Thank you, all you wonderful readers! Yes, it's good to be back and to feel so appreciated. Thanks again to all of you and to my intrepid editor hotshow, who puts up with my full inbox far more often than she should!
Chapter Twenty
Sam flicked on the outdoor flood lights as he raced after Dean. The salvage yard ahead of them was bathed in the stark white light. Dean stopped in front of one of the shorter stacks of cars in Bobby's yard, staring up. Sam imagined the look on Dean's face, mainly because he did not want to see it firsthand. A couple of hours ago this particular stack had not been a stack, it was just a single car waiting to be stacked.
The Impala perched precariously on top of an old Lincoln Continental, rocking gently from back to front. There were no visible signs of damage that Sam could see. He chanced a glance at his brother's face. Dean's cheeks were drained of all color and his face slack. The Impala's rocking did not slow down, it seemed to pick up momentum. The Lincoln groaned under the weight.
Dean's shotgun landed in the dirt with a soft thump as Dean raced forward. "Bobby! Bobby!" He reached up to his beloved car, desperately trying to steady it.
"Damn it, Sam! Don't just stand there!"
A little put out by the fact Dean called for Bobby first, Sam took his time stepping up to help. He held his shotgun in one hand and reached out to the Impala with the other. Dean's panic was odd. Afterall, his brother already rebuilt this car nearly from scratch, it wasn't like Dean could not fix whatever happened to it now. Now that he was closer, Sam heard his brother murmuring things like, "Come on, baby, easy does it," and "don't you fall on me."
"Now what?" Bobby's voice shot through the salvage yard. "Holy crap!" He heard running footsteps which stopped suddenly. Worried, Sam half turned so he could see if anything happened to Bobby. Bobby held up a hand. "You boys stay there. I'll be right back."
"And where would we go?" Dean grumbled. Sam noticed sweat trickling down his brother's face, which was turning splotchy red. He leaned into the Impala more, hoping to take some of the weight off his brother.
A loud rumble that sounded more like construction equipment filled the yard. Within moments a crane appeared from the far side of the house. Dean let out a strained laugh. "Hurry up, Bobby."
Bobby drove the crane up to the car. A wide circular metal piece, which hung from the crane part, lowered down to the roof of the Impala. A metal to metal snapping noise indicated that the electromagnet was active. Sam released the car to pull Dean back. He kept backing them up until Bobby motioned that they were far enough. Bobby worked the levers and the Impala rose into the air. The crane swung the black beast around until it was over nearly the same spot as before. It lowered slowly. Dean's shoulder muscles jumped under Sam's hand, but he maintained a firm grip. When Dean's car was only a foot or so off the ground, the magnet released. The car fell on its parking spot with a bounce and a cloud of dust.
In order to avoid Dean chewing Bobby out for dropping the car, Sam shoved his brother toward it. "You'd better check it over."
Dean responded with a tight nod before opening the driver's door. First he popped the hood to spend about twenty minutes checking things out in there. Then he turned on the motor, listened to it roar and hum. Apparently deciding that was fine, Dean shut the engine off. He got out of the car to sit on the ground. Sam walked up behind his brother.
"Dean?" Dean laid down in the dirt. "What do you think you're doing?"
"Checking it out, Sam," Dean replied, grasping the car and pulling himself under.
Sam reached down to grab his brother's leg. "Dean, you are not crawling under there. I'll do it."
Dean turned his head to shoot Sam a quizzical look. "You?"
"Yes, me." Sam held out a hand to pull his brother up. "In the morning when I can actually see something," he said as he pulled Dean to his feet.
Dean scowled, one hand going to his side. When Sam winced, Dean dropped his hand. "How about you try those stronger pain pills tonight?"
Dean shot Sam a glare before going over to pick up his fallen shotgun. Sam noticed no signs of pain or discomfort. Dean headed back to the car. As he opened the door, Sam realized what his stupid brother intended to do.
"Dean. You are not sleeping out here." Sam pointed out the car. "We're safer in the house."
