Chapter 6
He didn't know how it happened.
He felt fine.
Packed the battered blue Torino Bobby had offered him. Refused the food and beer Bobby had offered him.
The nausea had almost gone and he was ready to go.
But the car door handle had moved. It had.
He'd reached out for it – and the next thing he knew he was staring up at the damn thing, had his head on Bobby's chest with the old man tapping his face and calling his name.
"It's stupid and dangerous and Sam ain't gonna thank you for it!" Bobby bitched later, as Dean grasped onto the kitchen sink, a wet cloth draped over his neck.
"It's not thanks I'm looking for."
"We don't even know that it's Broken Arrow, for God's sake…coulda been part of a company name – "
"He'll call again, " he said, cutting Bobby off his rant. "Sam's alive. That monster wants me to come get him. He'll call again."
Bobby searched Dean's face for signs of second thoughts.
"So, you're gonna wait till he does, right? If he's gonna spill his guts anyway, what's the use in careering off in the wrong direction?"
Dean closed his eyes. Wished Bobby would just shut the fuck up. He was like this once before. At Cold Oak. Relentless. A persistent blah he could do without.
Seemed like a lifetime ago. The pain always returns though. In moments like this.
A wave of chaos caught him and his left knee buckled, but he caught himself immediately despite Bobby's flinch and eventual sigh of exasperation.
Then the phone rang…
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Christ, it was relentless.
He just never stopped…
Never stopped moving. Never stopped talking.
"Now, let's say, your Dad brought someone home from work, and he'd stayed for dinner. And your Mom had to split the meal she'd already made into five and then they'd shared a few beers together in the kitchen while you watched TV in the lounge. Did you ever have that happen to you, Sam? " Jeremy asked. Eyes shining bright. Manic.
Sam licked his lips and answered the same way he'd answered for the last thirty questions.
"No."
"…and then, your big brother looks out the window and announces that it's been snowing for the past two hours and everyone rushes to look outside. And it's all clean and bright and silent… Did that ever happen when you were a kid?"
"No."
His eyes slid over to where the voice was coming from. But he couldn't see that well. A dim, blurred film distorted his sight and made him blink.
"And then your Mum says something like, 'Oh Evan, come on, ain't no way we can let the man drive home in this.' And she laughs a little as she says, 'He'll get stranded and you'll only have to spend the rest of the night digging him out.' He looks at Sam, expectantly. Waiting for an answer.
No response.
Jeremy's expression changes. A definite slide from cheerful to car crash serious.
"…and your Dad's friend…he makes a show of not wanting to put anyone out. Hell, he's driven in weather like this all his life…"
Sam was missing whole tracts of this. His lungs felt like they were imploding.
It was drugs. The bag of milky fluid hanging from a makeshift drip stand had a drip line that snaked its way down to some convenient vein Sam couldn't see. A muscle relaxant, Sam guessed. Probably what was slowly paralyzing his lungs.
"…and before you know it, you've got your big brother bitchin' atcha' because you're taking up all the duvet because your Dad's friend is sleeping in your bed in your room." He slapped a sweaty hand onto Sam's shoulder. "Now, that must of happened at least once in your life, surely…"
Breathing in was the worst. It was like sucking treacle with a straw.
Jeremy never noticed.
What the fuck was he on about? Sam swung his gaze around towards him again. The built young man who'd politely introduced himself as Jeremy but had viciously lashed Sam to the table. No blood on his clothes. Clean nails. Clean shoes. No sign of the torture Sam could still hear in his mind. Was Dean still there? Still alive?
Jeremy startled out of his memory and turned back towards him.
"Hey…what's with the frowny face, bro'?" The sudden concern in his voice made Sam narrow his eyes.
Sarcastic bastard.
He took time to draw in what he'd hoped would be a sufficient breath.
"I'm…I'm not –"
"Shut up! Shut the fuck up with the 'I'm not your brother'' shit..!" he screamed. The explosion was awe inspiring. Spit and emotion rained down on Sam as Jeremy practically combusted above him.
He grabbed Sam's face with both hands and eyeballed him with raw ferocity. Biceps bulged, veins protruding on each side of his neck.
"No one…no one needs to tell me who my brother is," he hissed. "I know who my brother is. Dean knows who my brother is. And I swear to God, by the end of today, YOU will know who my brother is too."
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The horizon beckoned with a sodium glow as Dean approached the Torino for the second time that day.
Bobby stood on the porch, frowning and repositioning his skip cap in agitation. A sudden movement from the left caught his attention and he raised his hand to catch Dean's attention.
Dean stopped too. Followed his gaze over to the maze of stacked cars and rusted wheels littering the yard.
Nothing moved.
Irritated, he bit his lip.
"I'll keep in touch…" He said.
But Bobby wasn't listening.
Bobby dipped an arm inside the door to grab a shotgun.
Dean opened the car door, balled up his jacket and threw it inside as he watched Bobby move slowly out into the yard.
He checked the time. Six hours to Broken Arrow. If he left now. He considered jumping into the car and just driving off…
With a sigh…he reached under the driver's seat and grabbed his own gun and rounded the hood to follow Bobby.
Columns of dead and battered vehicle husks stacked upon each other. Some straight, some yawning over to left or right. Some cars even teetered on the edge…just waiting for a rude gust of wind to push them over.
Dean scanned the rows, littered with engine parts and oil stains.
Then, something caught his eye.
Something smooth and clean. Instantly recognizable.
Something that made his heart pump faster, and the hair on his neck rise, because he couldn't believe what he was seeing.
Parked proud and silent.
Sleek and shining in the early evening sun.
The Impala.
The sight stopped Dean dead in his tracks.
Further ahead, Bobby had already leveled his gun at him.
"Jeremy don't want you to leave, boy," he said. Low and firm.
TBC
*Not any H/C in this chappy folks. Blood and guts to follow…