Authors Note #1: To all my fellow Supernatural fans, if you ever get a chance to attend one of the conventions...even for a day...it is well worth it. Riathe Mai and I attended the New Jersey convention this past weekend...and the two of us are still recovering...and riding a high.
From Steve Carlson's soulful concert, the craziness of Richard and Matt's karoake, made even more insane by the arrival of Sebastian, Richard and Matt's unique rendition of "Fifty Shades of Grey" (which I encourage all of you to find on YouTube), the "Evil Trio's" panel, Jared and Misha's panel, and all the other star's...to the highlight of the weekend of our photo op with Jared...it was an AWESOME! time. I've never laughed so hard in my life and I'm already counting down the days 'til next year; which Jensen will be a part of.
Author's Note #2: Now, though, on to business. Here's chapter 2, which would have been an excellent place to end it, and I still could. Expect my muse won't let go of an image she threw at me, or the whispered words telling me that I need a bit more of damaged Sammy. So...there will be one more chapter of this, it is 3/4 of the way written and I am aiming to have it completed in about a week.
Author's Note #3:Once again, a great big thanks goes to Riathe Mai for all her editing and words of wisdom. But most of all for not taking "No" for an answer, giving me the push I needed and most importantly for making sure I didn't make a complete fool out of myself being a nervous wreck in front of Jared.
xxXxx
The Road So Far….
He rolled his head slowly towards Dean, a sad smile on his face. "Can't stay awake and can't sleep; only a Winchester could find himself in a predicament as screwed as that."
Dean reached over and grasped his brother's left wrist gently, stilling his agitated movements. "Ya gotta sleep, Sammy."
Sam shrugged his shoulder. He pushed himself up straighter in the seat, forcing Dean to release his grip. He pulled his laptop closer, effectively telling his brother that he had said all he was going to say on the topic.
Not like that had ever deterred Dean in the past.
Dean studied his brother. He knew that Sam wasn't seeing the words on the screen. If a lifetime of caring for his kid brother and living in each other's hip pockets hadn't told him that, then his flat stare and the stiff set to his shoulders clinched it.
Dean could see his eyes tracking movement only he could see; watched his head tip slightly as his body and mind responded to sounds only he could hear.
Dean took one hand off the steering wheel and slowly closed the laptop. Sam jerked at the sudden intrusion and his head snapped up. He looked back at Dean with an almost sudden surprise, as if just remembering who was with him and where he really was.
"Put the computer away, Sam." Dean's voice was soft, almost gentle, but his tone made it clear that anything but compliance wasn't an option.
Sam cleared his throat as he shook his head slightly. His eyes darted briefly around the car before finally settling on the tan satchel at his feet. "Yeah. Alright." His voice was quiet, but it was clear and free of confusion, and Dean took that as a small victory in their favor.
Sam opened the laptop back up, powering it down before closing it once again. He slid it into the bag along with the research papers and notes he had been attempting to study, and spun around to place it on the back seat.
And froze.
xxXxx
"Sam?"
Dean's head snapped to the side at his brother's sudden motionlessness. Sam's entire body was rigid, the muscles of his arms taut as his nails bit into the leather of the seat. Wide, anxious eyes stared unblinking at the back seat.
Damnit. Dean swallowed thickly, pushing down the worry and unease that set his nerves on edge. He twisted his upper body to get a better look at the backseat of the Camaro, knowing even as he did it exactly what he would find.
Nothing.
"Hey. Sammy."
Dean made sure to keep his voice calm—something he most definitely wasn't feeling—not wanting to startle his younger brother as he reached out and gently placed his hand on Sam's shoulder. In the confines of the small car, if his brother were to lash out, the results would be disastrous.
"Sammy, hey, it's just me and you, man. You hear me? Just me and you. Tell that sonovabitch to piss off." Dean knew exactly who was behind the horrors—whatever those were—that held his brother transfixed. He squeezed Sam's shoulder a bit tighter.
Sam eyes drifted momentarily to Dean's face, before returning to the back seat. Dean glanced in front of him briefly, checking the road, doing his best to keep the car moving in a straight line. Not easy to do when what he wanted to focus on was sitting beside him.
