Not mine, don't own. If you see any mistakes or canon errors, feel free to drop me a line. I still don't have a beta. Thanks for reading!
Dean had just ordered a slice of pie and a cup of coffee when the pleasant conversation with his brother took a plunging trip off the rails. After several hours of talking, he'd finally been starting to relax, too. Dean had filled Sam in on the lives of their hunting friends, with updates on the likes of Bobby, Pastor Jim, and Caleb, while Sam had chattered on about his pre-law classes and extolled the virtues of his girlfriend Jess. The burger was nice and juicy, the fries extra crispy with just the right amount of salt, and Sam had smiled back at him over an enormous plate of rabbit food. Just like old times.
Dean dared to believe that he and Sammy might actually get past the three-year chasm of non-communication when it happened. A young man in a suit jacket and tie walked past, stopped, and made a beeline for their table.
"Sam! It's so good to see you!" The dark-haired youth - a friend from Stanford, Dean presumed - gave his brother a quick hug. "How've you been, man?" The newcomer's eyes darted curiously between the two Winchesters seated in the booth.
Dean raised his eyebrows at Sam, waiting for his brother to make the introductions. But Sam looked away, an odd expression crossing his face. "Hey, Rick," he said, quietly. Sam's eyes dropped away from the table, away from Dean, to the diner carpet.
And in that moment, Dean was acutely aware of the differences in their lives. Here he was, dressed in ripped blue jeans, with a trussed up arm and monster tracks over one eye, while his brother wore a tailored suit and tie.
The other man - Rick - didn't pick up on Sam's discomfort. "Who's this?" he asked Sam, extending a polite hand to Dean. "Rick Fleming."
Dean returned the handshake with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Dean." He swallowed, hard. "Dean Winters."
As Sam looked up, shocked, Dean added, "Friend of the family, right Sammy? We go way back."
Sam's face began to twitch.
Rick was clueless as to the subtext. He smiled openly at Dean. "Nice to meet ya. How long you in town for? You meet his girl yet? That's going to be some engagement party."
Enagement? Party? Sammy's getting married?
Dean ran his free hand down the back of his neck. He pressed his lips together and blinked against the unexpected prickle of tears. "Yeah, I'm sure it is," he said, gruffly, plastering on a fake smile. "Wish I could be there for it." He met Sam's guilty eyes. "But I have to work." Dean slammed down the wall between them; the look he gave his brother was sheer ice.
There was a tense moment before Dean waved down the waitress. "Sweetheart, can you pack that pie to go? I need to head out." Dean threw two bills on the table. "Rick, it was great meeting you. Why don't you take my seat and keep Sam here company?" And he walked out, carrying a cup of coffee in his left hand and a slice of pie tucked in his sling, not bothering to look back.
It wasn't until Dean was in the Impala, driving back to the motel, that he seriously began to question his judgment. The fleabag motel room he'd been sharing with Dad was a 45-minute drive away. Driving one-handed had been tough enough during the day when it was light out and he could see reasonably well - despite what Sam seemed to think - but in the dark, with fog, on roads he didn't know? Yeah. Not the brightest move, Winchester. No wonder Sammy thinks you're stupid.
Said little brother had tried to call at least ten times by now, but Dean refused to answer. What is there to say, really? Sam's ashamed of me. That says it all.
He slowed the car to a crawl as he and Baby passed through a particularly dense patch of fog. Once the haze lifted, Dean began to accelerate, hoping to make up for lost time. Eventually Dad's going to wonder where I am, right?
Dean took his hand off the steering wheel just long enough to rub his tired eyes. When he looked up, a deer stood in the middle of the road, directly in front of his car.
"He's not answering my calls." Sam paced around Jessica's room, face twitching, wringing his hands.
Jess reached for him. "Baby, calm down. I'm sure he's fine. From what you've told me about Dean, he can more than take care of himself."
Instead of calming her fiancé down, her words seemed to agitate him further. "Jess, you don't understand. He was really upset when he left. I should have gone after him but I didn't want to make a scene with Rick there. He's not in good shape right now." Sam chewed his lip. "It's all my fault, Jess. He practically raised me, you know? And I was so worried about what Rick might think that I didn't even acknowledge him." Sam shook his head sadly. "I need to know he's okay." He sat down next to Jess and crumpled into her. "I don't know what to do."
Instinct kicked in. Dean slammed on the brakes as hard as he could. Before he had even thought it through, he was gripping the steering wheel tight in both hands, yanking it to the right. The deer jumped left, brushing the driver's side. The impact jarred and jostled the Impala, and the car began to skid off the road toward a ditch. Bolts of pain lanced up Dean's injured arm and he cried out in pain. His vision flicked in and out, sparkles of white flashing as he fought to control both the car and his panic. Then there was a mighty pop, and the car juddered to a stop.
