Title: Helicopters
Author: Oldach's Dream
Summary: It was a second nature, an instinct. Get in car. Close door. Reach for beltbuckle. It was automatic. It wasn't supposed to save his life. It wasn't supposed to be the reason his best friend was inches from death.
Disclaimer: I own nothing of Supernatural.
Rating: T or PG 13
Chapter Five: Hopping 'round from site to site like tourists on vacation
The Winchester boys had been driving for approximately eight hours, according to the clock on the dashboard of the Impala. It was close to midnight and time for them to stop somewhere for the night. Dean couldn't really find the words to breach the conversation topic with his brother, though.
It's wasn't like it was an especially hard conversation to have, Dean was just feeling particularly nervous about saying anything to Sam at the moment. Since they'd been on the road, Sam had alternated between being moodily quiet and oddly chatty.
He had, in less than ten minutes, gone from glaring at Dean threateningly for some inappropriate comment he'd made, to babbling stupidly about some sign they'd passed, to asking the most random of questions.
Do you have car insurance? Does dad? Who pays for the hospital bills when we don't have enough money? How come schools never ask why we move so much, or stay in town for such a short amount of time? And on and on.
Dean had cringed slightly as he was providing the answers. Most involved some sort of lying or stealing, and while Sam understood that what his family did was important, that they were saving lives, and they couldn't exactly charge for that. He was a moral person, and Dean could tell he didn't approve with some of the methods the Winchester's used to get through life.
"I thought you would of figured this stuff out by now, Sammy." Dean dodged, when the questions got particularly hard to answer.
"I have mostly; I mean it's pretty obvious we can't exactly pay for everything we need sometimes. And I always see dad, and you, use fake credit cards and stuff." Sam shrugged. "Dad just never actually answered any of my questions. Especially when I was a kid."
"What was he supposed to do, tell an eight year old that's its okay to lie, cheat and steal?" Dean asked with his eyebrows raised. "You would have been scarred for life."
"As far as I could tell," Sam said, "He never hid any of that stuff from you."
"Well, that was different." Dean informed him, not sounding all that sure. "I was older."
"Not by much." He pointed out. "And what difference does it make? You were still a little kid. Dad expected you to do way too much, too soon."
"Been thinking about this, have you?" Not knowing what else to say.
"A little." Sam admitted. "Keeps my mind off...everything else."
Dean nodded understandingly. "Dad relied on me so much because he didn't have anyone else anymore. Mom's death, it killed a big part of him."
"But you still listen to him. You still defend him." Sam wasn't speaking harshly, just in a contemplating manner. If there had been any venom behind his words, Dean probably would have gotten defensive and angry. Instead, he answered calmly after a moment's thought.
"Until now?" Dean clarified unnecessarily. "Yeah, I always acted the way he needed me to."
"Why?" he asked, almost innocently.
"Because Sam," he repeated. "He needed me. And he's my dad, he's our dad. He was just doing the best he could."
"Until now."
"Yeah." The words came out softly, and sad. "Until now."
Dean couldn't really tell if their impromptu serious conversation had helped Sam, or if it had just tightened the tension between them. Sam hadn't spoke since then, in either case. Which was why Dean was abnormally contemplative about starting such a mundane conversation; fear of what it could lead to.
Still he cleared his throat moments later. Dean could scarcely see the road as it was, the city they were passing through, on the way to the next highway, didn't seem to be very big on nighttime driving. The last thing Sam needed was to be in another car accident, he really would be scarred for life.
"We need to stop pretty soon." Dean's voice seemed to pull Sam out of whatever trance he had been in.
"I saw a sign a mile or two back, for a motel around here." Sam said, and Dean was glad he'd been paying attention.
"Good, keep an eye out for it."
Not five minutes later, the exit was in clear view and Dean made his way in that direction smoothly. The Impala stopped in front of a battered old motel, the place looked like it was custom made to be creepy. The parking lot was completely abandoned, save their Impala. The brothers shared a look that said clearly, neither one of them thought this was normal.
They exited the car simultaneously and took a few steps, until they were standing next to each other at the hood of the car. Sam wasn't the only one shivering. The dead silence that surrounded the place was broken only by the steady creaking of the wooden staircase leading up to the second floor of rooms. No wind howled, which made that noise especially suspicious. The neon 'Motel' sign was flickering, illuminating half the parking lot with an eerie glow.
"I don't like this place." Sam made no effort to hide the fear in his voice, which got to Dean because it wasn't often that Sam put his fear out there like that, to be detected by his older brother.
"Got a bad feeling?" Dean was only half joking, he knew that Sam sometimes got weird…vibes, for lack of a better, less fortune teller-ish word; from certain things or places. Dean had been hearing about them, in a subtle manner, for years now. He never really questioned it, or dug into the complexities of it; he'd simply learned to trust his brother's instincts.
If Sam heard the somewhat mocking tone in his brother's voice, he ignored, answering honestly, "Yeah I do. I think we should get out of here."
Dean took one last look at the building, it might have been his imagination, but he swore he saw something move within the shadows of the walls.
