I do not own Dean, Sam, or Supernatural. I do, however, own my mind and this is all a product of its twisted development. Hope you enjoy.
Hey guys, sorry it took me so long to post this. I had my nieces this weekend, and it's next to impossible to type anything when your computer has been taken over by the Sims. I tried to use this chapter as a means to clear up some of the questions you guys have been asking, and I hope the answers satisfy you. I'm definitely using a little poetic license with this, but I think they will suffice. Please let me know if you're still confused...at least more so than would be expected from a convoluted story such as this. Enjoy the chapter, and know that action will be coming soon in the next chapters.
Sam wrung his hands tightly around the smooth steering wheel, nervously chewing on his bottom lip as he focused on the road ahead of him. They had been on the road already for four hours, and he had long ago begun to doubt his sanity for going along with Dean's convoluted scheme, but there wasn't much he could do about it now. In the seat beside him, Dean had spent the hours alternating between studying the map and reading and rereading the papers they had printed off. Before leaving the library, they had discovered several more web-sites with promising information and Dean had insisted on paper copies of every one before using his charm to kidnap his unsuspecting victims.
Looking in the rearview mirror, Sam could see that Laura had somehow managed to fall asleep, seemingly oblivious to how obscure their little trip really was. She had thought it would be 'fun.' An 'adventure.' So she had immediately picked up the phone and called in sick to work, procuring up a little cough and a gravelly voice to convince them of her illness.
A small sigh emerged from Sam's mouth, breaking the heavy silence and serving as an intro for him to talk. He looked at Dean. "There are signs for some restaurants up ahead. Could we maybe stop at one for some food?"
Dean nodded, happy to comply. "Of course. We never did have lunch."
Sam didn't want to press his luck, but he felt it necessary to try. "Do you, uh, think maybe that we're...far enough away to call Mom and Dad yet?"
"No way," Dean replied sternly, putting his hand on the shift knob as though that would prevent Sam from making the call. "We're still too close. They could make it in time to stop us."
"Dean, we have to call them," Sam pleaded, squeezing the steering wheel tighter. "They're gonna be worried sick! And they're gonna be so pissed off at us. Me especially."
Shrugging his shoulders, Dean removed his hand from the shifter and placed it back on his knee. "Sorry bro, we can't call them yet."
"But we can still stop for food, right?" And maybe I can sneak off and make a call without his knowing...
His head nodded, but as though he could read Sam's mind Dean was quick to add, "Food's fine, but don't get any crazy ideas about sneaking off and calling them behind my back. Because I'll know."
Sam did it anyway, waiting until Dean was caught up in Laura, flattering her mercilessly, before he casually excused himself from the table to go to the bathroom. When Dean barely looked up, Sam let out a breath he didn't know he was holding and made tracks to the bathroom, and out of Dean's line of sight.
He dialed the phone with shaky fingers, going over in his head what he would say, but everything he could think of sounded obscure, irrational, totally looney toons. Sam had always been level headed. He'd always made a point of thinking things through to the point of obsession before finally making a decision. And the fact that Dean, his Dean, was only slightly less OCD than he himself was made it that much harder for Sam to develop a logical explanation for their spur of the moment trip. Yeah, Mom and Dad, I know Dean just barely got out of the hospital, but we decided a hiking and caving expedition was just what the doctor ordered. What about the wheelchair? Oh, well I'll just push him over the rocks. Won't be a problem. Yeah, right. Suuure they'd buy that. Even his thoughts sounded sarcastic, and he couldn't imagine what his actual voice would convey.
The phone rang twice, and Sam gulped. Three times, and he could feel his breathing getting heavy. The fourth ring, Sam's hands were shaking and as the answering machine picked up he quickly slammed his thumb against the END button on his cell phone. He'd left no message. It's easier to ask forgiveness than permission, he thought, reminding himself of the classic cliche that his friends had often used on him when he stonewalled against their rebellions. But this time, they were right. And he decided right there that their parents wouldn't be called until the party was on the way back home.
It wasn't surprising to Sam that Dean didn't seem to realize he'd been gone, and they finished their meal without any mention of him sneaking off. They were back in the car, almost an hour beyond the restaurant before Dean's voice cut through the Metallica he'd insisted on listening to. "Couldn't do it, could you," he said smugly, looking at Sam for a formal confirmation.
"Do what?" Sam asked innocently, although the hasty swerve of the car gave a different story.
Dean leered at the younger boy, poking him in the arm with his index finger. "You know what," he teased dryly. "The call. You think I didn't know you tried to call Mom and Dad?"
"Oh, that." If he could have, Sam would be looking at his shoes, but instead he carefully studied the deserted road in from of him, pretending to search for dangers in their path. "I'm sorry, Dean. I thought they needed to know. But... but I couldn't do it. When it came down to it, I just didn't know what to say."
Dean laughed, mocking Sam. "What, you couldn't tell dear old Mommy and Daddy the truth? Mom, Dad, Dean's lost it. He thinks he's someone else, and we're going to fight the demon that brought him to this world in the first place. Be back at dinner time."
"Honestly, Dean. How would you explain something like this?" Sam appealed, gripping the wheel tighter in his hands.
"I wouldn't. That's why what we do isn't talked about. In my world, Sam and I have a thankless job, and most of the time we can never explain what's going on. We just don't talk about it."
"I don't know how you did it, day after day," Laura cooed sadly. Fingers reached forward, clutching Dean's shoulders and massaging them comfortingly.
