A/N: Thanks to all who left me a comment. This is one of my first fanfics (I'm just a newbie) and ur reviews encouraged me to update sooner than planned.
This chapter I decided to write from Dean's POV.
This is gonna be a short chapter; just a forwarning.
The car was dead silent. I han't even bothered to put a cassette in. It would have given Sam a chance to speak to me, and I was all for avoiding that. Ever since the previous night, Sam had given me the cold shoulder. I knew he was short on sleep, but he could have been alittle more congenial.
"Hey, Sammy...Sam! SAM!" I repeated myself several times. My brother was sitting not two feet to my right, yet he ignored my every word. By that point I was pissed. When I had gotten back to the motel, Sam was outside, sprawled out on a cheap plastic chair. I asked him why the long face, and he just stared straight ahead, at the deserted road and rotten trees.
This morning was no better. Sam took half an hour to wash his precious brown locks, leaving not one drop of hot water and used all the towels. I could tell by then I'd pissed him off, but had no clue why.
"Listen, Dean, why don't we just not talk for awhile? We have huindreds of miles ahead of us, so we'll have plenty of time to chit chat," Sam snapped at me. His hands had clenched his right thigh and I thought I saw a vein stick out of his forehead.
If I had been in the mood to argue, I might've continued to push his buttons, but I was short on sleep. Ever since the aslyum incident, I could barely sleep more than a few hours at a time.
The aslyum incident. Maybe that was why Sam was acting to hostile. He already admitted that he knew what he had said to me. And the bruises in the center of my chest from a shot of rock salt spoke for itself. No matter what little Sammy told me, it was all bull. Every word he said was true.
And how could I forget the pistol. As much as I loved my brother, and forgave him for a lot of crap, but trying to shoot me with MY pistol, was too much. If I hadn't taken the bullets out of that gun, Sam would have killed me.
Of course, he'd be the one to have to live with that on his conscience for the rest of his life. And at that moment, I didn't really care. He wanted to be a bitch, I could be one right back.
"You know, Sammy, I don't really don't give a damn waht your problem is, I just wish you'd snap out of it!" I yelled at him. My hands were holding the steering wheel to my precious Chevy so tight they were cutting off the circulation.
I expected to hear Sam make a snide remark back. Something about me being an ass and how I need to stay out of his business. Instead I heard something odd. He turned to face me, letting his eyes burn into me. I hated the way he did that
"Dean, whatever happened to that old girlfriend of yours? Uh, Brittney I think it was. You dated her for about a month and a half. Said you had something real good going with her."
I wanted to slam on the brakes. Why in God's name did he care about Brittney? Or even remember her?