ELEVEN
Sam turned and ran toward Dean. He saw the huge beast clearly for the first time.
It stood so tall, so very tall, over his brother. He realised he was not going to get close enough in time. He skidded to a stop and raised the shotgun. The beast lurched for Dean, reaching out huge clawed paws to grab at him. Dean's hands didn't move but he ducked back and under. The creature protested loudly, swinging for him carelessly.
Sam let the shotgun drop a little, knowing he couldn't get a shot off with Dean in the way. He moved round to the side, raising it again, watching in disbelief. Every swipe, every grab, every reach; they all missed. Dean made no attempt to defend himself except to duck and weave backwards, forwards, under, around.
The creature flung itself at him in frustration. Dean threw himself to the side but the beast caught his shoulder with a talon. It smacked him forward and he stumbled, falling to his knees. The beast turned quickly and let itself drop toward him.
"Dean!" Sam warned, lifting the shotgun.
"Wait!" Dean shouted back, on the ground and rolling. The beast was already moving, throwing its arms wide and tumbling after the apparently flailing human.
Sam let off a shot. The salt burned through the air and into the pseudo-fur. It began to swirl blackly in weakness.
"No! Sam!" Dean accused. The creature opened his arms and turned to face Sam. Dean shot up to his feet. His right fist glinted as he slammed it into the beast's chest.
It reeled, screaming and snarling. It put out a hand and the back of it powered straight into Dean's head. He was lifted off his feet and flew twice his own body length before slamming into the road with an awful crack.
Sam dropped the shotgun. He ran full-tilt into the beast, wrenching the tiny gleaming snapped-off tip of blade from its chest and hammering it home.
The creature squealed and roared, clawing desperately to grab at Sam's arms. He pushed its weakened efforts aside. He pushed the blade in and shoved up with all his remaining strength.
He stood back, watching the creature flail and screech piteously. Tiny flecks of black fur rippled from the body, flapping away like butterfly wings. The fur flew away faster and faster, whirling around and making Sam raise his arms across his face. He stepped back further as the wind changed, pulling the remnants of fur, blood and body back in on itself. There was a terrific sucking sound of air and matter.
It stopped abruptly and Sam let his arms drop. He felt his left arm throb but ignored it, simply staring at the burnt patch in the surface of the tarmac. He swallowed, then shook himself and looked around wildly.
"Dean!" he called, racing across the road and finding his brother face-down, unconscious. "Dean!" he called again, putting his hand to his brother's bleeding neck and feeling for a pulse. He felt relief wash off him like rain as he realised his pulse was strong. He let himself sit back for a second before leaning over him and pressing his hands to his brother's neck, then shoulders, arms and legs.
"You'd better be a chick," Dean wheezed suddenly, starting to cough. Sam grinned, he couldn't help it.
"I'm checking you haven't broken any bones, dumbass," he said, feeling down his brother's back.
"Get your hands offa me," Dean grunted, but Sam caught the almost amused tone in his voice. "I'm ok, Sammy. We gotta go."
He put his hands under him and pushed, managing to roll over and sit up. He wobbled but refused to let himself fall over again. His dive to the road had cut his temple open, as well as gashing his chin and cheek enough to let them both leak. He looked at Sam wearily.
"I take it you got it?"
"Yeah, I got it," Sam shrugged easily, and Dean look relieved for a second.
"Show-off," he grinned, getting to his feet slowly. His sense of balance left him and Sam grabbed at his elbow to steady him.
They heard a car door slam and looked over to find Rosalea walking toward them slowly, arms folded as if to keep her warm.
"Right, ignoring what I saw happen just now, we really, really have to leave," she said firmly. "You two boys need to get out of here."
"Abso-friggin'-lutely," Dean breathed, stretching his shoulders out and hissing in pain.
Rosalea pulled the Impala to a stop, switching off the ignition and sliding her hands round the steering wheel slowly.