Dean sat back in the seat, trying to calm his breathing. I'm okay, it's all right, the car's fine, everything's okay repeated on a loop in his mind. Tentatively, he opened the door and exited the car. What he saw made his stomach turn. The driver's side headlight was smashed beyond recognition and the front tire was completely flat. Dean dropped to his knees and threw up.
"He's still not picking up!" Sam threw the phone across the room and dropped back on the bed, covering his eyes with his hands.
"Sam. There's nothing more you can do tonight. He's probably got the ringer off," Jess reasoned. She began to rub his back.
"I'm such an idiot," Sam mumbled beneath his hair.
Jess wrapped her arms around him, her wavy blond hair brushing his shoulders. "Yes, but you're my idiot." She smiled at him and he gave her a faint smile in return before kissing her.
"What would I ever do without you?"
"Let's hope you never have to find out."
"This is John Winchester. I can't be reached. If it's an emergency, call my son Dean -"
Dean ended the call and fought down a wave of panic. This is not good. This is so not good. He did a quick assessment of his situation: injured, no means of transportation, no money to pay for repairs, no way to reach his father.
Maybe I can sleep here for the night. Someone will be along in the morning.
But despite the day's heat, summer nights in the Oregon mountains were cool. The foggy air was so damp that it chilled Dean and he began to shiver, despite his flannel outer layer. His arm wouldn't stop hurting, pain flaring with each pulse of his heart.
He picked up the phone again. Twelve missed calls from Sam. No missed calls from Dad.
Sam's tongue had just entwined with Jessica's when he heard a buzzing sound from across the room. At first, he dismissed the noise as he deepened the kiss. But suddenly, it registered that his phone was ringing and Sam broke apart from Jess, bounded over the bed, and tackled the phone in under a minute.
"Dean?!"
"Hey Sammy." His brother's voice was faint.
Sam swallowed and began to pace again, clutching the phone. "Dean, what's wrong?"
"Had a bit of an accident ..."
"Dean, where are you? Are you okay?" Jess stood next to Sam now, clutching his hand.
"'m okay. Baby's got a flat tire, though. I need a tow." There was a wince. "Might have dislocated my wrist again." His brother sounded winded.
Dislocated. Again. Sam shook his head. "Dean, sit tight. Jess and I are coming to get you."
"Can't leave m'baby."
"Dean. It's a car. You can't afford a tow in the middle of the night and neither can I. We'll get it tomorrow. Where the hell is Dad?"
"Dunno." His brother sounded sleepy.
"Dean!" Sam was racing down the stairs now, Jess in tow, waving off concerned looks from Jessica's parents. "You need to keep talking to me, okay?" They exited into the garage and climbed into Jessica's little Subaru, Sam in the passenger's seat. "Where were you headed?"
There was a pause. "Canyon Something?" There was no conviction behind his words.
"Dean, I need more to go on than that. Canyon Falls, Yellow Canyon, Whitewater Ridge?"
"The ridge." Dean coughed. "I think ... I think I'm stuck on the ridge."
Sam tried to picture the road Dean must have taken. Jessica was already driving frantically toward the nearest mountain pass. "Did you cross a bridge?"
"M'hmm."
"Dean!" Sam threw some heat behind the word.
"Wha?"
"I need you to stay with me. So you crossed a bridge. Then what?"
"Hit a deer."
Sam rubbed the bridge of his noise and sighed deeply. "I told you not to drive tonight. Why won't you ever listen to me?" Jess reached over and patted Sam on the knee. He recognized her message immediately: Go easy on him.
"Y'know me, Sammy." The words were faint. "Fuck up everything I touch." His brother's voice, sad and small, broke over the words. The wall of bravado and indifference that Dean so carefully crafted was completely down now and his brother didn't have the strength to put it back up.
Sam swallowed over the lump in his throat and wiped his right eye with the back of his hand. "Dean, I see the car." He pointed out the Impala to Jess, noting with relief that it hadn't slid too far off into the embankment.
The minute Jess put the Subaru in park, Sam burst out the door and sprinted over to where Dean sat hunched by the back left tire, sling discarded, curled in around himself. His face was so pale in the glow from the Subaru's headlights that he looked ghostly. Sam pocketed his phone and knelt by his brother's side, placing a hand on Dean's left shoulder. "I'm here, Dean. I've got you."