His brother was an ass. A stubborn, whiny ass that never listened. Dean gripped the steering wheel of his beloved Impala tighter as he caught Sam glaring at him in his peripheral vision. He was well aware that his little brother was pissed, Sam was hardly subtle about that emotion. Dean didn't even know what the hell Sam's problem was anyway. It wasn't like he had gotten shot by his brother lately. As far as Dean was concerned, Sam had nothing to pout about. The little shit.
Dean shifted in his seat, sending a searing slash of pain down his side. He gripped the wheel even tighter to stop himself from groaning. The last thing he wanted was for Sam to see that he was hurting. If he did, his little brother would get all depressed and Dean would take pissy Sam over guilty, silent, sad Sam any day.
The music abruptly cut off in the middle of the best Aerosmith song ever and Dean steeled himself from glancing at his brother. The kid had no respect and besides, he already knew the expression on Sam's face. His jaw would be stubbornly set in a ridged line and his dark eyes would be sparking with mulish conviction. "You've been driving for almost sixteen hours, Dean. We're stopping at the next motel," Sam declared.
Wow, he hoped Mr. I'm-Nothing-Like-Dad didn't expect a salute, because he wasn't getting one. "Fine," Dean grunted and shrugged like it was no big deal. He really didn't feel like arguing anyway, his chest and ribs couldn't take sitting in the car much longer - not that he would ever let Sam know that was his reason for giving in. The last thing Dean needed was for Sam to think he was weak as well as pathetic. Fuck! He would be glad when his bruises and wounds from the rock salt would heal and he and Sam could move past all of this and get back to normal. For a brief moment, the image of Sam pointing the gun at him and pulling the trigger pushed itself into Dean's thoughts. The rage in his brother's eyes had been so pure and unmistakeably directed at him. Dean couldn't ignore it - Sam had never even looked at their father like that. Hate didn't heal and it didn't go away and he had no idea how to fix it.
A red neon sign appeared suddenly in the darkness, blessedly distracting Dean from the direction of his thoughts. He turned into the parking lot of 'The Pit stop Motel' and stopped in front of the office. He was bracing himself for movement when Sam opened his door and jumped out. "I'll get the room."
Dean let out a sigh once the door was slammed shut. The tension in the car had been giving him a headache on top of everything and thankfully it left with Sam. Dean leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes. He knew Sam was itching to talk about everything and that his refusal to discuss anything was the reason for Sam's increasing pissiness. Well, for once he wasn't going to cave into little brother's demands. He didn't want to get into a touchy-feely crap discussion that would only lead to them saying more horrible things to each other that would mean another touchy-feely crap discussion that would get them nowhere. Sam was just going to have to suck it up and stop being a baby.
The office door creaked as it swung open and banged shut. A few moments later Sam touched Dean's shoulder and he opened his eyes. Dean suppressed a frustrated growl at the naked concern directed his way. He may have agreed to stopping here, but that didn't mean he needed to be coddled. He had looked after himself just fine during the four years Sam was off 'being normal.'
"We're in room five. Do you want me to park the car?"
"Nah, I got it." Dean waved Sam off. He didn't need any favors from his baby brother. Besides, moving hurt like hell and less he did, the better. He parked in front of room five and looked back at Sam, who was still standing in front of the office. Happy not to have an audience, Dean took a deep breath and then exited the car. He managed to snag his duffel from the back before stopping to rest against the car. Dean frowned. Sam hadn't moved and was currently in a staring contest with the Norman Bates desk clerk. "Sam, you coming or are you planning on sleeping in the parking lot?" Dean yelled. He didn't like the way the giant creep was looking at his brother. Ever since Sam had told him that he had psychic dreams, Dean had been on edge. Having that kind of sensitivity had to make a magnet for the evil baddies out there - Doctor Ellicott proved it. Dean had been poking around Ellicott's files, but yet the evil ghost doctor had chosen to lure Sam into his lair. He would give anything to be able to burn that bastard's bones one more time.
As Dean was contemplating the multiple deaths Dr. Ellicott, Sam jogged up to him looking like he did when he was ten and had eaten the last cookie. "Sorry." Sam hesitantly grabbed his duffle from the backseat. "You know, maybe we should keep moving. I could drive."
"No way, I'm beat and you've already paid for the room." And he didn't exactly relish the idea of sitting in the car for hours, not with the promise of a long, hot shower within reach. Of course, this was Sam suggesting this and there had to be a reason why he had suddenly changed his mind. Dean hung his head and pinched the bridge of his nose, wearied at just the thought of more traveling. "What's your problem, Sam? First you tell me to pull over at the next motel and now you want to drive all night?"