"Well," she breathed quietly, "looks like this is where we part company. Do me a favour, look after these two for me." She smiled at her own actions, shaking her head and looking over at the passenger seat.
Dean was fast asleep, stretched out with his arms loosely folded. His neck had moulded over the top of the seat and his mouth was wide open. She snorted in amusement and looked over her shoulder at Sam, curled up on the back seat sleeping like a tiger after a three day hunt.
She looked at the two of them for a long moment, then sighed and leaned over, nudging Dean's arm.
"Hey, come on," she said warmly. "We're here. Rise and shine."
He opened his eyes slowly, looking round and finding the small motel car park bright with noonday sun.
"I can do the rising thing, but we'll have to talk about the shining a little later," he managed, clearing his throat and sitting up slowly.
"Sam," Rosalea called, leaning back and slapping at the taller man's knee. "Hey, lazy-ass," she grinned.
He opened an eye quickly, sitting up as if poked.
"We're at a motel?" he said brightly.
"Yep."
"Super," he said, then yawned. He raised his wrist to look at his watch. "It's nearly one in the afternoon!"
"Yep," she said, getting out of the car and closing the door. Dean pushed his door open slowly, holding it wide with his foot as he pushed himself out of the car laboriously. Sam pushed the seat forward and scrambled out smartly, noticing his brother's sleepy eyes miss the main entrance. He put a hand out and pushed him round slightly.
Dean ignored him and walked off, leaving Sam to close the door and go to the boot. He opened it up and took out the two duffle bags, following him inside.
Rosalea was turning away from the desk, waving a key. "Come on then boys," she said cheerfully, "hot showers and good beds await."
"Somehow I doubt that," Dean grumbled, but he followed her down the hall, checking once that Sam was behind him.
She unlocked and opened the door, waving the two boys in first. They walked straight to the beds and sat heavily, wiping faces or scrubbing at hair while she closed the door and looked at them. She put her hands on her hips slowly.
"Right then, who's first?" she asked.
Dean looked up at her. "Pardon me?"
"Cuts and stitches," she said clearly, with an indulgent smile. "Sam's arm needs looking at, and all that's holding you together is a t-shirt that's mostly in ribbons."
Dean chucked a thumb at Sam. "Him first."
"Yeah, first we'll check the guy who's not bleeding to death from a thousand cuts," she said sarcastically, "that makes sense."
"Rosie," he said wearily, and she lifted her hands.
"Fine," she managed, then looked at Sam. But he lifted his hands in surrender too, waving at her.
"Really, I'm fine," he said, lifting his bandaged arm for her to see. "Still good, see?"
"Great." She turned to Dean, her hands again going to her hips. "Right then. Get your jacket off. And your sorry excuse for a mauled t-shirt."
Dean opened his mouth to protest but Sam got up quickly.
"Rosie, Rosie," he said urgently, putting his hands on her arms. "Look, you've been driving all night, and all morning. We've been asleep – but you must be tired, right?"
She sighed, wiping her face slowly. "A little. But being tired is nothing compared to being cut up–"
"I know, I know, believe me," he said soothingly. "Could you do us a favour? Could you get us something to drink?"
She looked at him for a long moment, then looked round him to Dean. He had peeled off his jacket but was pushing himself back on the bed, looking like he was about to go back to sleep. She looked back at Sam.
"If you'll promise me you'll see to him," she said quietly. He simply looked at her, but his eyes spoke volumes. She nodded and he released her arms. "Coffee?" she asked.
"I'll have a coffee – I'll probably need to drive. Get him a hot chocolate," he said warmly.
"With whipped cream on it," Dean mumbled from the bed, his eyes already closed. Sam looked at him then back at Rosalea.
"Ok," she nodded, turning and leaving the room slowly. The door closed and Sam went over to Dean, slapping at his boots on the bedcovers.
"No feet on the laundry, dude," he said with a smile, grabbing his brother's duffle and opening it.