He reached up, joining his hands with Laura's. "By the end, I'd told you about all this," he said, patting Laura's hands to indicate that he was talking to her, "But usually people saw us more as outlaws than the Supernatural law. It's a lonely life."
"But I don't understand, then," she continued. "If it's so lonely...so thankless, then why are we on our way to Missouri trying to figure out a way to send you back? It doesn't make sense."
Dean squeezed her hands tighter as he noticed Sam nodding his head in agreement with her question. His voice came out low, pleading. "Please don't make me try to explain this to you guys. It's just a feeling I have...I need to go back."
The car was silent for several minutes, and Dean contemplated turning up the music so the verbal silence wasn't so deafening, but Sam was having none of that. He wasn't about to let Dean off so easily; it had just taken him a while to piece together what he would say. The words came out hesitant, but contrived, and he kept his tone low as though it might make the words less hurtful. "Dean, I need to get some things straight. You said you watched your Sam die in your arms. You said you held him in your arms and saw him take his last breath. If you're so certain he's dead then why are you still so desperate to go back there?"
"Dammit Sam," Dean snapped, releasing Laura's hand and slamming the balled fist into the dashboard. "I don't want to explain this. I can't explain this. All I know is that I can't turn my back on the possibility of going back there."
"And what happens to us when you go back there?" Sam cried, angrily wiping at the few tears that had snuck past the barricade he'd put up. "And what happens to you? You're my brother, dammit!"
"I'm not your brother. At least not the one you know! And if you'd really stop to think about that, you might realize that you actually want your own brother back!"
Sam paused, mouth agape as he realized the thought had never crossed his mind. Sure, there had been the idea in the back of his mind that if this Dean wasn't his Dean than his Dean must be out there somewhere going through the same issues. But in the present, he'd simply accepted this Dean as his Dean. "Do you think my Dean is back in your world?" Sam asked, fear rising in his thoughts. "Because you left your world from that cave where the Pathuma lived. Could he–"
"I have no idea," Dean interrupted, not wanting to think about it any more than he had to. But when he saw the look on Sam's face, he couldn't leave it at that. "Don't worry, though. I killed it. If he's there, you don't need to worry about him facing it."
"Yeah, but he's still there, in a strange world. And if your brother really is dead, then he's all alone."
"You think I don't know that?" Dean snapped, ignoring completely that fact that Laura sat behind him, desperately trying to calm his nerves. "That's part of the reason I have to go back. If I'm here, he never can be!"
"What about the time difference?" Sam continued, unable to just let Dean off the hook. He wanted answers and he wanted them now. "You said it was March where you came from, but it's November here. That's eight months. Even in the coma that wouldn't explain the difference."
Dean sighed, realizing this conversation couldn't be avoided, and deciding it better just to let it happen. "Time zones are new to me," Dean answered slowly. "But time moves differently in different dimensions. From what I understand, there can be a lapse of just a few minutes, days, months, or even years. Sometimes, you can go into a different dimension and come back into your own just a few hours later, but actually have aged by years. Who knows what month it will be when I get back."
Chewing on his lower lip, Sam contemplated Dean's explanation. Oddly, it made sense. His mind went to the episodes of Buffy that Jess had made him watch, recalling something about dimensional time changes in several of those. He'd rolled his eyes at the thought; in truth, he'd rolled his eyes at the entire premise of the series, but now he was willing to give it more credence. But more questions streamed his mind, and as he excepted one explanation another begged to be offered. "What about those scars? Mom was right, you know. They weren't on you even a couple days before you woke up. So how come there on you...but you're in my brother's body? I mean, if the scars could transfer, why didn't the rest of it. Why are you paralyzed?"
The question caught even Dean off guard, and he hesitated before shrugging his shoulders and picking up the stacks of papers they had collected. His eyes scanned quickly, looking for an explanation, and finally settling on the closest thing. "I definitely think I got your brother's body when I transferred dimensions, but for some reason I don't think the scars are considered bodily. I think they're considered emotional. Those scars...they're a part of me. They're who I am."
"So you're saying they followed you into this dimension because they're scars on your memory...you're aura?" Laura piped in, trying to understand what Dean was saying and coming closer than Sam was.
"I guess so," Dean replied. "It's the only explanation I can come up with."
"So does that mean that my Dean wouldn't have them in your world?"
"Probably not, but then again, I don't really know because I still got his paralysis."
Sam considered that for a moment, and then prodded more, "So you think he's OK in your world then? You think he can walk?"
"I don't know, Sam. I guess so." Aggravation became obvious in Dean's tone as he thought of the one thing he despised from this world. Maybe...maybe if he could walk, he wouldn't be so desperate to get out. But when it came to living without his legs, the nagging in his brain got louder. He had to get back. He had to walk again.
Sam seemed to shrink away, realizing that Dean was getting tired of answering his questions, but obviously still curious. Assuring himself that Dean wouldn't do anything while he had control of the car, Sam tried for one more question. Dean continued to talk about a feeling. He kept referring to a pull that was calling him. And he'd had that dream this morning, a morning that seemed all too long ago, but was really less than half a day from the present. He sounded more calm and confident than he felt, but he tried to make his face match that of his voice. "Dean, Why do you keep talking about your feeling? If Sam's dead, why do you seem so desperate to return to something?"
Dean stammered, the words sounding hollow as he spoke them because the answer he'd come up with seemed so unreal, and yet so possible. He looked straight on at Sam, his eyes boring into the boy's head with fierce finality. "Because I don't think Sam is still dead."