean stayed where he was on the couch and didn't move. So Sam continued the mindless task of meat between bread - meat between bread. Like the pacing, it was comfort born of moving and being busy.
Dean wanted to kick his brain back into its regular operations. He wanted to sort all the new things he didn't know he knew. He wanted to label them and file them away some where in the back of his brain where he'd lose them and not bother to try and find them. But that wasn't what was in the cards. He would have to face his fears and regrets, to brand them the way they had branded him and finally be done with them. The first step was to get a hold of himself.
Sam put two plates and two cans of off brand soda on the table. "You need any help", he gestured to his brother.
"No, I'm coming". Dean got up and walked slowly to the table, as though he were broken. His nose and cheeks were stained red and his eyes were blown open. He sat in the chair opposite Sammy and just looked at the food in front of him. Sam opened both cans and pushed a soda to his brother. Dean just stared for a moment before reaching forward and accepting the offering. His limbs seemed heavy, his chest was sore, and his tongue felt thick.
Pulling the can to his lips he drank down the sugary liquid before moving to the sandwich. He chewed deliberately and tried to concentrate on the taste of the food and the way it made his stomach feel full. But the memories and the pain and fear they created were swimming in his head and he found himself crying silently as he stared down at his plate and ate his food. The tears and saliva mixed in his mouth and he couldn't remember why he was trying to eat. Because Sammy needs me to. The thought of his brother and what Sam needed from him made his breath catch in his chest and he swallowed hard. He took another long pull on his drink and tried to stop what was coming.
But it was out of his control. He wasn't driving and he couldn't control where this thing was going. All he could see now was Sam and the reaper and being told he could do anything to save his brother. The car smashed beyond repair. His father and the colt and the yellow eyed demon. Not finishing the fight. No one to take care of Sammy. His heart was thumping, chest heaving, eyes blinking wildly as tears fought for release.
Sam saw his brother's distress and dropped his sandwich. "Dean, you gotta calm down, okay? Let whatever it is go for now and just try to breathe". But it wasn't working. Dean's hands had found their way back up to his chest and he was going into overload.
To Sam, Dean seemed to be bordering on hysteria. Still, what Sam saw wasn't as bad as what Dean felt. He was gasping for air but he just couldn't get enough. "I gotta get some air" he spoke as he stood on shaky legs and headed toward the door.
"No Dean! You need to sit down. You're hyperventilating and you're going to pass out". Sam was out of his chair and following Dean toward the exit.
"No, I've got to getoutside needair", his words ran together and his knees knocked.
Then, just as Sam had prophesized moments earlier, Dean passed out. But true to his larger than life persona, he did it with style. Sam couldn't come around the couch fast enough to catch his brother and break his fall, so the coffee table did it for him. Dean's knees buckled and his eyes rolled back. He plunged toward the ground and smacked his head on the table on his way down.
"Christ", Sam said as he walked around the table. He was annoyed at this point instead of concerned. He kept telling Dean to calm down and breathe. He told him to sit down or he'd be sorry. Why the hell can't he listen?
He rolled his brother over and hooked his hands underneath Dean's arms, pulling him onto the couch. He crouched down and examined the point of impact on Dean's forehead. It was just above his right eye and a lump had already started to form…it was going to be pretty.
"Dean", Sam yelled. "Come on Dean. Come back". Sam slapped his brother's face a few times in an attempt to rouse him. And maybe because Dean was making this harder than it had to be.
Dean's neck rolled and his head bobbed forward. "Ahh", he put a hand to his head and felt the bump. "What the hell happened?"
Sam stood up and walked out of the room. When he came back with a cold can of soda he handed it to Dean and gestured for him to rest it on his head. Dean followed the instructions.
"You were eating and you got all worked up. I told you to calm down and you didn't. I told you to breathe and you didn't. You got up to go out for air and I told you to sit down you were gonna pass out, and you ignored me. Then you lost it and took a header into the coffee table".