"Bite me," Dean muttered, his eyes still closed. "I ache in places I didn't know I had."
"Yeah, I can see that," Sam said, sitting on the bed. "Come on, you know the drill. A few minutes of antiseptic and stitches, then you can piss and moan all you want."
"After I've slept."
"After I've kicked your ass if you don't wake up now," Sam pressed. Dean opened an eye and looked at his younger brother. They stared at each other for a long moment. Eventually Dean huffed as if it were all cosmically unjust, then opened his other eye too and lifted himself to sit.
It was a whole four hours later that the three of them, all freshly triaged, showered and fed, emerged from the room. They crossed to the car slowly, Rosalea dragging her feet. She put her hands in her back pockets, watching the men chuck their duffles in the back of the sleek vehicle.
"I think he wants to drive," Sam said to her kindly, but when she looked back at him she couldn't bring herself to smile.
"Yeah," she said gingerly. Dean turned and looked at her. "Look, I ah… I was standing in line, at Starbuck's, and I was thinking… Well, I… I called my sister. She didn't even hang up on me," she said bravely, looking at Sam. "I think I'm gonna… Well we haven't seen in each other in three years – nearly four. So I'm just gonna… I'm going to go see her," she said firmly.
Sam nodded. "Sounds like you should."
"Yeah," she managed. She looked at Dean, walking over and leaning on the side of the car in front of him. "Thanks for… killing random armadillos, and… and thanks for not being assholes," she added.
Dean's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Wow. That's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me. I think," he quipped.
"Then you definitely need to drop by, you two. Give us a year to straighten things out and stop fighting like girls, then come see us," she said warmly.
Dean flicked his gaze to his feet awkwardly.
"You don't have to if you don't want to," she said quietly. Dean looked up quickly.
"It's not that, Rosie, it's just that – well I'm not going to be–"
"He's not going to be able to say no," Sam interrupted cheerfully. Dean closed his mouth, and she looked back at the two of them.
"Well… good," she said brightly. "Take it easy, you two. And look after this car," she grinned.
"Will do," Dean agreed quietly. She nodded, then leaned into him and kissed him meaningfully. A full minute later she pulled him away, then leaned on him, putting her arms round him and hugging him tightly.
"Thanks for making me laugh," she whispered against his ear.
"Thanks for not crashing my car," he grinned, and she pulled him away. She nodded to him before walking over and giving Sam a big hug too.
"Bye Sam. Thanks," she said quietly.
"Thank you, Rosie," he said warmly.
"Ok, you can go now," she said to them both happily. "I'm not good with goodbyes." She turned swiftly. She walked away, into the motel room, closing the door behind her soundly.
Sam looked at Dean for a long moment, but he appeared to be lost in some reflection in the car's paintwork.
"You driving or what? Ready?" he asked quietly. Dean looked up smartly, as if only just remembering he were there.
"Always," he quipped, opening the door again and getting in. Sam rolled in the passenger seat and watched him slide the keys in the ignition. But he hesitated, and Sam waited. And waited. "Go on, say it," Dean said heavily.
"What?" he asked, lost.
"She's quite a girl."
Sam just watched him stare at the steering wheel, his green eyes clouded with something he didn't want to share with his younger brother.
"Yes she is," Sam said firmly. He cleared his throat quietly when Dean still didn't move. "But… wow, dude," he said suddenly, grinning, "that had to be a first."
"First for what?" Dean asked.
"What a weird case this time. I mean – an armadillo. How random is that?" he chuckled.
"Yeah. Still, done and dusted now, man," Dean said, reaching for the ignition keys again.
"Yeah, all done. And look," he said, holding up an only slightly worn cassette tape in a box with just a single crack in the front pane. "Only, I couldn't find Metallica's 'Black' album. Sorry."
Dean looked at the cassette box then grinned ear to ear suddenly, despite the split attempting to heal in his lower lip. He took it from his brother's fingers smartly.
