After a few hours they are finally across the borders and Dean feels confident enough to head to a gas station, get fuel and human-fuel, namely food and beverage. After all, he is still glad Sam didn't lose it over the set eating-time they had to push back. Dean doesn't know yet what those two years in the psych wards did to Sam and well… his psyche, not even talking about Sam being a mind-reader and… fuck, Dean probably shouldn't even think that. The older man just wants to have his brother back, he wants everything to feel the way it used to, when it was just them and the road, when Sam wasn't a mind-reader, when there was no distance between them, when wasn't in a psych ward, for whatever the reason. Life has never been easy for them, but this is a new level of complicated. At some point Dean honestly envies the "normal" people. Their troubles are curiously small. They fuss about forgotten birthday presents or that they have to work overtime. They really should take a glance at their lives for a second – then they'd know what it actually worth fussing over.

"Okay, we'll just get to the next gas station and then I getcha anything you want, Sammy," Dean tells the younger man.

"You want to stop before that," he argues, looking ahead, to which Dean frowns, "Huh?"

"Wow… you are seemingly upset… otherwise you wouldn't miss that, as a hunter," Sam scrunches his nose at the older man.

"What?" Dean can't help but grimace again.

"Dean, what are we wearing?" Sam argues, sounding a bit like the Sam from a few years ago. The older brother glances down at himself to still find the fancy nurse wear on him that he got in the asylum, just as Sam is still wearing his.

"Oh, shoot, yeah, definitely don't want to have questions about… that," Dean grimaces. "Good that you caught that."

"You're still very upset. Then you miss things, naturally," Sam hums.

"Well, I hope that some of my clothes will fit you. I mean, you grew quite a bit and put on some muscles since… well, you know," Dean says.

"Since I left, yeah," the younger brother nods.

"We'll get you new clothes once we put a safe distance between us and… well, the others there," Dean shrugs, and Sam agrees silently, "Sure."

Dean pulls the car over on one of the dirt roads, feeling confident no one will find them in that spot. He exits the vehicle and walks over to the trunk to retrieve his duffel. Dean quickly finds a set of clothing for himself he hurriedly puts on. He definitely wants to get out of the nurse clothes… and makes a mental note to burn them, along with Sam's. After that starts the long quest of finding something that would most likely fit Sam. Even if Dean doesn't like to admit it to himself, his younger brother is now clearly taller than him, and possibly has more muscles, though Dean will not admit that to himself, of course. However, then the dread soon pulls at his muscles, making them a hundred tons heavier. The fact that Sam is now taller than him just shows how much time passed since the last time they were face to face. How much time they didn't just spend apart, but lost. Dean didn't see his younger brother in so many years that he couldn't tell that he grew that tall, he wasn't there every step of the way, as it used to be. And that thought involuntarily makes tears spring to Dean's eyes he hastily wipes away.

After some time he is finally able to find some clothes that he purchased in a hurry and found them too big for himself, but was too cheap to throw them away. Sometimes it pays off to keep stuff you don't need. It may come in handy later. Happy with his choice, Dean walks up to the other side of the car, tapping his palm on the roof the car as he comes closer to Sam, "Hey there, found you something that'll hopefully make you look not too much like a teen whose mom's washed the tuxedo too hot for prom night."

Sam just glances at him, takes the clothes with almost shaky hands, his face an uncertain grimace.

"C'mon, it's the best I got just now," Dean argues.

"No, it's just…," Sam bites his lower lip.

"Hm?" Dean blinks at him.

"First time in two years I've worn… like… actual clothes?" Sam admits. He rubs the fabric between his fingers absently. They feel soft and warm. And they don't smell of that awful washing powder the facilities used. The little things. It's the little things that make life a little more bearable.

"That's over now. No longer those… other clothes, promise," Dean says frantically in the hope that this will hush the dark thoughts away that come with the admission. His brother didn't even have the chance to wear normal clothes, normal slippers with shoestrings. Just how much went wrong that Sam didn't even wear normal clothes for years?

"Hm," he shrugs, before he grimaces uncomfortably. "Uhm… privacy?"