Sam just stared at Dean. Not concerned, he knew the bump would go away and that Dean was fine. No, Sam was angry about Dean's actions.
"Heh, heh", Dean forced a weak a chuckle past his lips, "Go big or go home, right?" His eyes pled with Sam for a little consideration, but he didn't get it.
"Sit up Dean. You can't lie down or take a nap now. You gotta stay up", Sam directed coldly.
Dean sat up and focused on the anger and annoyance that he saw painted across Sam's features. One more chick flick moment. "I'm sorry Sam. I know I've got you at your wits end with all this crap. I just don't' know what to do". Dean's eyes were pleading again.
Sam stood up and started to pace from the couch to the far wall and back again. He ran his fingers through his hair and then across his chin before he tried to speak. Breathe Sam, stay calm and try not to yell he told himself. But it was too late. As soon as his lips parted Sam went agro on Dean.
"You don't know what to do? How about listening to me, huh? Just because you're older doesn't mean you have all the answers. And another thing", a finger pointed accusingly at Dean, "This crap with you playing all tough and never letting anyone help you…It. Has. Got. To. Stop. Every time something happens to you, you hide it till it's almost too late. I lose sleep over weather you are okay or not. I find gashes on your arms and bumps on your head and you never say a damn thing about them till the cuts are infected and a concussion has you slurring your words together". Sam was yelling and pacing and pointing and he could feel the rage building inside, looking for an outlet. So without warning he walked to the far wall and with a grunt, put his fist through the drywall.
"Jesus, Sam", Dean tried to sound like he was the man in charge when clearly he wasn't. "Your going to get us thrown out and I'm going to have to pay for that now".
Sam blew sharps breaths. "Fuck you, Dean", he barked as he walked into the kitchen and pulled a beer from the mini fridge. He popped the top off on the edge of the counter and sauntered back towards the tv.
"Hey, grab me one of those", Dean ignored Sam's rebuff.
"No. No alcohol of any kind until those drugs are out of your system" Sam ordered.
Dean just huffed and crossed his arms against his chest. Sam started flipping through TV channels and taking long chugs of beer. Twenty minutes later when the bottle was empty and he was certain Dean was fine, he got up and tossed the bottle in the trashcan. "I'm going to bed".
"What?" Dean demanded. "It's only nine o'clock".
"Yeah, and I'm tired. Just watch your tv and don't nod off. I'll get up in a few hours and check on you, jerk".
Dean would have fired back a 'bitch' but he knew that when Sammy had said jerk he meant it. So he let it go. And he let Sammy go for the night.
Sam didn't wake up and Dean didn't sleep. He wasn't sure what sleep would bring but he feared it would be more flashbacks. So, game plan: coffee, soda, computer, television, hell jerk off if that kept him from falling asleep.
Four episodes of 'Barney Miller', two cans of soda, forty-five minutes of surfing the net, one pot of awful coffee, and another two hours of 'The Rockford Files', and Dean couldn't take it anymore. He was exhausted. The bump on his head wasn't a concussion, but he refused to sleep all the same. So at five a.m. he strapped his boots back on, grabbed his jacket and keys and hit the door.
It was mid February and the sun was just starting to come over the horizon. It had to be thirty degrees outside and the small town was covered in frost. He started moving, walking toward the hum of the town in front of him. He thought about useless things as he walked. I need to get new laces for my shoes…about 64 inches I bet. I wonder if Ash is short for Ashton or Asher. How old was Sammy when he had his appendix removed? We need real shampoo…that fruity crap at the motel is doing nothing for my mojo. Anything to keep his mind from going back to where it had been for the last couple of days.
He stepped into the mini mart on the corner and looked at the man behind the register. He offered a good morning and received a grunt in return. The man was clearly not a morning person. Dean followed his nose to the coffee pot and poured to large cup, securing the contents with plastic tops. He grabbed some pre-packaged pastries with pretty french names, "Glorified Little Debbie cakes", he scoffed.
