A/N: Really, I promise this is going somewhere...I ask for patience from indulgent readers. This is so out of the norm for my typical story that I am suffering from incredibly amounts anxiety as I publish these opening chapters. Thanks to those who have reviewed! And, geminigrl11 deserves more than thanks--she is the emotional backbone of this piece (and of my life half of the time!).

Chapter Three

Dean never thought he'd miss the greasy, too-young excuse for a mechanic he met yesterday, but as he rested his chin on his hands, propped up against the counter, he would have given anything to see his youthful gap-toothed grin.

The owner of the shop was greasy too, though he had less hair to show it. For what he lacked in hair, he seemed to make up for in weight, and his belly bulged under the threadbare jumpsuit.

The name embroidered on it said Gene and clearly he was not the savvy professional Dean would have preferred.

"Well, we've checked the engine, and it could be one of the valves or it could be the exhaust system. We're going to test the electrical today." The man's laconic speech and unhurried movements made it clear that haste was not going to be a priority.

"So, in other words, you have no idea what the problem is." Dean bit the inside of his cheek, trying to rein in his growing temper, reminding himself that there was no other car shop for miles.

"Well, now, we've narrowed it down..." Gene drawled the words out, with no clear conclusion to his thought.

"Great." Dean pasted a fake smile to his face and made up his mind to haunt the garage like Casper. "You just keep me posted then."

Gene nodded benignly, and Dean headed to the diner.

OOOOOOO

The day was in full swing and the town was moderately buzzing with morning business. Milo's Diner, one of two restaurants in the town, had attracted the majority of the morning eaters. The diner was half full, populated by a few farmers, a handful of teens, and a pair of young mothers and their infants.

Sam had finished and discarded his coffee and was seated in a booth by the door. The sunlight beat through the windows, settling over him, and he felt himself stifle a yawn. He considered ordering another cup of coffee.

Before he could make a motion to the waitress, Dean strode in. He found Sam immediately and made his way to the booth.

"So?"

Dean slumped sulkily.

Sam eyed him quizzically. "That bad?"

"They have no clue what the problem is. 'Gene' is still running tests."

Sam could tell Dean was less than pleased with the progress that hadn't been made. If he'd been more awake, he would have taken advantage of the opportunity to tease Dean about leaving the care of his baby to a stranger. But it wasn't worth the energy.

"So we're stuck here another day?"

Dean sighed dramatically. "At least."

Sam let out a long and slow breath. "Well, guess we really could use the time to recharge our batteries."

"Whatever," Dean muttered picking up a menu. "Have you ordered?"

Crinkling his nose, Sam shook his head. "I had some coffee on the way over."

"Coffee, college boy, is not breakfast," Dean said, making eye contact with a roaming waitress.

The woman, in her mid-30s with her hair pulled in a messy bun, smiled wearily at them. "You two ready?"

Grinning broadly at her, Dean said, "Sure. I'll have the...Milo's Breakfast. With scrambled eggs."

She jotted it down before turning to Sam. "For you?"

"Just a coffee, thanks."

"Make that two Milo's Breakfasts," Dean interjected forcefully. "He likes his eggs overeasy."

Sam just rolled his eyes and the waitress glanced between them. When neither said anything, she shrugged and wandered off to the window.

"Dude, I can order my own breakfast."

"But you didn't."

"I'm not hungry."

"Right, so why can I hear your stomach growling over here?"

"My stomach's off."

"Because you haven't eaten more than a French fry in days."

Sam looked away but couldn't deny it. His eating habits had been deteriorating with his sleeping habits. Though he knew his stomach was empty, the thought of eating something made him queasy. Unfortunately, he was getting the feeling that Dean was becoming suspicious of his sleeping and eating. When Dean got into mother hen mode, Sam knew it was best to stop protesting and at least pretend to comply.

The breakfast was quick in coming, but the sight of the greasy eggs on the plate made Sam's stomach turn more than he had anticipated.

Despite Dean's threats, Sam ate little more than half a pancake and a forkful of egg.

"Dude, what's with you?" Dean finally asked. "Are you sick or something?"

