A/N : Alright, probably just one more chapter to go, guys. I know, I know. Maybe a little bit of issues (Both Sam's and Dean's) dealt with in the last chapter. Or not. Ehe. You know the Winchesters and the principles they live by. "Never talk about anything at all. Ever. Maybe if you're about to die. Maybe." lol
Thank you again to all those who stuck with me throughout this story. I can't believe that this crap took me fucking months to write! Goddamnit! Is college a good excuse? Gah!
Read and tell me what you think!
The walk to the car was interesting, to say the least. Sam was still a bit out of it but he had thankfully slept without much nightmares for once. His fever had reached agreeable degrees somewhere around midnight and Dean had finally grabbed some shut eye himself.
He had spent the time before in a hazy state of exhaustion, shushing Sam whenever he made some sound of distress, wiping his brow and neck occasionally and staring at late night talk shows and infomercials.
For the life of him, he couldn't remember any of the crap products or diva guests that had appeared on the screen.
When he had practically passed out from exhaustion, leaning on the headboard beside Sam, he had slept the sleep of the dead, not waking until Bobby pounded on their door at about 6.
He had woken up feeling more refreshed than he had the past couple of days.
The sun was just beginning to appear, when Dean stuffed the last of their crap into the duffels and hauled them over to the car, taking care to do it as softly as possible. Sam was still asleep. Dean had figured that it was best to let him catch up on the rest, since the ride to Bobby's in a car with sore muscles was not going to be pleasant.
Bobby was out checking for any evidence that they might have left behind, wiping off fingerprints and tearing off their names from the register.
Once he had erased all possible evidence that might turn suspicions their way, Bobby had gone ahead, planning to reach his house at least half an hour before the boys, to get things ready, just in case. And only after Dean had assured him that he would be able to take care of Sam on his own.
Dean had double checked every nook and cranny, made a kind of nest in the back seat of the Impala and only then proceeded to wake up his brother.
And here they were, after Sam had hit the head on his own with fairly steady legs and freshened up the best he could.
"Steady, Sammy. Almost there", Dean encouraged, as Sam slumped even more against him, the last vestiges of strength had been leeched out of him as soon as they had left the room. As if he had stored all his reserves back in the room.
Dean steadied him, as Sam stumbled again, breathing hard and fast, sweat breaking out from every pore of his body. Finally they reached the car, Dean letting out a silent huff of relief. Dean began to settle Sam into the backseat, door already propped open in foresight.
Only to frown as Sam shook his head.
"What - Sammy, you need -"
"Front seat", Sam whispered hoarsely, weakly tugging Dean forward.
Dean sighed, frown deepening, but knowing that nothing would make Sam change his mind, stubborn ass that he was.
Muttering a curse under his breath, he swallowed back the protest and maneuvered them towards the front, propping Sam against the Impala to pull open the door.
Gently, he pushed Sam onto the seat, watching for a moment as his brother leaned his head back against the seat, breathing harshly.
"You okay?", he asked, palming away the sweaty curls from his brother's forehead.
Only when Sam gave a slight nod did he place Sam's legs in after him, softly shutting the door. He glanced one last time across the lot, at the room that had served as their shelter for the last couple of days. The trucker's body was still lying exactly where they had found him and Dean didn't doubt that the receptionist was the same way.
He had thankfully not had to explain the body to Sam, having carefully shielded his little brother away from the sight.
He swallowed back the guilt, jogging to take a quick look inside their room, just in case he had missed anything. He had arranged the sheets and emptied the bins to make it seem untouched.
He shut the door behind him and carefully wiping off prints from the knob and the keys and hurried to place them in the hook behind the reception desk along with the other keys.
He couldn't see the dead guy from here. Not that he wanted to.
He hurried back to the car, eager to get the hell out of the place, departing with the knowledge that this would just be one more mystery in the cops' books.
But it was two more innocent lives in Dean's ledger which was already overflowing with red.
It had almost become three and Dean just couldn't bring himself to regret it, as much as he was sorry.
Sam seemed to be drifting off when he entered the car and started the engine. But he opened his eyes and turned towards Dean as the engine purred to life beneath them.
Dean's lips twitched upwards as Sam struggled to keep him within his sight till the very last minute, before sleep overcame him. It was a painfully familiar gesture that Sam had done even when they had been kids. Little Sammy fighting sleep until Dean came to bed, staying up till after midnight sometimes.
Clearly, that hadn't changed.
His smile grew wider as Sam finally drifted off, mouth slightly open and nose slightly squished from where it was lolling against the seat his head was lying sideways on.
The picture he presented took Dean back a couple of years when the same little brother, so similar yet so different, had woken up to a plastic spoon in his mouth, spitting out curses, face cloudy with his customary bitch face.