"No. Right here, Sammy." Dean coaxed, putting his fingers on Sam's chin and turning his head. "Only me, nowhere else. I'm fine. You're fine. He's not real, Sammy."
Sam's gaze darted away briefly. He blinked a few times before locking lucid, hazel eyes once again on his brother's face.
"Hey, there you are."
"He was…Uhm…There was…a…He did…" Sam stammered. He swallowed audibly then shook his head. "Never mind."
"You good now?" Dean asked, eyeing his brother carefully.
"Good?" Sam laughed shakily. "I'm…ah. I—I'm here."
"Alright then." That was a start. Dean had yet to let go of his brother—he suddenly found himself wanting to grip him even tighter and never let go—and Sam had yet to move, his fingers still clutching at the back of the seat as though it was the only thing holding him there.
Dean cleared his throat, needing to back out of a situation that was quickly heading towards soap opera territory; one that he realized he was pretty much initiating.
He flicked his eyes towards the back seat and then back at his brother. "Before you tear a hole in the fine upholstery, Cujo…release, and sit down while you're at it. I know I'm awesome and everything, but even for me, driving like this is a bitch."
Sam blinked and looked down at his hands as though he hadn't realized what they'd been up to while he'd been elsewhere. He snapped his hands open, letting them hover for a moment, then slowly—deliberately—turned himself around and sat down in the seat.
"Cujo?" Sam griped. "He was a rabid dog, Dean. What has that got to do with anything?"
Dean cast a quick glance out of the corner of his eye. Sam's tone held that typical note of exasperation, but Dean could see it for the ploy it was. It was there in his stiff posture and in the way Sam pressed the palms of his hands into his thighs, as though resisting the urge to press against his scar.
"Well, ya got the hair for it," Dean quipped back. "And you do drool."
Sam huffed. He looked down at the satchel he was still holding and then back at Dean. Without another moment's hesitation, he turned and tossed the computer bag onto the seat behind him.
Dean resettled in his own seat, lips twitching into a proud smile at his little brother's 'screw you' gesture to the fallen Archangel of Hell. "Hey, it was the only thing I could think of. You think you can do better, let's hear it then."
"Alright. Fine. I will," Sam boasted confidently. "How 'bout…ah…" He scratched his head in thought, and then blew out a breath. "Yeah…y'know, I got nothing," he admitted with a small smile.
"Ahhh, I got it. Garfield! Ha!" Dean exclaimed triumphantly. "He had claws." He grinned. "He was so cool. He always used to trick Odie into doing things for him," he laughed.
Sam shook his head, a smile lifting his lips at how childlike his kick-ass, intimidating, tough guy, older brother could become. "So is that where you got all those ideas from when we were kids?"
Dean's grin widened. "It's not my fault you were the dumbass who kept falling for them every time."
"You suck," Sam chuckled.
"That's the best you've got?" Dean taunted. You're gonna have to do better than that, college boy,"
"Oh, yeah? How 'bout this?" Sam pivoted slightly in his seat, his long arm easily crossing the distance between them to playfully punch his older brother in the shoulder.
"Hey, you know the rules. No crossing into the zone of protection, man," Dean chided, pushing Sam's arm away as he dramatically outlined the invisible barrier that encircled his body.
Sam quirked an eyebrow at this brother and laughed. "We haven't played that since we were kids. Besides," he reasoned as he slouched down in the seat, "you didn't call it first, so it doesn't count. I can do what I want."
"Child," Dean mumbled.
"Says the poster boy for maturity," Sam chuckled.
They fell into a comfortable silence. Dean felt himself relax by small increments as he watched the tension slowly uncoil from his younger brother's taut frame as they easily fell into their familiar banter. The black sports car ate up the miles as the rising sun glistened off the snow covered plains that rushed past the windows. Dean surreptitiously switched his attention between watching the road and watching his brother.
Sam was sitting up ramrod straight in the passenger seat as he gazed out the window. His hands were buried deep in the pockets of his jacket, the outline of his tightly fisted knuckles visible through the thin fabric.
Dean could tell just how tightly he held his body in check, how much control he was exerting to try and keep it all together; as if one slip…one moment to let himself relax and the facade would crumble.