"Seriously?" Dean huffs. They saw each other change since ever.

"I'm out now. Means I don't need a guard watch me doing that anymore," Sam says, to which Dean can't help but gape, "They did?"

Sam just stares at him, definitely saying yes with his eyes. Dean swallows, "Alright, I'll be at the trunk, that fine?"

"Yeah, thanks," Sam nods silently. With that Dean walks back to the trunk and waits for Sam to finish. And if that wasn't just a sign to show that they grew miles apart. Sam doesn't feel safe around him, not even with the most trivial things of changing clothes – not that Dean digs seeing his brother in his Adam's costume, but... it didn't bother before. Now it does. And doesn't that mean that something is no longer the way it used to?

"We can go," Sam says after a while.

"Alright, took you like forever," Dean smirks. Sam says nothing but looks ahead again. Dean has to try with all his might not to look at him sadly. Sam is just drifting away over and over again. Whenever Dean has the feeling that he grasped the hem of Sam's shirt to hold on to, his eyes go another place, and the promising fabric is ripped away from Dean's fingertips, leaving him numb and unsure of himself, of everything. Sam stands right in front of him, but still he seems so far away.

"Alright, now fueling it is," Dean says, keeping up with the enthusiasm, fake or not. He doesn't know if this is good. At some point he knows it's probably bad because Sam knows it is rather an act, but Dean can't help himself. That is what he always did when Sam was upset or when he was upset about Sam. He couldn't change the situation, but Dean could change the voice, the tone of a situation. He could light a candle in the dark, even if it was a meager one.

He starts the car and they are on the road again. Dean suddenly feels a wave of nostalgia hitting him. Sam looks more like himself again, no longer in that sickly blue nurse outfit. They are on the road, no one but them… yeah, it feels damn good, dream-like, actually, now thinking about it, a little closer to where they once were, if only just a few feet. Dean smirks as he fingers for the radio and starts one of his cassette tapes and soon High Voltage fills the car. The older brother beams over at Sam, who actually gives him a faint bitch face. Smirking at that, he turns up the volume another time, but then… the radio suddenly goes on, shutting down the sounds of High Voltage and plays the news instead.

"The hell?!" Dean exclaims, fingering for the buttons, trying to turn it back to his music. And once he hears the sounds again, he settles back, satisfied… only to have the news on again.

"What the hell?!" he exclaims. "Is this some ghost?"

"No drop of temperature, your watch works, no, don't think so," Sam answers curtly.

"Yeah, right… well, maybe some loose… cable. I'll check that later," Dean shrugs, though this is definitely... weird. Soon they find a lonely gas station, about just right for their purposes.

"So… you wanna go in with me or shall I just get you something?" Dean asks.

"I'd rather… stay here," Sam says.

"Alright, sure, so what do you want?" Dean questions.

"I liked the energy bar," Sam replies weakly.

"I'll getcha some of those, no worries. You want some coffee?" Dean suggests.

"That wouldn't mix well with the… stuff in my system," Sam shakes his head.

"True again, okay, so anything special? Gatorade? Water?" Dean asks.

"Water, just… water," Sam says, with an air of nervousness flooding him.

"Alright, well, that sounds healthy," Dean scrunches his nose. With that he leaves for the gas station and grabs a little collection of different kinds of energy bars, grabbing a few more of those Sam just ate, something for himself, coffee, water and some newspaper, as always. After that he pays for the gas and the other things and goes back to the car.

"Alright, here you go, lots of energy bars and water," Dean smirks, handing Sam the items, who takes them with a nod, "Thanks."

"Not for that," Dean grimaces. Dean gets back inside, sipping some of his coffee, contemplating, but Sam breaks the silence, "You still don't know where we are heading."

"Hm? Oh, yeah, well, doesn't really matter. We should just go a good distance before we settle on a certain direction. For now, I just want to know they won't come after us," Dean replies.

"After me. You didn't do anything," Sam argues.

"Yeah, I got you out, so… that's not what a man-nurse does," Dean snorts.

"Man-nurse?" the younger brother grimaces.