Dean pushed back the sudden pang it brought forth. He leaned back to pull forth a blanket and carefully tucked it around Sam's shoulders, letting the end of it pool on his thighs.
Sam sighed, snuffled, then settled impossibly further into the seat.
Dean snorted fondly, shaking his head, and finally gunned the car towards Bobby's and hopefully towards recovery.
For the both of them.
Hearing was the first sense that came to Sam, closely followed by touch.
Dream On played comfortingly from the stereo, only rivalled in the level of comfort it provided, by leather seats and the rumble beneath him. He was warm, warmer than he could ever remember being, in ... years, it felt like.
And he felt safe.
Which meant that Dean was here.
Slowly, with more effort than it should have involved, his eyes slitted open. The afternoon sun made him flinch and shut his eyes again, a groan wrenched from his throat.
"Sammy?", Dean's voice came through and he carefully pulled his eyes open again. Thankfully, the light didn't hurt much this time.
Dean was watching the road, occasionally throwing him concerned glances, one hand hovering over Sam's shoulders.
"'m okay. Where're we?", Sam murmured, sitting up a bit, blanket falling from his shoulders. He stretched carefully, cautious not to trigger a thousand other pains that he was sure was waiting for a wrong move from him. Surprisingly, he did feel fine, except for the crick in his neck at having slept like a pretzel.
But it was a familiar ache, one he was used to, what with sleeping here for about half his life.
"'bout two hours from Bobby's. You hungry? There's still a few cold sandwiches left. I stopped a couple hours back while you were still zonked out."
As he was speaking, Dean had pulled over. Throwing the car into park, he reached over and felt Sam's forehead, dodging just before Sam brought up his hand to knock his' away. Although his scowl had no heat in it.
"Huh. You've recovered finely, kiddo. Guess five hours of z's with Baby was just what the doctor recommended", Dean grinned, handing a water bottle and a sandwich to Sam when his little brother's scowl darkened.
Sam snatched them both, unwrapping the sandwich with a fervour Dean hadn't seen in him for a long time. Dean watched with relief as Sam managed to put away the sandwich, grinning beneath his own cold brunch.
"Well, since I'm well rested, guess that means driver gets a break", Sam proclaimed with a grin, balling up his wrapper and bouncing it off of Dean's forehead.
Dean's chuckle died in an instant.
Sam just took a sip of water to hide his smirk.
Minutes passed in silence.
Well, as much silence as could possibly prevail when the stereo blared Celine Di -
"Seriously!", Dean burst out.
Sam bit his lip to keep the laughter from breaking out.
"Letting you drive was a mistake in and of itself. How in the hell did you end up picking the music? No, no, wait, I've got a bigger question. How do you even have a tape of Celine Dion songs?", Dean rambled on, as I Drove All Night played in the background.
Sam didn't grace that with a reply, no longer having to bite his lip to stop the humour from breaking through. The question had drained him of that.
"Just - gimme wha'ver is available. Don' - don' care 'bout the name. Jus' Celine - Dion", Sam coughed up blood as the manager of Vince's records stared at him in horror.
"Are you sure you -", he started, motioning to the telephone.
"I'm FINE! Just give me the fucking tape!". Sam smothered another cough.
"NOW!", he cried, when the manager hesitated. Sam's eyes blazed and the man finally hurried to a shelf, rummaging for a bit before returning with a couple of tapes clutched in his hands.
Sam snatched them up, threw a few bills on the counter and slammed out of the store.
Only the wall and the lamp post had kept him from crawling to the Impala. He fell inside, shut the door and pushed one of the tapes inside.
He had burnt the tape after playing it on a loop for a whole day.
"You said you'd haunt my ass."
Sam's voice nearly didn't carry over the high notes.
"What?", Dean asked, confusion lining his question, even if it brought with it a sense of foreboding.
"When you had that heart attack after the rugaru hunt. In the hospital, you said you'd haunt me if I didn't take care of the car."
Dean felt his breath catch in his throat. Aww, Sammy.
He was beginning to think that he would never know the extent of the effects his death had had on Sam.
He cleared his throat, watching Sam. Who was staring fixedly out the windshield, hands white knuckling the steering wheel.
"Yeah, well, imagine the extent of your bad taste, if it actually brought me back to life", Dean said, with a soft smile. The 'It's okay, I'm here, alive, now' hidden within the Winchester language of metaphors.
Sam's head snapped to face him before he swallowed, blinking rapidly, turning his focus back on the road.
And if Bon Jovi replaced Celine Dion, a broken tape lying on the road behind them, Dean could at least begrudgingly admit that he rocked.
On occasion.
A/N : So? Was it terrible, very terrible or the most terrible? Let me know in the reviews!