"I agree." Dean said tensely, not wanting to alarm Sam, or mention that he thought he saw something. Running away scared was not something Dean did, but protecting his brother over powered his need to play hero.
Sam looked at Dean oddly for a second, but didn't mention it, just followed quickly when he turned back towards the car.
"DEAN!" Sam's frantic cry was enough to make his heart stop, but he didn't let that slow him down as he ran around the front of the car, to the passenger's side, at breakneck speed.
Sam was looking inside the car window, his eyes opened wide in absolute horror. Dean glanced from his brother to the door. He could see only Sam's reflection in the darkened glass.
He opened his mouth to ask what was going on, but no sooner then he uttered the first syllable, was his question answered.
Something big, black and billowy passed from through the inside of the car, and materialized in front of his brother. From where he was standing, at a slight angle from the creature, Dean could not tell if it had any sort of face. A hood was hiding any features it might possess.
He was guessing that it did, only because Sam could not seem to pull his own eyes away from whatever lay beneath the hood. The creature stood at the same height as his brother.
"SAM!" Dean shouted, and when he didn't get a response, he rushed to his side.
He didn't dare glance in the thing's direction. Judging by the trance it had seemingly pulled Sam into, he knew it wouldn't be safe.
Instead, he focused on Sam, waving his hand wildly in front of his face. When that failed to get a response, he moved on to grabbing his shoulders and shaking wildly, unknowingly blocking his brother's view of the creature.
After only a second, Sam's dull and unfocused eyes came back to life, blinking rapidly.
"Dean?" he croaked.
The monster gave an angry hiss before Dean could reply. The next thing he knew, he felt as if a giant, invisible hand had come out of nowhere and flicked him carelessly to the side. He was air born for what felt like an eternity before landing on his back, several feet away. He could almost hear the audible 'whoosh' as the air left his body.
"Dean!" Only Sam's yell was choked. He sounded as if he was being strangled and the sound of it was so disturbing that Dean forced himself to lift his head from the ground much sooner than the laws of physics indented.
He caught a glimpse of the monster's long fingered hand, which seemed to be solid, despite the rest of his very un-solid like appearance, resting on Sam's chest. His baby brother's face was contorted in pain and he was rasping desperately for air. Dean's head collapsed back on the pavement, as he struggled to regain enough energy to move.
A few deep breaths later, Dean was off the ground and sprinting back towards the car. He didn't think about what he was doing, or form any type of plan whatsoever. He knew only that this thing was hurting Sam, and he didn't know what it was or how to fight it. But it was real and right in front of them.
So he did the most logical thing he could think of to get his brother out of immediate danger. He rushed at Sam and tackled him to the ground, away from the thing that was sucking the life out of him. Sam hit the concrete with an angry thud, but Dean didn't have time to think about it.
He jumped up from where he had landed with his brother and rushed to the driver's side door. He had the trunk popped within moments and was racing back in that direction. He saw Sam struggling to sit up and the monster – thing, which didn't seem to have feet, as it just glided along, the ends of it's robes barely grazing the ground, was moving towards him.
Dean's hand closed around the first gun he felt beneath his fingertips. He pulled it out and shot it at the center of the thing's chest.
He watched transfixed as it dematerialized for a few seconds. Long strands of thick black smoke making up the space it had just resided in. Dean watched it, not daring to pull his eyes away. Too soon, the strands reformed, as he feared they might, and the creature was back. The only good part was now it seemed to be completely focused on Dean.
That was somewhat of a relief. If it could be distracted by anger or pain like that, then it most likely wasn't very powerful. It's inhuman form was an indicator of this as well. Generally, the scarier something looked, the less threatening it was.
It was an odd rule of thumb, but one that Dean had picked up on fairly quickly. The things that hid under your bed weren't nearly as frightening as the things that tried to talk to you, to understand you. It's the ones that looked, felt or thought like humans that you had to watch out for. Those were the monsters that tricked you and overpowered you by way of emotion of human weakness.
Persistence usually did the trick with lower level things like this, he thought, and his logic was correct. After only half a round of bullets, the thing was fading, taking longer and longer to reform, and appearing less stable every time.
Two shots later and it was gone. Whether he had killed it or simply driven it away, Dean didn't know. He didn't care much either; his only concern now was getting back to his brother.
He dropped to his knees in front of where Sam lay, still struggling. Fighting to stay in an upright, sitting position.
"Take it easy." He commanded immediately, and placed a hand behind his brother's back to help him up, moving him back slightly so he was leaning against the side of the car.
Sam hissed in pain and Dean finally noticed that one of his arms was crossed over his chest and clutching at his injured shoulder.
"Are you okay?" he asked frantically.
"No," he rasped, coughing slightly. "Pain… pills…backpack."
Dean got his brother's message immediately and shot off the ground, practically tearing the backseat door off its hinges. He found Sam's perception drug bottle in the smaller outside pocket of the bag when he patted it down.
He was back at Sam's side, one of the pills and a bottle of water, also pulled out of the backseat, ready to go. He watched as Sam swallowed, cringing in pain. He waited a few moments, until the immediate pain seemed to recede some, and took a couple of long drinks out of the water bottle.
