The Impala purred as it idled in the parking lot of a dingy motel. The purr snapped silent with an expert flick of the fingers that had completed the task countless times before. The men had driven for what seemed like days, putting as much distance between themselves and Nebraska as though the distance could keep them from remembering. Dean hauled himself out of the car, his legs protesting the amount of time spent behind the wheel. He closed the door with a slam and waited from Sam to do the same, resting his arms on top of his precious car. Sam followed his brother, closing the door with less force and turning to take in Dean's haggard expression. Dean ran a hand over his eyes then back to Sam "You get the stuff out of the trunk. I'll get us a room" And then he was gone, silently on his way to reception.
Sam wandered around to the driver's side of the car, barely picking up his feet. It was fascinating that he could spend so much time sitting down, yet still be so worn down from it. He reached in through the open window and pulled the keys from where they were left in the ignition then made he way to the trunk. Yanking it open, he felt no need to prop it up, as was common practice. He knew what he wanted and so reached for the bags with one hand and yanked them both out, allowing them to fall unceremoniously to the ground. Just as he got the trunk closed, Dean reappeared, picking up one of the bags that had fallen to the ground and with no acknowledgement to Sam, took off in the direction of their newly purchased room. Sam followed, pausing as Dean fumbled with the keys. Upon entry to the room, they were assaulted with the sharp scent of disinfectant sickeningly mixed with mildew. It wasn't top of the range, but it was a place to stay.
Sam threw his bag on the bed closest to the door without a glance to Dean. "No way Sammy, age an beauty before smarts" He set his own bag down next to Sam's, then threw Sam's bag to the other bed. "Hey!" came the feeble protest, but it wasn't acknowledged. Muttering, Sam walked the extra paces to the bed and sat down next to his upside-down bag, righting it. He wondered why Dean always had to have the bed closest to the door. He assumed it was a lazy thing, Dean not bothering to walk the extra few steps to the second bed. He watched Dean sit on the creaky bed and wondered just how true his initial thoughts were. Too tired to pull his eyes from Dean's form, he watched as Dean pulled a hunting knife from his bag and place it under his pillow in an act of 'precaution'. Anything but fear. "Sam, you don't stop watching me, I'm going to poke you in the eye" It was childish, but it got the point across. Sam shook himself from his bout of the stares and looked down at his hands.
"Dean, when are we going to talk about what happened in Nebraska? Or Rockford? Or home?"
"Do I look like Meg Ryan? Jesus. We're not going to talk about anything. There's nothing to say"
Dean wanted more than anything to talk about what had happened in those places Sam mentioned. But he knew he couldn't. He couldn't bring himself to go through every thought, every feeling he contained in his head and in his heart. It was just a fact. Emotions got in the way of everything.
"Dean…"
"Sam. Get to sleep. I want to move off early tomorrow"
With a sigh of reservation, Sam shuffled off to the bathroom to shower and change into sleeping attire. Dean remained static on his bed. He knew Sam wouldn't let up until he got what he wanted. He loved the guy, but he could be a real pain in the ass when he wanted something.
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AN: Alright, I know this chapter shifted point of view…and that's a bit of a no no, but I wanted to get a bit of Dean in there too. I also know this didn't really explain much. That's terrible of me, I'm sorry. I do realise that these chapters are short, but when I'm finished, I can't force anymore out. Don't worry though, they'll talk about things next time around…because I love all that brotherly angst and stuff. Constructive criticism would be lovely!