" 'The Original Bad Company Anthology'? With 'Silver Blue and Gold'? Awesome!"
"And Rosie gave me this for you," he added, handing him another tape.
"Nickelback?" he asked in confusion, as if the word were new to him, then stared at it. "Is that a 1960 Thunderbird on the cover?" he mused, distracted.
"Yeah. She said there was a track called 'Animals' you have to hear," Sam said with a smile.
"Sweet," Dean grinned. He looked up at Sam for a long moment. "Thanks, man."
"Sorry for throwing Metallica out the window."
"Forget it," he said, leaning forward and starting the engine. He let it purr, grinning, as he opened the Bad Company tape and pushed it into the tape player. The familiar strains of Ralphs' guitar flooded the Impala and Dean's grin only widened, his eyes shining.
He looked at Sam, and for the barest of moments he was the happy twelve year old brother Sam missed so much. Then he looked away, putting the Impala into Drive and pulling out of the car park.
"Now all we need is a bar. And some Purple Nurples."
Sam huffed. "Really dude, just drive – anywhere the police aren't."
"We've been through a lot of shit this past few days – I've got stitches in my shoulder," he pointed out. "I think we should just get a few drinks in."
"Dude–"
"Stitches," Dean protested, one hand up in disbelief. "And anyway, how can you get me a Bad Company tape and expect me not to think about drinking?"
"What do you mean?" Sam asked, already smiling. Dean appeared to have recovered most, if not all, of his wicked side since the tape had started playing. And the best bit is, it's not Metallica!
"Most of their songs are about drinking," Dean grinned.
"Like?"
"'Can't Get Enough Of Your Nurples'?" he prompted, pointing at the tape player to indicate the song currently filling the car with sound, and Sam let himself grin.
"Dude, that's not the title of the song."
"Well it should be," Dean chuckled.
"It's weak. How about 'Feel Like Making Nurples'," he challenged.
"No wait, how about 'She Brings Me Nurples'," Dean said seriously, then cast a sideways glance at Sam. They both chuckled.
"'Crazy Nurples', definitely," Sam managed. "And what about Kansas?"
"'Carry On My Wayward Nurple'!" they said together.
"Or AC/DC?" Dean prompted.
"'Highway to Nurples'?" Sam guessed.
"Or no, wait!" Dean laughed suddenly. "Filter!"
"Aw no, man!" Sam protested.
"Yeah yeah yeah – 'Hey Man, Nice Nurple'!" Dean laughed. Sam burst into a full-blown belly laugh, setting Dean off too, and the Impala resounded with the cheerful guffaws of genuine happiness.
"Does it work for Britney Spears?" Sam said eventually, having recovered.
Dean's eyes flickered round the dashboard as he thought about it. "'Hit Me Nurple One More Time'?" he hazarded.
There was a silence, then the brothers looked at each other.
"Nah!" they chorused, shaking heads in disgust.
"Ok, old skool – 'Like A Nurple Out Of Hell'?" Sam offered.
"You can bet your ass that will be gone before the morning comes," Dean laughed.
The Impala drove on, politely ignoring the driver's attempts to pretend he was in charge. She followed the slight bends and twists, rumbling over the shallow ripples in the surface, chewing up the miles easily.
She purred along, amused and warmed by the sound of the two occupants laughing and joking just as they had used to, a long time ago. There had been a third occupant back then, one who had tried to shush their bawdy teenage humour with his growly demeanour, to impress on them not to annoy the driver lest the tape player be turned up till it drowned them out.
The third occupant might be gone, the next oldest in danger of joining him, but for now, she had her family where she wanted them.
She rumbled on, not wanting the day to end, neither knowing nor caring what dusk would bring.
THE END
Chapter notes:
Yes, I am seriously thinking about getting a t-shirt made up of those Bad Company song titles, and wearing it to the LA convention March 29th + 30th. Would be rude not to, right?
