Summary: After an accident, the brothers are separated. During a long night apart, their perspectives change.

A/N: Once, again, big, heaping thank you's to Faye, who shares the Sammy love and has no problem letting this show make her become completely unhinged (so I have someone to share the padded cell with).

Disclaimer: I'm obsessed enough as it is. Can you imagine if I owned them? Total chaos!


Perspectives

Chapter Two

Sam felt himself falling and jerked awake. The sudden movement sent a bolt of pain lancing up his neck to his forehead and he gasped. He closed his eyes, pressing his hands over them. The pain lessened somewhat and he tentatively raised his head again, only to stare at the emptiness around him in confusion.

Where was Dean? Where was his father? Why was he in the car alone? The thought suddenly struck him that they must be waiting for him. I must have fallen asleep! His heart began to race.

Sam was positive he was supposed to be somewhere else, even though he couldn't pinpoint exactly where that somewhere was. All he could think was that his father and brother were waiting for him, and he was letting them down. Dad is going to be so pissed!

He closed his hand over the door handle, pulling up as he pushed his shoulder against the frame. The door refused to budge, and the movement kicked his headache into overdrive. Black spots danced across his vision, and he leaned back against the headrest, panting as he rode out a wave of nausea. What's wrong with me?

He was shaking, more than a little cold, and his stomach was turning lazy loops at counter-beats with the pounding in his head. He drew several deep breaths, trying to gather his strength before sliding across the bench seat and out the driver side door. Fortunately, this one opened, and he drew in a breath of fresh, if frigid, night air.

He stood slowly, needing the door for leverage as his legs seemed unwilling to completely support him.

"Dean? Dad?" The words rolled away from him, swallowed by the night. Where are they?

He couldn't think. Images skittered through his brain, but they were elusive. He couldn't get a fix on where he was or what he was supposed to be doing.

Lights shone in the distance - the orange glow of a town. They caught his attention as he searched the darkness for signs of his family. Maybe that's where I'm supposed to be.

With that goal in mind, Sam forced his unsteady limbs into action and started walking.

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This night just keeps getting better and better, Dean thought, frustration mounting as he passed yet another closed gas station. His father was going to be angry, there was no doubt. They were supposed to meet him that night, and now, there was no telling when they'd be on the road again. The Impala's front panel had crimped into the wheel well, making it impossible to drive. She needed a tow and a body repair shop.

"And apparently, they roll up the streets of this freaking town after nine o'clock!" Dean's impatience bubbled over, and he shouted the words aloud, his breath making little puffs of moisture in the air.

He paused at an intersection, scanning both directions for likely prospects. He turned left and kept walking.

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The intensity of Sam's headache seemed to increase with every step, and every so often, a wave of vertigo would overtake him, leaving him breathless. He'd been sick to his stomach twice already and was fighting a tremendous battle of wills to keep it from being a third time. What he wanted, more than anything, was to lie down. Even the asphalt looked inviting at this point. But he wouldn't stop. Dean and Dad are waiting. It was his only coherent thought, and he clung to it, using it to guide him forward.

A sweep of light blanketed the ground in front of him and he stumbled, not prepared for the sudden illumination. The brightness reignited his headache and the wider glimpse of his surroundings shattered his equilibrium. Unable to catch himself, he landed heavily on his hands and knees. Another spark of pain shot up from the base of his spine. This is such a bad night. Head swimming, he forced himself upright.

A car slowed as it drew abreast of him. He heard someone calling, but it took a real effort to make out the words.

"Hey, kid! Are you okay?"

For the third time that night, Sam answered that question affirmatively. This time, at least, he knew it was a lie.

"That your car back there? You need a ride?"

Suddenly, the prospect of not walking anymore was so appealing - so necessary - that it overrode everything Sam had ever been taught about being wary of strangers.

He sank gratefully into the front seat, finally looking at the car's owner. He was an older man, older than Sam's father, with salt and pepper hair.

"I'm Tom."

Sam shook the proffered hand, the motion so ingrained that he didn't have to think about it. "Sam."

"So, you had a wreck?"

Sam had no idea what the man was talking about. He didn't reply, but Tom didn't seem to notice.

"My brother owns a garage. I'll take you there. He's got a tow truck - get you fixed up in a jiffy."

Sam nodded when it seemed like a response was required.

Tom gave him an appraising look as the car started to move forward. "You don't look old enough to drive."

Sam stared at him, not really sure what Tom meant. "My brother drives," were the only words Sam could think of.

Tom seemed to accept his answer, despite its oddity. He started up a steady stream of one-sided chatter that didn't end until they had pulled up to a small repair shop.

"This is it. Come on."

Sam followed Tom into the garage, his body on autopilot. He squinted against the over-bright light, seeing a woman standing at a counter with a cup of coffee and a magazine in front of her. His vision wavered for an instant and her face became his mother's, angelic among the tools and oil stains. Then he blinked and his mother was gone. In her place was a short, round-looking woman. Her graying hair was pulled back in a loose bun, and she peered at him over the top of a pair of half-glasses.

"Margie."

The woman smiled. "Tom! What are you doing here at this hour?"

"Kid's had a wreck." Tom jerked a thumb at Sam. "We need the tow truck."

"Oh, no! Not another one! Marve just went out. That damned black ice . . . gets 'em every time." She shook her head, then glanced at the clock. "He only had to go to Glen Road, about four miles out. He shouldn't be too long."

"Glen Road - by the Hanley's property?"

"That's right."

"An Impala?"

"I think that's what they were talking about."

Tom looked over at Sam. "Sound like your brother's car, kid?"

Sam blinked, still not quite sure what Tom was talking about. "He drives an Impala."

"Must be him, then. Well, now, that worked out!"

Sam tried to process what Tom and Margie were saying. "So, he's coming back here? My brother?" Oh, please, let Dean be coming.

"That's what it sounds like. You just wait here and they'll be back in no time."

Sam sagged with relief. Dean was on the way. Everything was going to be okay.

"Honey, you look like you're dead on your feet. I've got a couch back here in the office. Why don't you come and lay down while you wait?" Margie had stepped around the desk and was regarding him with a concerned.

She led the way to a small room with a narrow green couch. "You can rest right here. I'll go grab you a blanket and you'll be all set."

Sam was so grateful that he actually felt tears stinging at the corners of his eyes. He quickly blinked them back, thanking the woman for her kindness.

"Aw, honey, it's no trouble. You just rest, ok? I'll be right back."

Sam sank onto the hard cushions, curling his long legs to his stomach and pillowing his head on his arm. He was asleep when Margie returned. She smiled at the sleeping teen, gently draping a quilt over his tall frame. She patted him on the shoulder and closed the door behind her as she left.