"Yeah, I was posing as a man-nurse, remember?" Dean shrugs.

"I'm glad you didn't write that in the application," Sam huffs.

"I wanted to," Dean argues.

"I know," Sam snorts – because he does. And if Dean didn't know better, he'd say there is a soft smile reaching all the way up to his lips.

"Well, as for where we go… we'll just… see where that goes," Dean says after a while.

"What about the gigs?" Sam argues.

"Hm? Oh, that can wait," Dean assures him quickly.

"Dean, you only say so because you… are… uhm… anxious because of me and this situation," Sam says.

"Well, yeah, Sam, I'm not really thinking about Wendigos at the second, you know? I got other priorities," Dean argues more sternly. "You."

"But dad's told us otherwise," Sam replies.

"Yeah, but family comes first," Dean retorts. Sam blinks at him for a short moment, but then averts his eyes again almost sheepishly.

"Family comes first," Sam exhales, his voice no more than a whisper. He almost forgot that sentence. It was a faint echo in the corners of his mind, hidden behind obscure figures produced by the lulling and numbing images the meds created inside his head, so far away that he didn't dare to listen to the sirens of the past taunting him with those hushed promises of how everything would be fine, of how he believed them because he didn't know better, or knew better, but decided to believe in them nevertheless. To hear it now again... to feel it... that's just... nice.

After that silence engulfs them once again, leaving Dean with the awkward sensation of not being able to even think straight. It's not that he wants to lie to Sam, but suddenly he feels totally exposed to the younger man, that every word of reassurance turns to acid once it travels to Sam, because he sees the lie that comes along with the good intention. However, that sensation, as nerve-wrecking as it is, actually makes him understand step by step why Sam perhaps took off five years ago. When your world is shattered by just a single word or phrase, when every person you see, every person you care about can inflict such deep wounds, can leave you that helpless... that is when you want to get out, somehow, anyhow. And to some degree, Dean gets that feeling.

"Alright, I guess next would be… some drugstore and then a motel, how does that sound?" Dean says to break the silence.

"Good, it's time anyways," Sam nods.

"Yeah, already thought so," Dean swallows thickly. "One thing that gets me concerned, though."

"Stuff is heavy. Need prescription and shit," Sam nods.

"Quite right," the older brother agrees.

"I take care of that," Sam says suddenly.

"Huh?" Dean frowns.

"Just… drive there… I do the rest," Sam repeats, not meeting his eyes.

"But…," Dean means to argue, but Sam simply averts his eyes, looking straight ahead – Sam ended the argument. Dean shakes his head and pulls in once the drugstore sign comes into sight, "Sam, I think you shouldn't go alone."

"I can do that," Sam argues with sudden vehemence Dean didn't expect to find in his younger brother.

"I didn't say you can't," Dean replies quickly.

"But you thought I couldn't," Sam says now almost bitterly.

"I'm just concerned," Dean argues.

"You don't have to be," Sam snarls.

"Why?" Dean asks, to which Sam answers, "I can do that. I didn't lose the memory of all those years of training with dad and you. I'm still a hunter, vegetable or not."

"I don't think you are that," Dean argues nervously, but Sam ignores the assurance.

"Just give me some money so that I can get the things we need," Sam huffs, holding out his hand to Dean expectantly. Dean grumbles some incoherent curses to himself before he thrusts some crumpled dollar bills into the younger man's hand.

"Fine, fine, you do that, but if you don't come out in five minutes," Dean says, and Sam completes with a hint of his bitch face, "You come check on me, of course."

"Quite right," Dean smirks faintly. With that Sam exits the car, stretching, then hopping from one foot to the other, just like he used to before training, to loosen up his muscles. He takes a couple of deep breaths, focusing, and walks in, looking perfectly normal and not in the least suspicious. Dean just stares. He seemingly remember training, actually. For a moment, Dean couldn't tell that this was the Sam who just escaped from a nuthouse a few hours back. That was his... Sammy walking in there... or was it?

Once inside, Sam walks up to the counter, a younger man with dark long hair and wiry frame greets him, "Hi, Sir, what can I do for you?"