The cracks were starting, though. Dean could see them. He watched as his younger brother's head ever so slowly fell to the side until his head was resting between the headrest and the window. Even with his head angled away from him, and the long curtain of hair that had fallen in his face, Dean could easily see his younger brother's eyes blinking rapidly as he fought sleep.
The blinking slowed, the time between Sam's eyes being open and being closed lengthened. Dean watched his brother's eyes fall closed once again and held his breath…once again counting off the seconds, hoping that at last Sammy would get the rest he so desperately needed.
Ten…Twenty…Thirty…Thirty-five…Thirty-nine…
A deep shudder shook Sam's frame as he jolted awake. Wide eyes darted around the car before landing on Dean, the emotions playing so fast in their hazels depths that Dean couldn't read one of them. Sam straightened himself quickly in the seat as he scrubbed his hands down face and cleared his throat.
Forty-seconds.
Sam had lasted less than a minute.
It was a start. An extremely crappy start, but a start none the less.
Dean sighed and resisted the overwhelming urge to run his own hands down his face. None of this was his brother's fault, but that didn't stop his ever growing frustration. He tamped the feelings down, knowing that his usual impatient, brusque manner of dealing with things wasn't going to fly this time.
Okay, little brother, we'll backburner sleep for now, he thought, but the rest…you should know better, I'm not giving up that easy.
"So...?" Dean prompted, giving his brother an opening to start the conversation he knew he was trying to ignore.
"So? Sooo…what?" Sam tipped his head to the side, his forehead furrowed at his older brother's question. Dean wanted to reach out and strangle him at the picture of ignorance he was actually trying to pull off.
"Ah, so we're gonna play twenty questions, are we? Okay, bring it on," Dean drawled. "I'll have you know though, that I will ace this little game you're playing at, Sammy. You, on the other hand…" He fixed his brother with a pointed look. "Are going to tank…epically."
"Dean."
"Sam."
"Dean."
Both brothers stared at each other, rugged jaws set in steely determination; their eyes conveying thoughts and intentions better than any words ever could.
Seconds ticked off silently in what could have been hours, but neither blinked. Shear Winchester tenacity and stubbornness would not allow either one to be the first to back down.
Love and concern versus denial, desperation, and fear.
"Fine!" Sam huffed out, as he forcefully pushed himself to a more upright position in the seat.
Love and concern would win out every time.
"I know, okay! You think that I want to not sleep? That I enjoy feeling like three-day-old road kill? I hate this as much as you do." He ran his hands agitatedly through his hair as he blew out a breath. His voice was quieter when he spoke again, but Dean couldn't miss just how weary and drained it sounded.
"I know he's not real. I know he's not really here, that he can't really hurt me. It's all in my head." Sam tapped the side of his head with a bitter smile. "It's all just a manifestation; a bit of…loss of contact with reality. Ya know, there's nothing like a little mania to make your day a little less dull."
"Sammy—"
Sam continued on as if Dean hadn't said a word, his tone and movements growing more agitated.
"But none of that makes a damn bit of difference. He's beside me all the time. I can see him…hear him," Sam's voice broke, "Feel him as clearly as I can you.
"I ignore him…he gets persistent. He gets annoying. Then…then he gets bored. Let me tell you, the bastard can get extremely…creative…when he thinks he's being overlooked and he wants to get your attention."
Dean looked over at Sam. He was back to fisting and unfisting his hands; something Dean took as a new unconscious attempt at trying to keep control. His jaw was clenched so tight that Dean had to wonder just how he had been able to talk. Which only meant one thing.
"What's that asshat doing back there?" Dean asked as he looked, unnecessarily, in the rearview mirror.
"Kicking the back of my seat," Sam said with detached indifference. "Has been for the past coupla miles."
"You always did hate that," Dean remarked offhandedly.
Sam turned his head towards the window, staring at the passing scenery as he continued. "At night, when it's quiet…or when I try and sleep…let my guard down…" Sam trailed off as he exhaled wearily.
He lifted his right hand up to the window, his index finger sliding across the fine sheen of fog his warm breath had created against the chilled window. Dean glanced at his brother's face, at eyes that were looking out the window, but knowing they were not seeing the landscape around them.