"Tastes like chlorine." Sam said. It took Dean a few seconds to process what Sam was talking about. When he did, he let out a shaky breathe he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
"What do you expect? It's been sitting in the car all day." Dean studied his brother. Sam seemed to be breathing more evenly, his hand was back to resting on his shoulder, but he wasn't clutching at it any longer.
Dean mentally scolded himself; he shouldn't have tackled Sam like that. Although at the time, it had been the only way he could see to get him out of danger. Still, he felt guilty for hurting him further.
"What was that thing?" Sam questioned.
"No idea." Dean replied honestly. "Didn't seem that strong."
"Felt pretty strong when it was suffocating me." He muttered darkly and couldn't stop himself from rubbing his chest slightly.
"You'll be alright." Dean promised, his voice coming out sounding much stronger than he felt. "We just need to get out of here."
He finally made a move to stand up and watched as Sam did the same. His brother wobbled slightly and he'd probably be back on the ground if Dean hadn't reached out and steadied him, grabbing onto his un-injured arm tightly. "Whoa there." He mumbled.
"It's the pills." Sam answered Dean's questioning, concerned gaze. "They make me kinda… sleepy."
"Yeah," he grunted. "I can tell."
He maneuvered Sam, who was only half holding himself up, back to the car. Making sure he was securely inside and buckled up, before returning to the driver's side himself.
Sam was passed out by the time he restarted the car and peeled out of the parking lot as fast as humanly possible. He hadn't thought about it before now, but he really didn't want to find out if that creepy thing had any friends back inside the deserted motel. Getting far, far away seemed like the best idea at the moment.
Sam slept peacefully for the next hour. By the time Dean found another motel, far enough away from the hunted one they'd just left to make him feel safe, it was almost two in the morning.
He had no trouble getting a room from the nice old man on duty, seeing as how he had at the desk until Dean cleared his throat loudly. He asked no questions about what he was doing out at this time of night or why he requested two beds; he just shoved the key at Dean, all too ready to get back to his nap. Dean took the man's lack of interest as a blessing and went back to the car to retrieve Sam.
He all but carried him to the room and watched him practically collapse on the bed, rolling over and mumbling something incoherent before falling back into a deep, drug induced sleep. Dean removed Sam's shoes, before leaving him to his own devises and watching as he curled up with a pillow.
It was a trait he'd had had since he was a small child, for as long as Dean could remember. Sam had to have his arms wrapped around something in order to fall asleep. Whether it was a pillow, a wadded up blanket, or his own abdomen, it never seemed to matter, as long as he was holding something.
Dean sighed and collapsed onto his own bed, not bothering to remove anymore than his outer layers of clothing. Sometimes Dean couldn't help but be reminded of how young Sam still was.
Living a life dedicated to hunting and revenge, where you learn how to fire a gun at age six and can identify ghosts from poltergeists by age nine; it makes you grow up fast.
Dean had always thrived on the kind of life that hunting provided them, even when he had been younger. But Sam wasn't the same way. Dean often had a hard time understanding his brother; he knew Sam liked what they did, at least to a certain degree. He had seen the complete joy and satisfaction on his face after they'd saved someone.
Yet Sam was more of a people person than Dean or John ever had been. He could adapt to different personalities and tell people exactly what they wanted to hear. Their dad often used this characteristic to his advantage on hunts, when dealing with people was unavoidable, but Dean always suspected that that's why Sam had a tendency to get more attached to the innocents they protected. Why it hurt him more if they died.
No, Dean could never fully understand his brother's ability to keep his heart completely open like he did, to show emotions and care and be vulnerable in the worst, and best, possible way.
He also couldn't remember a lot about his mother, either, having spent only four years with her. But if he had to guess, and he'd been doing that a lot lately, he'd say that Sam was more like their mother than John could stand to see.
Dean knew that their dad blamed himself for Mary's death, much the same way Sam probably blamed himself for Alex's, and anyone else he'd ever failed to save. Dean didn't get that either. The tendency to place illogical blame on himself was not a family characteristic he had inherited.
Dean stole one last glance at Sam. He knew his brother would get through this. Even if he was the most vulnerable and emotional Winchester there was, he was still tough. He would get passed this and be stronger for it.
Dean was gaining something from this experience as well. The ability to stand up for himself and face his father. To see past everything he had always admired about the man that had raised him, and realize that while he loved his sons, that sometimes wasn't enough. He finally saw all the flaws the man possessed and how much damage they could cause. He finally realized that John Winchester, was human.
He sighed out loud and rubbed his eyes, shaking his head slightly. "Night Sammy." Dean whispered, before rolling over, and finally falling into a fitful sleep.
End Chapter.
A/N:
Alright, they're halfway to the funeral. This story is only going to last another couple chapters, most likely ending after the funeral. There will be lots of angst and brotherly love. I promise only one more confrontation with John, and it's going to be between him and Sam.
Also, this was my first ever attempt at a battle scene, usually I stick more to verbal confrontations and insights into thoughts and feelings, and I'd love some feedback on that.
So, Review Please!