At the counter the old man punched keys on an ancient register then looked up at Dean. "That it boy?"
"Box of Marlboro reds"
The antique cashier fumbled along a wall of boxes and returned with the requested product, then started to place the food and smokes in a brown paper bag. "Now you done?"
"Yeah, that'll do it", Dean smiled at the disgruntled man.
"It's $9.21", he barked and put a hand out.
Dean searched his wallet and produced two five dollar bills. He placed them on the counter top and told the man to keep the change. He stacked the cups one on top of the other and grabbed the brown bag.
Dean sat on the curb in front of the impala, just outside of his motel room. He pulled the box of cigarettes out of the bag and started to tap the box. Satisfied, he ripped off the plastic and opened the box. He drew one of the fags from the container and slipped it between his lips. The zippo came from his pocket, and with the flick of the stone, it came to life. Dean cupped the flame and pulled it toward him, lighting the cigarette. He closed to lighter and sat in the cold with the sun beating on his back, slowly sipping his coffee and enjoying a smoke.
Dean wasn't really a smoker. He did it every now and again when he needed an outlet of some kind. When things got rough and stress got high, he'd buy a pack, smoke them all, then not look at another cigarette for a year.
He didn't hear the door to the motel room open, but he saw the big bare feet appear in front of him. Dean looked up and squinted. Sam was standing in the parking lot in sweats, an under shirt, and no shoes. His hands were on his hips and he was scowling at Dean. Scowling, but not speaking.
"What?" Dean whined looking down from the blinding sun.
"What do you mean what, Dean? I woke up and you weren't here. The car was here, your stuff was here, but you weren't. No note, nothing". Sam berated his brother.
"Chill alright. I went out for coffee", Dean waged.
"Did you sleep last night?" Sam asked, noticing the haunch of Dean's spine and droop in his shoulders.
"No. Here, I got you a cup of coffee and some breakfast stuff", he handed Sam the cup and brown bag.
"Thanks", he pointed to the cigarette in Dean's hand, "Now put that out and come back inside. It's freezing out here".
"I'll be inside in a minute".
"Fine", Sam's tone spoke volumes to his demeanor. He was tired and cold and sick of all of this. So he took his gifts and went back into the warmth of their room.
Dean just sat on the pavement finishing his cigarette and looking out at the empty road. He knew things would be brought up again today and Sam was going to press and make him go through more of this crap. He took one long drag and stamped the cigarette out on the ground. He stood and went back to the room. When he opened the door he found Sam eating and sipping his coffee.
Sam heard the door close and looked up at Dean. He could see that the knot on his forehead was starting to dissipate, but it was leaving him with a nasty red and purple ring under both eyes as it drained.
"Come here, sit down. Let me take a look at that knot on your head". Sam stood up and wiped his hands on his pants before waving Dean over to the table. Dean sat down in the chair and stared at the table. Sam grabbed Dean's chin and angled his head up. He carefully pressed two fingers against the knot, making Dean flinch.
"Easy, Sam!" Dean yelped.
"Relax, I've seen worse. Just suck it up".
Dean turned his head, forcing Sam to lose his grip on his chin, then looked at Sam incredulously. "What crawled up your ass this morning?"
"You did. I am so sick of all your crap", Sam knew how it sounded, but he said it anyway and once it was out there, he couldn't take it back.
Today would be the day the younger hunter stood his ground. Sam knew…today it would all fall apart and they would finally come blows over it.
So there it is. I know it's kind of dragging, but I've been trying to set things up. I hope we all enjoyed Dean's little 'accident'. My sister (my own personal Sammy – I raised her and everything) did that…believe me, its hysterical about five minutes after it happens. She's reading from another state, so it's my little shout out to her…hi Cookie!!
Now, I'm working on chp 7, but it might be a few days. Please keep reading!! Sam and Dean are going to hash things out and so far its much better than this chapter was!! Thank you for the reviews!!