MARCH
Sam rapped on the doorframe before leaning through the doorway. "Dad? You ready to go?"
"Do I look ready to you?"
Sam bit his tongue and joined his father in front of the hotel mirror. "Your appointment is in 45 minutes and it takes 25 minutes to get there. Where are the clothes I set out for you?"
"Those aren't my clothes."
"We just bought them the other day, remember?" Sam lied. The soft flannel shirt and worn jeans had been John's for years. He studied his father's reflection, his eyes drawn to the sprinkling of silver hair glittering under the harsh florescent lights. His face was darkened with lines of age and fatigue, and his chin rough with stubble. "Couldn't sleep last night?" Sam knew the answer; he was awoken at 2 am by the instrumental notes of the original Star Trek theme song.
"I slept good enough," John grumbled. "Out of my way."
Sam leapt back as John brushed past, moving towards the unmade bed. "Dean will be back with breakfast soon, you better get dressed. We'll have to eat and run."
John grabbed the flannel shirt and began pulling it on over his wrinkled white t-shirt. "I feel fine. I'm not going to the doctor. We've got work to do- I've got a lead on the demon that we need to check out."
Sam remained where he was, near the front door, and prayed for Dean's speedy return. They hadn't had a lead on the demon for well over a year. He cleared his throat and said, "We'll check out the lead, I promise. But you gotta get your check-up first, remember? Mac said so." Mentioning his father's old friend usually did the trick.
Lies came naturally to him now, and Sam hated the taste they left in his mouth. But their father was a stubborn man and when he didn't want to do something, it usually took both brothers and at least ten minutes of their best lies to change his mind. Today Dr. Stevens wanted to check John's overall health and the rate of the Alzheimer's progression, and that information was more valuable to Sam than his pride.
"Well why didn't you say so, Sam?" John growled, hurriedly putting on his jeans. "You know how he gets when we're late."
The doorknob rattled and Sam resisted the urge to grab it and yank it open. After a few seconds and some muted cursing, the door swung in and bounced off the wall. Dean entered, the key card in one hand, a drink tray in the other, and a bag clenched between his teeth.
"Thanksh hor your help," he muttered around the bag, kicking the door shut behind him.
John grabbed one of the covered cups. "Alright boys, we gotta eat on the run. Grab your gear, let's get out of here."
Dean dropped the bag on the bed and looked at his watch. "What? Wait a minute, what's the rush? We got time."
"Did I tell you to grab your gear or give me lip?" John snapped, one eyebrow raised expectantly.
Immediately, Dean's shoulder's squared as he straightened. "Sorry."
John took a sip of the coffee and grabbed his own bag. "Let's go. Dean- you're up front. We gotta get you ready for the driver's test Monday."
Silently, Sam watched him leave the room, and then he turned his attention to Dean.
He raised his eyebrow, a smile playing at one corner of his mouth. "Driver's test?"
"Shut up," Dean grumbled. "If I'm sixteen, how old does that make you?"
Sam's face fell. He moved forwards and snatched the cup whose lid had been adorned with a smiley face wearing long, curly hair. He took a drink, wincing as the latte scalded his tongue, and could smell the ink of the permanent marker on the plastic lid. He watched as Dean gathered his belongings and swallowed the burning liquid. "He's getting worse," he said. He was setting foot on rocky ground now and he braced himself. "Dr. Stevens said to call if-"
"I know," Dean snapped. "We have an appointment- what else do you want, Sam? He'll snap out of it soon."
"But Dean, we can't do this for-"
"I know, Sam!" Dean whirled, facing Sam as he dropped his duffle bag heavily upon the bed. "Just let me handle it, okay? Everything's under control."
Sam set the cup on the nightstand and grabbed his own duffle bag, standing opposite from Dean as he threw it on the bed. "And what, I don't get a say in this? He's my father too."
"Really? And here I thought you were just his nurse."
Sam straightened, leaning into the challenge. "What the hell's that suppose to mean?" They were separated by inches but the distance between them was full of jagged rocks and land mines. Sam stared at Dean, fueled with adrenaline and growing reckless.
"It means maybe you should stop treating him like he's going to break and start being his son," Dean growled.
Sam's blood ran hot. "But he is going to break, Dean!" he shot back. "Maybe you should stop trying to be his favorite and start helping me with him."
"For God's sake, Sam! This is not about you! This is about Dad!" Dean's arm jutted out, pointing at the dirty window. Outside, the Impala rumbling in the morning sunlight. John was behind the wheel, bent to the side as if he were changing channels on the radio, oblivious to the argument churning in the hotel room. "Do you realize how hard this is for him? How much he hates letting you take care of him? You're treating him like a baby."
"Oh, and you could do it better? You can pick out his clothes and help him order food from a menu without making him feel helpless? Because if you can, I'd love to see it." The next words tumbled from his lips before he could stop. "Of course, that means you'd have to get your head out of your ass and realize that Dad needs help in the first place."
Dean dropped his dirty T-shirt and grabbed two fistfuls of Sam's before Sam could even blink. His head bounced off the wall next to the light fixture and a dull pain radiated through the back of his skull, stunning him. Dean held fast, leaning his weight into his fists, securing Sam to the wall.
"Just shut the hell up, okay?" Dean growled, his eyes hard and his shoulders tense. "Don't talk about him like that. He's still our father. Just because he's got some stupid disease doesn't mean you can stop respecting him."
"I do respect him, Dean. I respect him enough to know when he needs help."
Hurt flashed through Dean's eyes so quickly, Sam wasn't sure he hadn't just imagined it. They fell still, the sounds of breathing the only sound in the room. Sam just waited, silently urging Dean to come to an acceptance.
"What the hell is going on in here?" John interrupted, standing just inside the open door.
Dean unclenched his fists and backed away, turning towards their father as he blew out a breath, running a hand over his head. "Dad, I- we…"
"Save it," John snapped. "Since you two can't wait to get your hands on each other, you can spar together when we get back. Now move your asses."
Sam finished smoothing out his shirt. "But Dad-"
"That is, you can spar after Sam gets done running five miles." John eyed them both. "Since you've got so much air to waste."
Sam clenched his tongue between his molars and drew in a deep breath through his nose. The threats were meaningless, but the urge to correct John was strong. His diplomatic tendencies had gotten him into trouble countless times before and now he understood why- remaining silent was harder than spending an afternoon doing drills. It just wasn't in his nature.
"That's what I thought," John grunted at last. "Now move. I'm leaving in two minutes, with or without you two."
It wasn't until the door slammed shut that Sam blew out the breath he'd been holding.
Dean looked at him as he grabbed his duffel bag. "Dude, don't look at me like that. You're the one who never learned when to shut up."
Sam relaxed, the tension draining but not disappearing, and he grabbed his own duffle bag. "I am not running."
Dean smiled. "What's the matter, Sammy? Afraid of a little fresh air?"
Sam followed Dean to the door. "Have you looked outside? It's going to rain any minute."
"Oh, good. You need a shower."
Sam shoved Dean, satisfied when Dean's hands flew up to catch his balance. He'd play along for now, maintaining Dean's thin veil of normalcy. A dark cloud was looming over them and Sam knew it wouldn't be long before they were caught in the storm, but for now, for Dean's sake- for all their sakes, Sam would play along. Other things were more important now anyway, like taking care of their father.
John honked the horn and Dean nudged Sam's elbow. "Come on Sammy. And bring your expensive, half-caf double vanilla latte shit with you."