"That thing just tried to take out my car, Sam!" Dean blustered, but Sam still saw the telltale trickles of sweat on his brother's cheeks and Dean's flushed face.
Sam moved to stand in the open door, between Dean and the interior of the car. "No, Dean," he fought to keep his voice calm and even, Dean's outburst from earlier still ringing in his ears. What was all that about anyway? Since when had he not trusted Dean? "No one is sleeping out here. Now come on," Sam took his brother in a firm grip by the shoulders to turn him around.
Dean squirmed in his grasp, but Sam held on trusting the pain from those busted ribs to do most of the arguing for him. "Sam," Dean growled.
"Let's discuss this inside, Dean, before it takes another shot at us," Sam argued.
"You mean at my car," Dean grumbled, but his feet moved in the general direction of the house.
Relieved but suspicious, Sam maintained his firm grip until they were through the door. Bobby held it open for both of them, having left the crane right beside the Impala when he saw the boys arguing. Sam's gratitude to Dad's best friend doubled in that instant.
"Now," Sam started the moment all three of them were safely inside the house, "what was all that crap about me and Bobby earlier?" Sam shoved his brother from behind to make his point.
"What crap?" Dean demanded, spinning around. "It's true, neither of you will let me near the weapons bag." His head hung low when he said that.
Sam turned to Bobby, shrugging. He had no idea what this was about.
Bobby leaned his shotgun against the wall. "It's not punishment, Dean. Sam and I just wanted you to take it easy, like George said."
Sam felt like slamming his head against the wall. Why did everything involving his brother have to be so freaking complicated? "Dean, if it bothered you so much, why didn't you say anything?"
Both Dean and Bobby turned to face him now, twin looks of disbelief on their faces.
"I did!"
"He did!"
Sam frowned. "When? I never heard that?"
"Uh, daily?" Bobby motioned with one hand. "Sam, do you ever actually listen to your brother?"
"Not when he thinks he's right," Dean muttered, glowering at Sam.
"Sam?" Bobby asked, and Sam suddenly felt like he was undergoing one of his dad's military-style reviews.
"Now hold on!" Sam held up his hands. "I didn't do anything wrong here. Dean is hurt and needs to be taking it easy, that's all. Cleaning weapons constantly is not taking it easy. Laying around on the couch eating pie is." Sam shrugged at his brother. "It wasn't supposed to be punishment, Dean. More like a vacation."
Dean looked away, studied the far wall. Eventually he nodded, but he did not make eye contact with Sam. "If anything happens to my car, you're fixing it." He stomped so heavily up the stairs Sam wondered if it hurt.
Sam sighed, running both hands through his hair. "How do I deal with that, Bobby?"
"One thing at a time, Sam. Let's take care of the gremlin first." Bobby waved a hand at the stairs. "Dean will cool off. He always does." Bobby snorted. "Hell, you've put him through a lot worse."
Sam rolled his eyes, returning to the couch to clean up Dean's dishes stacked on the floor beside it. Something about Bobby's statement bugged him, though. After he finished washing the dishes and putting them away, Sam paused by Bobby's desk. Bobby flipped through the pages of one of his books, researching.
"What did I put him through that was a lot worse?" Sam asked. "Are you talking about when I left for Stanford?"
Bobby glanced up briefly. "Nah, more like some ER antics." Bobby tapped his fingers on the desk as he checked another page. "I would've turned you over my knee, but Dean stopped me."
"Oh." Sam nodded, studying his shoes. "The amnesia thing." He sighed. "You know, I almost wish I could remember that."
Bobby did look up then. "Almost?"
Sam, locked into Bobby's gaze, swallowed hard. "Uh, yeah. Almost. I mean, I want to know what Dean went through, but I don't want to know how much of it I did on purpose. You know?" He sighed. "I've kinda put him on the spot lately anyway."
"How's that?" Bobby asked, shoving the book to the side.
Sam shook his head. "Sorry Bobby, that's personal. I'm going to bed."