"Hi, uhm, actually, I got a question. I'm not quite sure what I need. My brother's sick, you know?" Sam says.

"Well, have you seen a doctor yet?" the younger man frowns at him.

"We were out camping, so no docs really," Sam lies swiftly.

"That stands to reason," the pharmacist nods.

"So we just got here and found this drugstore. I mean, we'll go see a doctor first thing we get to town, but he's got high fever and all," Sam goes on to explain, faking nervousness.

"Well, uhm, what other symptoms does he have?" the raven man asks.

"Uhm… sore throat, rattling in the chest, exhaustion… that's about it," Sam shrugs.

"Well, I guess it's a cold or the flu. For further check-ups… you need to see a doctor for sure. Other than that I'd give you antibiotics and something to get down the fever, so Tylenol is probably the med of choice here," the man tells him.

"Alright, sounds great, thank you," Sam smiles at him. The younger man stuffs a couple of pills into the container. After that he puts them into a white paper bag, but crouches down to get the Tylenol. As that happens, pill containers fly through the air and make their way into the bag as well, without further notice of the younger man. After that he puts in the Tylenol and closes the bag. Sam smiles at him with fake gratitude.

"Anything else you need?" the man asks.

"No, that's it, thank you," Sam offers another smile. The pharmacist nods as he cashes everything.

"Alright, that's twenty in total," he says. Sam hands him a few of the crumpled bills.

"Here, uhm, thanks," he says. Sam turns on the heel and intends to leave, but then the young man calls after him, "Um, sir? You gave me fifty!"

"Yeah, rest is for you," Sam says, waving his hand.

"But…," the man grimaces. However, Sam interrupts him in a soft voice and with a warm smile, "And don't spend it on weed."

The young man blinks two times, confused, but then looks at him perfectly calm, "… Okay."

"Good, actually, you should better stop that entirely," Sam tells him.

"Yeah, maybe I should," the man nods absently.

"And buy your girlfriend some flowers. Apologize to her. You should move in with her. You need clear structures to come clean. She will be glad," Sam goes on in a soft voice.

"Okay…," the man nods.

"Good, then you do that, bye," Sam smiles at him.

"See you around," the guy waves.

"Sure…," the hunter nods. With that Sam leaves the store, letting out a shaky breath as he stands in front of the car.

"Sam, you okay there?" Dean asks worriedly.

"Yeah, yeah… just…," he sighs, before getting himself in.

"You didn't get it or what? Man, that's no shame," Dean argues.

"I got everything we need, plus some… Tylenol and antibiotics. Thought it couldn't harm," Sam says, waving the paper bag at the older brother.

"What?! How did you do that?" Dean frowns.

"I just… took it," Sam shrugs.

"And he didn't realize?" Dean cocks his eyebrow at him.

"No," Sam shakes his head.

"Sam…," Dean sighs, but the younger brother interrupts him more sternly, "He didn't realize anything, Dean. I'm a hunter long enough to know how to snatch something without anyone's notice."

"Well, what is it with you, then? You don't look too well," Dean grimaces worriedly.

"This guy… his thoughts were very… disturbing," Sam exhales as he digs through the bag with the medicine he just snatched.

"How so?" Dean frowns. Sam swallows the mix of colored pills before he takes a swig of the water. Dean purposely ignores the amount of pills that were in Sam's palm just a second ago. Or how shaky his hands suddenly were. That will have to wait until later.

"Well, he works in that store for a reason," Sam huffs, coughing once against the pills working their way down his throat.

"Oh, so he likes to sample them, huh?" Dean smirks.

"Yeah… his thoughts were very happy. And they confused me… a lot…," Sam tells him.

"So couldn't you just like… shut your ears?" the older brother questions.

"No, that's impossible. I always hear them when I'm talking to this person. I read his or her thoughts automatically. Normally I can… under many people… but not with few…," Sam explains.

"Hm, actually thought it'd be the other way around," the older brother frowns. He thought it'd be more difficult to handle many voices at once.

"I still rather… am… in lonely places. I don't handle… many people well either," Sam puckers his lips.