He watched Sam with uneasy fascination, wondering if his brother was even aware of the protection symbols he had drawn.
"If it was just memories…just nightmares," Sam continued, "I could handle those. I've had nightmares most of my life. But this…he takes advantage…comes at me from all sides."
Sam shrugged. "I don't know. It's just hard to explain. I feel like I'm playing dodge ball with a nuke." He rolled his head lazily to face Dean. "Still think I'm handling it well? That I'm not bat shit crazy?"
"Nah, I don't think we've hit bat-shit crazy status quite yet; more like 'lucidly challenged' or 'reality adjacent' on occasion," Dean offered, intentionally grasping at his usual quips and one-liners to hide and deflect just how utterly terrified he was by Sam's emotional admission at just how bad it was becoming.
He wasn't ignorant to the fact that Lucifer was a daily— hourly, second-by-second—unwelcome invader that his little brother had to fight.
Alone.
And Dean hated that with every fiber of his being. More than anything else that had ever happened in their entire screwed up lives; that he couldn't put himself between his brother and the danger that he was facing.
But that didn't mean he couldn't have Sam's back. Make one hundred percent certain that Sam knew without a doubt that even though he had to face-off with the former King of Hell by himself, that in absolutely no way meant he was with out help; he wasn't abandoned or deserted.
They would fight him together.
Dean wasn't about to sit on the sidelines and watch as his brother was pulled deeper and deeper into the downward spiral of madness. He'd fix the things he could. He knew that it would be akin to putting a band-aid on a gapping wound, but sometimes small steps worked best; slow the bleeding, get control of the situation…gain them some time to find a permanent resolution.
Baby steps.
"And yeah, out of the two of us," Dean admitted quietly, keeping his eyes on the stretch of highway that rolled out in front of them, "I think you've got the much better grip on your crazy train. I mean, all your cookies are in one jar, Sammy. Sure, the jar has been dropped a few times and some of 'em are just crumbs, but that doesn't mean there's anything wrong with 'em."
"Me?" Dean shook his head. "I don't even know where to begin to start sorting out the free-for-all that's going on inside my melon."
Dean glanced sharply at his brother, and continued quickly; cutting off the fervent tirade that he knew would be coming.
"And if you take that for anything but the statement it is," Dean warned, "I will knock you on your ass. You hear me? This is about you. You, Sammy. Keeping you sane—"
"So? What?" Sam snapped, "You get to go all Dr. Drew on my ass and I get to what? Keep my mouth shut? Say nothing?"
"It's more Dr. Phil than Dr. Drew," Dean quipped. "I tell ya', it's like watchin' a freakin' train-wreck. You just can't not watch that show. Makes our family look like the damn Cleavers."
"Dean."
"Yes, I still think you're handling it well. Okay?"
Sam snapped his mouth shut, fixing his brother with a look that told him on no uncertain terms was that statement going to get brushed under the rug, it would get addressed and dealt with; despite what Dean said.
"Ya gotta sleep, man," Dean said. "There's no way around it. A person can only go so long without sleep before—"
"Eleven days," Sam interjected.
"What?"
"Before a person will start to experience serious repercussions from not sleeping," Sam said matter-of-factly. "Eleven days."
Dean rolled his eyes. "Of course you would know that, Poindexter."
"It's only been a few days," Sam explained. "I'm fine."
"Your fine, my ass," Dean grumbled. "Well I'll see your highfalutin, scientific, Rain Man rationality and raise you some Dean Winchester logic."
"Highfalutin?" Sam remarked. Despite the intense emotions, his voice held amusement, the smirk that tipped his lips lit up his hazel eyes and brought out his dimples.
"Shut up, Sam," Dean ordered, but there was no heat behind his words, only fondness as he fought his own smile. It was few and far between these days that his brother was that open and relaxed.
"Just once I'd like to not have to play an eleventh hour, Hail Mary game of Russian Roulette and hope that maybe…maybe we'll come out the other side relatively intact," Dean said. "So, we run interference, get ahead for once. Distract the distraction."