Bobby stared at Sam a long moment before drawing the book back in front of him. "Night Sam." He sounded disappointed.
"Night, Bobby." Sam felt a twinge of guilt talking to Bobby like that, but he really didn't want to explain what he made Dean promise. Somehow, he suspected Bobby wouldn't approve.
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Bobby searched through twenty of his books for references on gremlins. There were plenty of references, but not much on how to kill them. He was probably too distracted to concentrate fully anyway, Bobby decided as he stacked the books on a corner of his desk. He, Sam and Dean could look through them in the morning.
As Bobby checked the house before heading for bed, he wondered how Sam might have put Dean on the spot. He knew Dean told Sam about that stupid thing their daddy made the older boy promise. Surely Sam could not have done anything to match that. Well, those boys certainly had a hard couple of months, maybe that was all Sam meant. With that reassuring thought, Bobby headed up to bed.
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"Your car?" Sam asked, glaring at Dean. His brother could never, ever hurt him. Why was Dean trying to convince him that his brother hit him with a car?
Dean shook his head. "No. We had a fight. You were mad at me and left. While you were out, you got hit by a car."
Sam's stomach twisted. Oh, no, it was all his fault! Dean was going to be punished, and it was because of him. "Oh, Dean! I'm so sorry!" Sam babbled, not knowing what he could say to make it right. "I know I'm not supposed to cross the street by myself! I promise, Dean, I promise I won't do it again. Honest. Promise." Please don't be mad, Dean, he begged in his head, please Dean, please!
Sam gasped, thrashing around. He had to get Dean to understand that he did not mean to get hurt, that he was not trying to get Dean in trouble this time. What was holding him down, why couldn't he move? He fought harder, needing to get to Dean, to talk to him.
"Sam!" It was Dean's voice, but where was he? And why was it so dark?
Light seemed to come from everywhere. Sam blinked hard, trying to clear his vision. Dean's face swam into view. "Sam? Dude, you awake?"
"Awake?" Sam asked, realizing that the trapped feeling was from being tangled in his sheets. He managed to untangle himself and sit up, breathing hard. When he looked over, Dean was still staring at him. "Yeah," he said with a nod, sounding a little too breathless, "yeah, I'm awake."
"Bad dream?" Dean asked, sitting on the other bed. Sam mentally kicked himself for being too distracted to notice if Dean was in pain.
Sam shook his head. Dean glared with that 'come on, I saw you' look. So Sam shrugged as he looked away. "I'm not sure," he finally admitted. "But it was a little, ah, disturbing."
Dean nodded, waiting. Sam knew Dean would not press too much, not if he didn't want to talk. He had an urge to confide the strange dream to his brother, a voice deep in his mind assuring him that Dean would know what it meant. He recognized that voice, it was the voice of Sammy, the one who kept urging him to always do what Dean said, to follow his brother's lead. He ignored that voice a lot, especially when he took off on Dean in the middle of the night right after learning what Dad made Dean promise. The Sammy voice had been particularly loud that time, screaming when he stole that car, reminding him that he promised to give Dean some time. The part that really hurt, though, was afterwards. At first he thought Dean was just so relieved they were both alive that his brother did not want to make a big deal out of Sam taking off like that. It was not like Dean not to ever mention it again, so Sam waited. And he waited. And he waited.
Sam only had so much patience. Eventually he asked Dean about it. Dean had just shrugged and looked away, as if Dean knew something like that had to happen. Dean had called Sam selfish once, just once. In that moment, in Dean's avoidance to discuss the fact Sam took off on him, Sam knew his brother was right. It had been selfish. He never considered how Dean would think of it, how it would affect his brother.
"Make a deal with you," Sam offered. "I'll tell you about my dream, if you tell me what you meant in the kitchen."
"You're fine," Dean snapped, all the compassion from a moment ago gone. He turned off the light and rolled over onto his good side. Sam sighed as he wiped away the sweat clinging to his face. Yeah, he was fine, but it was pretty clear that Dean wasn't.