Disclaimer: No own.
A/N: No beta. Please feel free to point out any mistakes. I can be reached at anney(underscore)kun2(at)yahoo(dot)com
Warning: Death
Word count: 584
Summary: Sam nods his head and smiles.
Eighty
"That just ain't right," Dean says.
He's standing behind Sam and reading over his shoulder. Sam is in the middle of a library in another small town that looks just like every small town he's ever been to. He's breathing in the same dust, the small smell, staying in the same hotel and doing the same thing he always does.
Three murders in three weeks has Sam looking for the reasons behind it all. Or, rather, a way to stop it before it happens again.
"I'm tired of reading," Dean says.
They've been here almost all day. First person in when the doors opened and it's almost time for the library to close. A search in which Sam found nothing to help him. Sam thinks to himself that he really hates Women in White.
"And I know you're hungry, Sammy. You skipped lunch," Dean says.
Sam sighs and gives up on the library. It's hopeless. Tomorrow he'll do the question thing and hope for better results. If not though, Sam will have to be bait.
"That bait idea isn't a good one, Sammy. Remember last time? Yea, that was no good," Dean says.
Sam pushes the stacks of newspaper away from him and stretches. He twists and turns in his seat, his back popping from the movement.
Dean stands to his side and rolls his eyes.
Sam looks around like he's noticed something but shrugs it off. Dean's moving steadily closer to the door in the hopes that the further away he is from Sam the quicker the younger man will leave. He should know better.
When Sam finally makes his way to the door Dean is a bouncing ball of energy just waiting to be let out. He's out the door before Sam can even get it fully open and almost to the car before he stops to wait.
"Hurry up, man," Dean says.
Sam walks even slower. Dean is in the passenger seat once Sam gets to the driver's door and once the car is cranked Dean starts in on the music. Sam ignores him.
"Put in some Metallica," Dean says.
Sam turns the radio to the one station the car can pick up and hums along to the songs. Sam has one hand on the steering wheel and one hand out the open window. Dean watches his brother wave his hand in the wind of summer.
"Don't go so fast. And put both hands on the wheel. Don't wreck my car, Sammy," Dean says.
Sam pulls his hand in scowls. With both hands firmly on the wheel Sam moves from 40 mph to 45. From 45 to 50. From 50 to 60. Sam is flying down country roads when he should be going somewhere for food. Dean frowns at the scenery that flies by the windows.
"Slow down Sammy," Dean says.
Instead Sam goes faster. From 60 to 70. He tops off at 80. The car flowing across a freshly paved road that cuts through fields of wheat, or corn, or cotton or whatever they grow in this copy of a small town that's a copy of another that's a copy of another. Sam is in on a road that leads to a copy of a copy if he'd keep going, he'sdriving a car that isn't his and in the back of his mind he can hear Dean going:
"Slow down Sammy!"
and it's just like he's sitting at his side. Sam can hear Dean so clearly it's like he never died.
"I'm sorry Sammy," Dean says.
Sam nods his head and smiles.
(end)