... you know the drill.
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Chapter Six
Dean rubbed his forehead in exasperation, beginning to wonder what the hell the point of all this was. Here he was, stuck reliving his memories – most of them ones he wished he could forget. Either he was stuck in some kind of messed up mind trick, he'd really had too much to drink, or… wait. The car.
Could he be dying?
Dean shook his head. No way was he dying. Sure, his life seemed to be flashing before his eyes, but it couldn't be happening to him. Besides, if he did die he'd go straight to The Big Man himself and plead the case that he had a dorky little brother that he'd promised to look out for. And if that didn't work, he'd knock him out and hijack the next ride back to the living world. Dean Winchester was not dying.
A shout from the front seat brought him out of his thoughts. For a second the first thing he noticed was a familiar song on the radio – the one he'd heard in the woods and at the school – but then realized that they were in the car with John and his angry voice was dominating.
"I don't believe you two!" their father accused angrily, taking his eyes off of the road long enough to glare at his sons. "I told you to stay put and that I would handle it."
Dean saw Sam shake his head beside him. "Dad, we figured out where the body was. I don't see what the big—"
"The big deal, Samuel Winchester, is that you directly disobeyed my orders. If I tell you to do something, you do it. No questions asked."
"Dad, that's ridiculous. You were on the wrong track and we're perfectly capable of—"
"I don't care, Sam!"
Dean leaned his head again the car window, wondering how long he'd be in this particular memory. "You always hated being wrong, dad," he said, slightly grateful that his father couldn't see or hear him. "Proud as a friggin' peacock."
"I just don't understand how you can be pissed at us about this!" We found the body, got rid of the spirit--!" Sam's tone was somewhere between hurt and angry. "You should be congratulating us if anything!"
John stepped on the gas. "You two are lucky to be alive."
"Dad-!"
"That's enough, Sam."
Sam leaned over to get at a good angle to see his brother's face in the front seat. "Dean, don't you have anything to say about this? A lot of it was your idea."
The young man in the front seat was silent, trying to hide the nervousness in his eyes as he glanced at his father whose angry stare was set on the road.
"Dean?"
"Be quiet, Sammy," was all his brother responded with, his tone flat and his eyes set straight ahead.
Dean looked over at the sixteen-year-old version of his brother and the look of betrayal on his face and felt his heart tighten in his chest. He closed his eyes to let the feeling pass, and when he opened them again he was in a bar. Laughter nearby drew him to a table with two very familiar patrons and he hoped to whatever God he hadn't pissed off lately that this memory wouldn't be as painful.
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R&R.