Where Are You
Chapter 7
Happy Birthday Sam!!!
The diner that Dean finds himself in is familiar. It looks like all the other diners he's eaten in in the past and he sits down in a quiet booth, wishing fervently for his 'other life'; boring but happy.
He doesn't touch his food; just prods at it half heartedly. The diner is full and, all around him, there is the throb of happy chatter and laughter. Dean pulls at the label of his beer bottle and tugs at the paper, smushing it up into nothing more than mush. His head hurts and there are memories creeping back into his mind, coloured images where blackness once reigned.
Why, he was forced to wonder, were all his memories bad or painful ones? Didn't he have ANY good memories, wasn't there any laughter in his life? He thought about Sam, about his brother holding a gun to his head, his brother pushing his fingers into a bullet wound, his brother lifting him up and throwing him under a car, laughing as he did so. Maybe Sam was insane, maybe all three of those people in that fucking scruffy junkyard were freakin' mad. Dean shuddered. His apartment was still there, rent paid up till the end of the month; his job was still open, his boss still claiming he was 'the best god-damned mechanic he had ever worked with'. It wouldn't take much effort to get out of here, hitch a lift back to the city and start his old life over again, live it out, peaceful, normal.
There were two young men in the booth on his right; they were eating and sipping beer out of the bottle, bickering fondly with each other. The younger of the two flicked the finger at the elder and they burst out laughing, one holding his stomach, the other hiding his mirth behind his hand. Dean stared at them for a moment and then his stomach gave that old familiar clench and he blinked, once or twice, as his memories assaulted him.
He was in a bar, with Sam and they were eating; Dean could feel the beer bottle in his hand, feel the cold glass against his palm. He stared across at Sam, who was laughing, dimples deep, white teeth glinting. Dean was aware of the bottle being glued against his skin and he shook at it, glaring at Sam – who only laughed more "You didn't"
"I did!"
He clenched his teeth as more images flooded in; Sam in the Impala, a plastic spoon in his mouth, Sam wrestling with him on the bed trying to grab at something, Sam bitching about his music, Sam turning to look at him, trust and love shining from big, hazel eyes.
Dean shuddered; whatever he did it seemed that all his memories, good or bad, were tied up in Sam. He couldn't go back to his old life because in reality, that life, that Dean, had never really existed. He had never, ever been John Smith, he had always been Dean Winchester and his future, his life, his destiny was tied up with that of Sam. He swallowed hard, rubbing his hand across the beer bottle in front of him, panic welling up in his chest – oh God – Sam – he had left Sam after promising he wouldn't. He had promised Sam to protect him, to watch his back. Dean heard his own voice, clear and concise, determined "Nothing bad is gonna happen to you whilst I'm around"
He hitched a lift back to the junkyard, his heart pounding. It was late when he got back and the whole place was in darkness. There was no sign of anyone and Dean felt his stomach drop as he entered the house, his eyes searching desperately around the empty kitchen.
"You came back" it was Bobby's voice, matter of fact, resigned and Dean let out a breath he hadn't been aware of holding.
"Yeah – I – I'm sorry" he didn't know why he was apologising but he felt the need to do so. He watched as Bobby entered the kitchen and sat at the table, baseball cap pushed back from his forehead "Where's Sam?"
"He broke into my liquor cabinet" Bobby scratched at his beard "I couldn't stop him – he was pretty cut up – he – he was convinced you were gone for good and that it was his fault"
"Oh God" Dean's knees felt weak and his head was thudding painfully "Missouri?"
"Sent her to bed – she feels bad – too much too soon she said" Bobby shrugged but his eyes were kind "I understand boy" he stated "But for now you gotta go out there and get your brother – he is hell bent on killing somebody – and that somebody appears to be himself"
Dean took the flashlight that Bobby offered and made his way into the junkyard. He felt sick to his stomach, his mind whirling back to the first day he had seen Sam. He kept dwelling on the doctor's words to him, about Sam needing to get the poison out of his system, about Sam needing help. Well – Dean had helped him alright – he had helped him right back into trouble again.
There was a big black truck in the corner of the yard and Dean knew it instantly. This time there were no sudden flashes, no painful images, just cold, hard clarity. This was his father's truck. He could see his father driving it, smell the scent of motor oil and linseed that always seemed to permeate the inside, hear his father singing old Elvis songs, see in the distant corner of his returning memory, his pregnant mother sitting beside him, laughing, always laughing.
Sam was sprawled out against one of the wheels. There were several bottles scattered, empty, around his feet and his legs were wide apart, his head low on his chest, his arms slung out beside him. Dean stared down at him and swallowed hard. Something pushed insistently at his memory and he heard Sam's voice, slurred, harsh "You're bossy – and short"
He glanced down at his brother, but Sam was still and his eyes were closed. He knelt down and put his hand on Sam's shoulder "Sammy?"
"Dean" Sam seemed to struggle with his tongue, the word Dean so slurred it was barely a word at all "Y'came back" his eyelids rose to half mast and blurred eyes stared at him "F'how long this time?" he moved his head, slowly "Where's all the booze" his hand lifted to his face "Drunk all of it – shit – I could go for some weed now"
"Come on Sammy" Dean put his hands under his brother's shoulders and heaved. Sam wobbled to his feet, falling forward on to Dean's chest and Dean felt the warm wetness of drool soaking his shirt "We are gonna get you into bed bro – ok?" Dean felt a lump forming in his throat and it made his voice almost as slurred as Sam's "Sleep tonight and it'll all look better in the morning – ok?"
"You – you really are bossy aren't you" Sam's voice was muffled in Dean's shirt and his feet barely moved as Dean urged him forward "You – gonna stay with me – right"
"Yeah Sam – I'm gonna stay"
He managed to get his brother into bed; trash can by the side ready for the vomiting which would surely come. Sam lay on his back, cheeks flushed red with alcohol, eyes wavering "Dun't go – stay"
"I'm here Sam"
"Sammy" a huge paw came out and unsteadily grasped his hand "M'your Sammy – remember me now?"
"Yeah – Sam – I remember you" Dean held on to the hand and felt it pull him, so that he was lying half against his brother, alcohol fumes blasting into his face "Come on dude – sleep now"
"Stay here" Sam sounded angry – determined and his arm went around Dean, affectively trapping him on the bed "Stay" his eyes closed and soft snores began almost instantly.
Dean lay still, pulling his legs up on to the bed and wrapping his arms about his brother's waist. It was uncomfortable and Sam smelt like shit, but it was the closest thing to home that Dean had felt since waking up in the hospital and he embraced it as he embraced his brother – his Sammy.
TBC
