I won't bore you with an author's note- just enjoy the latest chapter!
Kevin's POV
"I'm pretty sure this car is older than my grandmother," I say by way of conversation as I zoom down the highway, a stoic hunter angled uncomfortably into the passenger seat next to me. Dean's in pain, though he's doing a damn good job of hiding it. He's only let a few small winces pass across his otherwise unreadable expression on this three day search for his little brother, choosing to mostly just stare out the window in silence.
It's been awkward, to say the least.
Dean's mouth twitches a little at the comment about the car, but he doesn't say anything. Probably because it was my idea to drive this particular contraption. I'm still not really comfortable with stealing, so Dean compromised impatiently, telling me I had my pick of the parking lot. To his incredulity, I had chosen the crappiest car I could find, telling myself the owner wouldn't miss it. And after driving it around for three days, I was fairly convinced I'd done the guy a favor.
We're currently passing through Indiana on intel from the "angel tracker thingy" (as I lovingly refer to it) and Dean's instinct, following a cluster of angels somewhere close to Dyer. My patience and sanity have both been tested over the past few days of driving, but if I'm having a rough go of it, I know Dean has it worse. I'm obviously worried about Sam, but I've got nothing on Dean. He's hasn't once stopped shifting in his seat, even in sleep- which he hasn't gotten much of. Neither have I but hey, who's complaining?
Dean huffs out a frustrated groan as I get stuck behind yet another car who insists on going exactly 55 miles per hour on the highway. He twists to reach for the cell phone stuffed in his jacket pocket, skipping right to Sam's number. I stopped counting how many times he's called Sam after he reached twenty-eight. And I definitely stopped looking at his expression every time the call went to voicemail. Dean's finger hovers over the call button, and I try not to watch the silent argument I know he's having with himself. Finally, he puts the phone to his ear. I listen anxiously to the faint ringing, even though I know I have no reason to believe this call will be any different than the others.
But it is.
"Sammy?" Dean's relief is palpable, bleeding from his voice like the steady flow of an open wound. I turn my eyes back to the road, embarrassed to have witnessed such a raw, uncensored display of emotion from a guy who barely admits to needing a damn bathroom break. There's a weird knot that forms in my stomach as I listen to Dean's conversation, and it takes me a few extra seconds to identify what it is. Jealousy. Yearning.
To be worried over like that, to be loved so unconditionally, so purely. It's something I haven't had in a long time. Not since my mom...
Even as Dean's voice rises past the point of anger, I can still see the utter relief that pulls at the lines of his face, along with his growing need to get to where his little brother is.
"Kevin. Dude, did you get that?"
"Wha...?" I'm pulled back from my assessment, realizing with chagrin that Dean is staring back at me expectantly. "Huh?"
"I said Sam's in Schererville," Dean says, rolling his eyes. "Exit at St. John, look for Bernie's Diner. Got it?"
"Holy crap Bernie's? Tell him not to eat there, Dean! The one by me closed down a few years ago because everybody kept getting food poisoning. Sam, stay away from the chili!" I yell, leaning towards the phone at Dean's ear.
"Already hung up," Dean snorts, shaking his head and lowering the phone back to his lap.
"Hey, food poisoning is serious, Dean. This one time I got it so bad that I had to miss my fall recital, which was kind of a huge deal back before all this angels and demons crap."
Dean's only response is to raise his eyebrows at me.
"Trust me, it was gross," I mutter sheepishly, realizing just how ridiculous I sound in light of all the other enormous problems on our plate.
"Yeah, yeah, just drive," Dean smiles, "Exit's coming up soon."
The Impala sticks out like a sore thumb in the otherwise vacated Bernie's parking lot, and I nod knowingly at Dean.
"Told you. The whole chain was obviously rat-infested or something," I say, pulling up beside the gleaming Chevy. But Dean's not listening. He's already out of his seatbelt, struggling to get himself in position to open the door without jarring his leg. He practically drags himself out of the passenger side, leaning heavily against the rusted body of the car and hopping frantically, trying to make his way around to the other side.
"Whoa Dean, slow down," I plead, grabbing his crutches from the backseat and holding them out to him. He really shouldn't be walking at all at this point, even with crutches, but right now Dean only has eyes for his brother. He ignores me completely, shoving off of our "rental" and finally making his way to the driver's side of the Impala, banging on the window unceremoniously.
"Sam," he yells, sounding panicked. Confused, I shift my focus, and it's then that I notice the 6'4'' frame slumped lifelessly in the driver's seat.
Sam. Oh No. Please no.
My moment of horror is cut short when Sam wrenches forward from his apparent nap, brought back to consciousness by Dean's shouting. He looks lost for half a second, but then he finds his brother's face and immediately relaxes, throwing open the door.
Bad idea on his part.
Dean, who had been leaning heavily on the door, starts to tilt dangerously towards the blacktop. I rush forward, trying to close the distance, but Sam is there first, fisting his hands tight in Dean's jacket and keeping him upright. Dean groans, eyes rolling back in his head as he struggles against the agony that has to be shooting through is abused leg.
"Hey Dean. Whoa, whoa. Easy, man," Sam mutters, taking most of his big brother's weight. I watch as Sam slowly maneuvers Dean, lowering him slowly into the driver's seat of the Impala at an angle, keeping his injured leg carefully outstretched so that it still rests on the pavement. "Dammit Dean," Sam whispers, shaking his head.
I shift my feet, feeling out of place. It's a common side effect of being around the Winchesters, but in all honesty, I'm okay with it. The way Sam and Dean are around each other...it's like nothing I've ever seen. Like they're fused together, two hearts that beat as one- never even a millisecond out of sync. Never one without the other. It's at once beautiful and terrifying.
I can't hear what they're saying to one another- it's not meant for my ears. But after a while, Sam turns to me. "Hey Kevin." His smile is weary but genuine, and I return it without hesitation.
"Hey Sam, glad you're okay," I reply.
"You wanna help me get Dean in the back?"
"Fuck no Sammy, I got shotgun," Dean growls before I can say anything. Sam laughs in disbelief, and I watch as Dean's face automatically softens in response, a small smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. I wonder if he knows he does that.
"Uh yeah right Dean, like you didn't do enough damage already. You gotta stretch your leg out straight man." Sam shakes his head. Dean just groans again, rolling his eyes, and I take that as my cue, moving to open the back door.
"Alright grumpy," Sam teases, latching onto Dean's arm, "let's get you settled."
D'aww brotherly love. Nothing better. Next chapter will be up soon! Let me know your thoughts- I'm open to suggestions because at this point nothing's really planned out, so feel free to leave your ideas in the reviews. Thanks again for sticking with me!