Bobby picked up their trail in Bartlesville, Oklahoma.
It hadn't been hard. Sam's picture had been all over the news. The man he'd beaten hadn't died, but not because Sam hadn't tried. Poor bastard would be lucky to walk again.
After talking with the cops and a few witnesses, Bobby had managed to catch the Impala on a traffic cam covering the highway south, towards Texas. A couple of days later, another breadcrumb, when the boys were spotted by a Texas Ranger as they drove through Bonham, one of the state's small border towns.
Odds on the Ranger surviving his injuries were about 50/50.
The next stop on the Honey Bunny and Pumpkin hit parade was a gas station outside the small town of Pampa, not too far from Amarillo. Dean was showing some restraint. He hadn't killed the clerk.
Bobby figured they were maybe twenty hours ahead of him now; heading for Mexico, if he had to guess. Didn't matter, though. Whether they stayed in Texas, or crossed over to Mexico, he'd catch up eventually.
All he had to do was keep driving and try not to think about what catching up to his boys meant.
ΩΩΩ
Dean stuck his head into the green-tiled bathroom and took a quick look around, making sure they weren't leaving anything behind. Satisfied, he turned to Sam who sat, legs crossed and fully dressed, in the middle of the rumpled double bed. "Breakfast?"
Sam just looked at him, dark eyes grave.
Dean hesitated, then blew out a breath and grabbed up their duffels. "I'll wait in the car. We'll pick something up on the way out of town."
When the door shut behind his brother, Sam lay back on the bed with a heavy sigh. A dull headache pulsing in his temples, he stared up at the ceiling.
After a minute or two, he sat up resignedly, picked up the telephone on the bedside table and dialed. It only rang a few times before being answered.
"Singer."
Sam closed his eyes, a sharp pain lancing through his chest at the much-loved voice.
"Hello?" The old man sounded impatient.
Hand shaking a little, Sam tapped a fingernail three times on the mouthpiece.
There was a gasp on the other end of the line. "Sam?"
Sam tapped again.
"Jesus, boy!" Bobby sounded stunned, winded. "I – where the hell are you?" A shaky laugh. "Ignore that. Are you okay?"
Sam tapped.
"Is Dean with you?"
No tap.
"Damn, boy, I'm glad to hear from you. I've been looking for you. You know that, right?"
A long pause, then Sam tapped.
"I want you to come back home with me. I miss you. You and your brother. There's things – we need to –"
Sam waited.
"Son, what you did to the man in Oklahoma," Bobby sounded a little hesitant. "Do you remember that?"
Sam scowled and tapped the phone several times, hard, making it clear. Of course he remembered! He wasn't a freaking idiot! Or crazy!
"All right, all right." Bobby sighed heavily. There was a long pause. "Just thought - you'd want to know he's probably gonna be all right."
No tap.
"Sam?"
No tap.
"Sam . . . you two can't – it's got to stop."
Sam put the phone down. He didn't just disconnect the line, just placed the handset on the bedside table, got up and left the motel room.
It was early, just before dawn. There were only two other occupied rooms in the small, off-the-highway motel; both were still dark. The early morning birds hadn't even started their day yet, only a few exploratory chirps breaking the silence.
When Sam slid into the idling Impala, his brother was tapping his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the radio. Grimacing, Sam reached over and shut it off.
Dean cocked an eyebrow. "Everything okay?"
Sam shrugged and tapped a finger against his forehead.
Dean reached immediately into the backseat and pulled a bottle of water out of the cooler, then a tin of aspirin from the glovebox, handing both to his brother.
With a weary nod of thanks, Sam shook out a few tablets and swallowed them, chasing them down with a gulp of water.
"You look like crap." Dean studied Sam's shadowed eyes, and then patted his thigh. "Come on. Lie down, get some more sleep."
Not even tempted to fight it, Sam lay down across the wide bench seat and laid his head on Dean's thigh. His forehead was throbbing in time to his heartbeat, and he shivered, starting to feel a little nauseous.
"Cold?" Dean reached again into the back and came up with a blanket, tucking it snugly around Sam. His calloused fingers combed lightly through his brother's hair, a slight frown creasing his brow. "Sammy - I wish –" he stopped, tried again. "Sammy, I just can't –"
Sam reached up and captured Dean's hand. Bringing it to his lips, he kissed the palm. The two gazed silently at each other.
The door to the motel's office opened. The manager stepped outside and looked incuriously across at the Impala.
Shaking himself, Dean retrieved his hand. "Time to go, baby." He grinned teasingly down at Sam. "Before you know it, we'll be laying on a sunny beach, drinking margaritas and screwing our brains out."
Sam grinned back. Pina coladas, he mouthed.
Amused, Dean tucked in the blanket around Sam a little more firmly. "Whatever, dude. Now, sleep."
Obediently, Sam closed his eyes and let the world go away.