Sam grimaced as hot coffee slid over his already scalded tongue. "I'm fine. Just not hungry. It happens, you know?"

Once again, Dean's eyes narrowed. Sam's excuses were pathetic; his brother wasn't even trying to effectively deter Dean's questions. Not that he could anyway--the continual companionship between the brothers made secrets nearly impossible to keep, especially when it came to daily routines. He had seen Sam through some difficult times, and they seemed to be headed that way again, only this time, Dean had no idea why. Whatever was going on with Sam, it was definitely starting to effect more than just his sleeping patterns. If things didn't change soon, he would have to resort to more drastic measures to make Sam take care of himself.

OOOOOOO

With nothing else to do, Sam and Dean caught an afternoon matinee at the movie theater, and found themselves as the only audience members, save two elderly women who sat three rows ahead of them.

Dean bought popcorn and tried to trick Sam into eating some, but his brother made it through the movie only ingesting a handful of greasy kernels.

Afterwards, the two brothers lingered outside the cinema. Sam squinted against the waning summer sun, feeling the tendrils of a headache blossoming in his skull. He tried to ignore it and focus on what Dean was saying.

"I think I'm just going to ask around a little," Dean said. "See if I can find someone with a life."

Sam merely nodded, and Dean cast him a worried glance. He tended to take his brother at his word, even when he knew his brother was fudging the truth. It was a family policy that had kept them from facing all kinds of uncomfortable topics.

"You sure you're feeling okay, Sam?"

Sam rubbed the bridge of his nose, hoping to alleviate the pressure. "Yeah. I just--I'm a little tired."

That's the understatement of the year. "You want to come with?" Dean asked.

Shaking himself, Sam forced his eyes open. "No. I think I'll just head back to the motel. Maybe lay down for awhile."

Part of Dean would have preferred to go with his brother--he didn't like the slightly pale hue in his brother's face--but he knew if he went back to the motel now he was likely to go stir crazy after an hour. If they were going to be stuck in this town for awhile, Dean needed to find some way to pass the time, because if he and Sam spent it all together, they would probably kill each other before the end of the week. Besides, Sam didn't need a babysitter, and the kid was actually volunteering to lay down. "Okay. Meet you back there in a few."

OOOOOOO

By the time Dean had disappeared around a corner, Sam realized he had forgotten to start walking. With a self-deprecating chuckle, he forced his sluggish body to move.

He only made it a few steps when a breeze tickled his face. He let his eyes close, the coolness refreshing his tired body. But the breeze brushed passed him as quickly as it came. When he opened his eyes, he was suprirsed to find a dog at his feet, a mangy looking thing with dirty brown hair.

He looked at it curiously before beginning on his way again.

The dog followed him, trailing a few feet behind him. He stopped, curiously, turning to face it. The dog stopped too, sat back on its haunches, and looked up at him expectantly. Sam almost smiled and started to move again, well aware of the dog trotting behind him.

Sam stopped again, moving closer to the dog this time, kneeling to examine it. But as he reached his hand out to ruffle its fur, its eyes flashed black and a vicious snarl escaped his mouth as he nipped at Sam's hand.

Betrayer.

Sam yelped and stumbled backwards.

He regained his composure and set to look at the dog again, but it was panting happily now, its tail wagging and tongue lolling from its mouth.

"Baxter!" a small voice called.

Sam watched, fascinated and dumbstruck, as a young girl in a sundress skipped toward him.

"Baxter," she said, looking sternly down at the mutt. "You're not supposed to get out of the yard. Mommy will be angry."

Sam stared.

She smiled at him. "Sorry. He didn't bother you, did he?"

She looked so happy, so peaceful, and her voice was so bright that Sam couldn't stop himself from nodding.

With a grin, she clipped a leash to Baxter's collar, and turned to skip merrily down the street.

Sam was almost convinced he had imagined it, but before the dog stood, its eyes flashed in darkness yet again. Sam gaped, his eyes wide, but the dog was up and following the little girl down the street.

He shook his head, trying to clear his mind, wondering if perhaps he needed more sleep than he realized. Straightening, he turned back toward the motel.