Okay, so I know this took entirely too long and I apologize. But you'll be happy to know I finally got a handle on the story!! Add in the busted hand (cross your fingers for no surgery) and my little three day escape from consciousness, and I think I did good getting anything out at all!
I promise to be a better author!!
So this starts slow, but I think its better by the time it ends…good stuff coming!!
Review please…make the muse dance!!
Dean made good on his promise and was back in the morning.
He had driven two hours out of town, his mind racing faster than the 425 under the hood, and stopped at a diner for bad coffee. He sat alone in a sticky booth in the corner and drank two cups of black. He left the waitress a five dollar tip on a buck twenty bill.
He drove the two hours back to the motel, his head turning over thoughts about how to get out of this mess and what leaving it behind would mean. He pulled into the parking lot and sat with the music playing low, watching the sun coming up, and waiting. He was waiting for something to happen, some kind of sign to tell him he was supposed to come back and see things through.
As the sun rose and settled high in the western sky, he got out of the car and laid across the hood. He counted the minutes and waited for his sign. But nothing came. He watched the birds land on the power lines one by one then flutter away in large groups. He shifted around so the cold metal of the car was never on his back too long. He waited as long as he could before he gave up and slid off of the car. He was opening the door, ready to slip back inside and go find a nice desolate highway to park on and blow his brains out …when his sign came.
The motel room opened and slowly, Sam's tall frame stepped into the cloudy morning light. He smiled and looked Dean right in the eye before pulling his hand through his hair and moving the tangled strands from his face. That's all needed to do, nothing special, he just had to be Sam. His Sammy, with the same sleepy eyes and soft smile he'd worn everyday of his life. "Did you bring coffee or should I grab my coat?" he yelled into the parking lot. And Dean knew that was his sign. Sam still needed him. Even if it was only for coffee in the morning and clean underwear when he ran out.
Dean hesitated for a moment at the prospect of being locked in the car with Sam and the promise of awkward conversation and that look Sam was always wearing these days. "G-Get your coat. I'll wait out here. Hurry".
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
Rosie's Diner was big and crowded. The boys saw themselves to a booth in the back were just getting comfortable when a chubby redheaded waitress came by and took their orders. Sam just wanted some oatmeal and a coffee but Dean ordered a three egg omelet, toast, ham, and milk. Sam slowly ate his oatmeal and watched Dean shovel it in.
He'd been eating this way since about a week after he got back. There was no such thing as too much and gluttony seemed to be his best friend.
"When you're done loading up on trans-fats, we gotta decide where we go now". Sam stared at his brother for just a moment before he averted his eyes and started to shred his napkin, "either strange death in Utah or an unexplained death in Colorado".
Dean drained the milk in his glass and looked out of the window for just a moment. "Colorado sounds good".
Sam wasn't sure if the easy way Dean agreed was good or bad, but it was a move forward, out of town and a way to put one more day behind them.
o-o-o-o-o
It was seven hours to Colorado. Six hours of near silence, mostly grunts and deep breathing, then Sam started in on the specs of the job. The victims name was Steve Morris; white male, 34 years old, girlfriend that lives in town, no family to speak of, and Dean's favorite part…occupation: ski instructor. He was found mutilated in the woods he'd spent most of his life in.
"And this requires our specific skill set how?" Dean was trying his hardest to keep up his end of things, but the fire wasn't really there.
Sam sighed, also doing his part, and pulled a paper from the pile in his lap. "Couple of people have been found dead in those woods every twelve years for the last seventy-two years. They're all mutilated and it's always been blamed on wildlife. But there is a clear pattern: all men, all capable and comfortable in the outdoors, all single, all within the same seven day span every twelve years". He stopped reading and dropped the paper, "It so clear, I don't understand how no one's seen this pattern before, even local LEO's".
"Okay".
Again, Sam was put off by Dean's lack of enthusiasm. "I think this should be easy. A little recon work, a little time in the snow. We can be done by the end of the week".
Dean kept his eyes on the road, didn't say a word.
Sam scrubbed a hand over his face. "I also think we should find a room when we get to town then head out for a drink".
Dean shot his brother a sidelong glance but had his eyes back on the road as soon as he saw Sam was serious.
"Kay. Room, food, drinks".
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
It had an honest to God red brick drive. The shrubs were perfectly manicured and the flowers boxes were overflowing with brilliant flora. If he had it in him Dean would have found it nauseating.
"Just get us a room, don't give em' any reason to want to get to know us". Dean looked at the office building, "Don't need grandma coming by with cookies while we're washing Yeti blood out of our clothes".
Sam huffed and closed the door, disappeared into the office, and came out ten minutes later with a key. "Number nineteen on the back end".