"Nothing. Desk clerk just gave me the creeps."
Dean pushed himself off the car as Sam unlocked the motel room door. He couldn't breath. Pain exploded in his chest and it took all of Dean's strength to stay upright. He pushed past Sam into the room and headed straight into the bathroom. He heard the motel room door slam as he hunched over the sink, breathing in shallow gasps until the pain started to subside. As soon as he was able, he reached over and shut the bathroom door. Sam couldn't see him like this. It had been two and a half days since Sam had shot him with the rock salt, he should be getting better, but he wasn't. The pain was getting worse. Dean took a deep breath and pushed away from the sink. A glimpse at his face in the cracked mirror showed him exactly why it was a good thing they were nowhere near civilization. His skin was a greyish white and he had black circles under his eyes. The ladies would not have appreciated this look.
Surprisingly, the shower was decent. When Dean turned on the water, it came out in a forceful, hot spray that would go a long way in loosening up the muscles in his chest and ease his breathing. It was a relief, because he could not afford a hospital stay - not with their Dad missing and Sam so mad at him. Very carefully, Dean shed his clothes and stepped into the shower. He let the water course over his head and down his chest and back. His Dad left him. Sam hated him. What would stop his little brother from taking off on his own to search for their errant father? With Sam's psychic ability, it wasn't like he really needed his big brother. What was Dean anyway? A pathetic soldier that was only good for following orders. And if he was injured, he wasn't even good for that. Dean scrubbed a hand across his face. "Please, don't leave me, Sammy," he whispered into the rushing water.
- - - -
Something was wrong. Dean opened his eyes, but didn't reach for the knife under his pillow. It wasn't the presence of another person that had woken him, it was the absence. He couldn't hear Sam breathing from the other bed. "Sam," Dean called out while carefully manoeuvring himself up into a sitting position on the edge of the bed. He didn't really expect an answer, he knew there was no one else in the room. "Goddamnit, Sam, you better not have wandered off alone. Being a sulky prick won't protect you from any nasties lurking out there." Dean fumbled with the bedside lamp.
Even though it was dim, it still took a few moments for Dean's eyes to adjust to the light. There was definitely something wrong. Sam's bed looked like it hadn't even been touched and his duffle was missing. Why would Sam take his duffle if he was just walking off a mood? He wouldn't...unless he didn't plan on coming back. Dean licked his lips. "Sam wouldn't do that," he told the quiet twilight. Right, because it's not like he had never done it before. Dean buried his head in his hands, clutching at his hair. "Shut up. Sam did not leave." Yeah, because Sam was nothing like Dad. This was how it had happened with him. He had woken up in the middle of the night in a motel room alone,but at least John Winchester had thoughtfully left a note. Dean stood up suddenly and looked around the room. There was no note. He quickly pulled on a pair of jeans and jerked a t-shirt over his head - barely noticing the accompanying pain the movements caused. Sam was probably just pouting in the car. He used to do that sometimes when their Dad announced it was time to move on from a place. He could still picture little Sammy staring sullenly out the window from the backseat until their Dad dragged him out of the car and into their new 'home.'
"Sam," Dean yelled as he banged out of the room. The Impala sat in its parking space, an empty sentry waiting for its call to duty. Where the hell was his brother? Even if Sam had left, there was no where for him to go. Despite his college boy ways, Dean doubted he would hitchhike, but maybe he grabbed a bus. Sam has insisted he get the room, maybe he wanted to ask the desk clerk the best way to clear out of here and leave his brother in the dust. That could explain the weird looks. Well, there was only one way to get answers. Dean stalked toward the office. Maybe Sam had left his 'Dear Dean, Fuck off' letter with Lurch.
"Good morning, Mr. Winchester, you're up early," the clerk greeted Dean brightly even though he had unceremoniously slammed into the office. "Are you leaving us so soon?"
"Where's my brother?" So help him, if this guy kept up the corny customer service act, Dean was going to blast him and he might not use rock salt.
"Excuse me?" The man frowned. "Were you expecting someone to join you?"
"No. My brother, Sam, checked us in and now I can't find him."
"No," the man said placidly. He brought the register out from under
the desk and turned it so that Dean could read it. His name, his
signature, was recorded under room five. "You checked in yourself,
Mr. Winchester, and you were alone."
To be continued...