"But you just said that…," Dean means to argue, but Sam intervenes, "I can turn down the volume, but if five hundred radio stations hum altogether, it's still loud, but... distorted."

"Okay," Dean nods. He gets that. You can ignore humming better than someone actually talking, right?

"Well, but when I talk to someone… I… I'm in the soul. Once they are close, the volume is fully on and I can't turn it down," Sam shrugs.

"Wow, that sucks," Dean scrunches his nose. There is just so much they have to figure out still, so many questions unanswered, so many mysteries about Sam's... condition... and how he ended up in the nuthouses. Just so much between them.

"Especially since there are so many stupid thoughts, really," Sam snorts.

"Well, what did you expect, a little Einstein in every head?" Dean huffs.

"No, just… not so senseless… and… always repeating themselves," Sam exhales, leaning back in his seat. With all their mental capabilities, many people still think in such straight lines, in so similar schemes, are replicas of the same dull image. Each is a cosmos of its own, and still, still people make no use of it. Sam sees the advantage in that of course. It makes things easier for him. Stupid and simple thoughts are easier to handle than those that reach all the way down to the soul, reach all the way into the dark spheres of an individual universe. However, when you are forced to hear those plain thoughts, hear them over and over again, you want to rip your ears off, scratch your eyes out, bang your head against a wall so hard that it bleeds, so that you can focus on that pure sensation of pain – because that makes everything blur away, fade into the humming of a radio station. So that the two-dimensional world those stupid thoughts create may by any chance be lifted into the third dimension to give it somewhat depth. However, that is very often a lost cause. Simple thoughts stay simple thoughts. No matter how you twist or turn them, they are bound by their dimensions, are bound by x and y.

"Yeah, people are boring, huh?" Dean smirks.

"You got no idea," Sam shakes his head. And the younger man is glad that Dean doesn't have any idea. Is unaware. Can look ahead without seeing the ghostly pale figures with claws and nails so long and so thin that they may penetrate skin upon a single touch. Dean mustn't have any idea of what is really going on, out there, in here. He mustn't ever know, or everything will turn to dust, so Sam knows. And it cannot. Dean can't turn to ashes for the younger brother. He can't lose him to the dust, to the all-consuming fire raging within the world, the fire that keeps on blazing against his skin, leaving nothing but cold behind. Dean mustn't know of that. Ever. It would shatter him. Like glass. And there would be no way to repair the damage again. You can mend some fissures, but you cannot rebuild an entire object of glass. It will collapse sooner or later all over again. Sam knows. That is how it works. That is what it is. That is the old-new world that he found himself to be part of so long ago that he can't pinpoint the time anymore. Time seems such a superfluous construct once you had to see the greater picture. Once your eyes were forced upon to the point that tears sprung to your eyes as you conceived the world in its true light, its true darkness. It's true color of gray.

Yet, Sam dares to sink into the leather of the seat and watch the trees meshing into stripes of green and brown as they drive by. He allows himself for once to feel the safety only Dean could grant him, when he could still fall asleep without looking back, without checking thrice if there wasn't something, someone looming above him. When Sam could just close his eyes, drift away into nothingness, and wake up to see his brother smiling at him. Sam wants this feeling again, if only for just a day, a moment, the blink of an eye. He wants to feel warm again, even if he knows it's selfish. Even if he knows it's dangerous. However, it's Dean. And Dean is... Dean. There are no words to dissect that in any way. To Sam Dean is Dean, with all his mistakes, abilities, qualities and kinks, with the smile, the bright eyes, the snotty comments and high self-esteem. Sam holds dear this wholeness he managed to keep of Dean, as the one person with whom he actually managed. He is not stripped down to his naked soul, yet. He is still... Dean. And Sam wants it to stay that way. He needs at least Dean to stay as a whole. Because he is already in pieces.

And so he lets the vibration of the car, the all too familiar vibrations of the all too familiar Impala, rock him to sleep. Everything can wait until later. He just wants to feel home for once.

After all, it might be over just as fast as it came about.

Because the shadows are always looming above their heads.