When Sam slipped the key in the door he was prepared for picket fence headboards, garden murals on the wall, maybe even a few fairies carefully placed in the room. But nothing could have prepared him for what he found.
"Holy shit". It was the only thing he could get out before Dean pushed his way into the room and started laughing.
"Gnomes. Sweet".
Sam just stood slack jawed.
There were tiny gnomes all over the room, accompanying the picket fence headboards and garden murals. On the nightstand, the table, the windowsill.
"How the hell am I supposed to sleep in here?" Sam asked as he dropped his bag on the first bed and moved further into the room.
Dean closed the door behind him and walked in, picking up Sam's bag and throwing it on the opposite bed. He dropped his own on the first bed and walked through, taking note of the gnomes on the shower curtain, holding the lamp, and the gnome clock on the dresser. "You close your eyes, genius".
Sam couldn't contain the eye roll or huff as he sat on the edge of the bed.
Dean walked back to his own bed, shedding his jacket as he went. Sam couldn't help but notice the way his brother limped.
"You're leg hurting you?" He asked.
When the hell hound went for Dean, he'd done a lot of damage, especially when he ripped through Dean's left leg. It was better now, but when he was on his feet too long or sat in the car for long stretched it bothered him.
"It's fine", Dean sat down and started to pull clothes out of his bag. "I'm just gonna take a hot shower and loosen it up a little." He stood with a grimace and walked to the bathroom door, "why don't you order a pizza or something and we can turn in early. Maybe catch Eddie Izzard on HBO".
"Thought we were going out", Sam asked.
Dean shot him a look from the doorway, "Not tonite Sammy. You so thirsty, there's a half a six pack in the trunk".
That said, Dean escaped into the sanctuary of the bathroom and stayed there for almost an hour.
When he came out, Sam was laying on the bed, with half of a pizza and three empty beer bottles. He had taken every gnome and placed them behind the desk and put the lamp and the clock on the floor.
"Where are all your friends", Dean asked as he walked through the room, a towel running over his hair.
"I put all the freaky little trolls away", he snapped. "Left you some pizza, too".
Dean sat on his bed with a sigh. "And no beer".
"I was thirsty", Sam shrugged.
"Whatever". Dean threw his towel at the younger man and sat down. He pulled his aching leg on to the bad and started to massage it. "Why don't you scurry out and get me a soda, huh? Nothing diet".
Sam did as he was asked and brought Dean the soda from the vending machine, and when the pizza was gone and the witty comic had accomplished his mission on the television, the boys readied for bed.
Sam closed the curtains and cranked up the heater before convincing Dean to take something for the pain in his leg.
They both crawled under the blankets and hunkered down for the night, but the night was always the hardest part. Sure, the doors were locked and there were guns and blades hidden under the pillows. But since John died, or maybe it was since Sam came back from Stanford, they never felt safe. Rarely did they both sleep through the night, and with Dean in a medicated sleep, tonight was Sam's night to fight in the darkness.
Long after Dean slipped off, Sam was up, stretched across the twin mattress, replaying the last year. He could see all of his mistakes, all of Dean's mistakes, all of their mistakes. The last months were the most vivid. All the searching and fighting to save Dean, only to see him ripped and bleeding on the floor of a strangers home. The battle to pull him out of hell. And now this daily fight to get Dean back from where all of his pain and anguish had taken him.
Sam spent hours going over the 'what if's' and the 'if only's', each thought tearing him up a little more, till he couldn't breathe, couldn't just lay there awake anymore. He pulled the covers back, tripped over the gnome lamp, and pulled on his boots and jacket. He wasn't sure he could get out into the night air fast enough, but he did. Tripping and stumbling, thumping into the door before falling into the cool Colorado night. He stood breathing in frigid air and kicking himself for everything that was his fault, from the night in Cold Oak to the pain in Dean's leg.
He strode over to the car, opened the passenger's side door, and pulled Dean's flask out of the glove compartment. He unscrewed the cap and was taking a long pull.
He was jerked from behind and almost choked on the bitter drink.
"What the hell…Dean? What are you doing up?" He swallowed the whiskey in his mouth as he spoke.
"My spidy-senses were tingling", he smiled softly. "I woke up to pee and your bed was empty. Why are you out here in the middle of the night?"
Sam held up the flask, "Couldn't sleep. Thought this might help a little".
"Alright, well. You had your night cap, now come on in. I'm not gonna take care of you giant, snot covered face when you get sick".
Sam unscrewed the flask and took another pull before he followed his brother in.
It wasn't an end to anything, just the opposite actually. It was the beginning of a whole new problem. Now they were in the same room, in the same space, hiding from each other.
Yes it was short…but what do you think?? Please review!! Hugs to everybody!!