"Distract the distraction?" Sam repeated in disbelief. "I don't think—"
"No. Listen," Dean persisted. "You always did sleep better in the car. When you were overtired and fussy as all hell as a baby…or all angsty, moody, gangly teenager…put you in the car…" Dean snapped his fingers. "You went out like a light. After Jess…nightmares weren't half as bad when we were driving."
"Where we've been crashing at night…the motels, the cabin…it's too quiet. The open road, the sound of the engine…we'll even put on some of that new-age, soft rock crap you call music…Luci's been hounding you, so…so we give you something else to focus on… drown him out…lessen his hold."
Dean glanced over at Sam, watching as his brother mulled over everything he'd just said; weighed every angle, considered every perspective.
"I don't know…maybe," Sam said shrugging as he blinked tiredly. Dean could tell by the look of intense concentration on his brother's face just how hard thinking was becoming. "I guess…might make some sense, I suppose."
"Of course it makes sense. Older brother, remember, Sammy," Dean said with a grin. "I'm always right."
"Now who's the delusion one," Sam said, his tired words laced with heavy sarcasm. He slouched down in the seat, his head coming to rest in the small space between the headrest and the window. Even with the passenger seat pushed back to it maximum, his long legs still looked cramped as his knees rested on the front of the dashboard.
"Ya know," Sam started.
Dean looked over, his brow furrowed at the shear amount of hesitancy he heard in his younger brother's voice. His words were so quiet that if Dean hadn't been looking directly at him and seen his lips moving in the reflection of the window, he would've wondered if he'd just imagined hearing them.
"I slept 'cause it was the Impala," Sam admitted softly, his voice husky with fatigue. "You…the car…it's always been home…safety."
A soft smile lifted Dean's lips, lighting up his green eyes and warming his heart; he was suddenly extremely grateful that his brother's attention and focus—or lack thereof—was elsewhere. Leave it to Sammy to crush all his carefully built walls of defense with one friggin' sentence.
"I knew you liked my baby," Dean quipped and was rewarded with a sleepy huff of a laugh from the other side of the car.
Dean watched out of the corner of his eye as Sam settled himself as comfortably as he could in the confines of the small sports car, the rigid posture and tense muscles of before slowly uncoiling. His eyes were heavy with sleep, his lids falling closed for brief moments of time only to open back up to half mast to scan the interior of the car.
Dean prayed to—well it wasn't God that was for sure— that this would help; that his theory and reasoning he pretty much pulled out of his ass would work; that Sam would get the rest he so desperately needed.
Gambling, hustling and conning people were a way of life for him. Hell, outright lying should be added to the top of the list; he had acknowledged and accepted it a long time ago.
But not with Sam; never with Sam. Especially when his very life was on the line.
Dean leaned over and flicked the radio on, sending out one more silent plea that this would work.
And his stomach sunk to somewhere in his feet as maniacal laughter filled the speakers.
Wasn't that just typical Winchester luck? One second sooner and Ozzy's voice calling 'All aboard!' would have given fair warning.
"Shit," Dean cursed under his breath. His hand shot out to quickly change the station, only to be stopped mid-reach as Sam caught his arm.
"Leave it," he said softly.
Dean looked at him. Deep lines creased his brow as he scrutinized Sam for any sign that the deranged, frenzied cackle that had erupted from the speakers had in any way—even remotely—affected him; had brought the hellacious memories of torment screaming that much closer to being his permanent reality. "You sure?"
"'m sure." Sam assured, his words slurring with fatigue. "'s'yers."
Dean had to swallow the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. He didn't need to ask his brother what he'd meant, it was all too clearly written on his younger brother's face.
Dean swallowed again, telling himself that the stinging in his eyes was attributed to dust being blown up off the road. He took a deep breath in through his nose and blew it out as he took in Sam's completely open expression. Tired hazel eyes stared back at him, raw emotions swimming just under their surface for Dean to see; total and absolute trust standing in the forefront.
Damn kid was bound and determined to make him come completely unglued today.
Dean shook his head slightly and cleared his throat. "First you compliment my baby, and now you're admitting to liking my music. You must be more exhausted than I thought."
Sam simply shrugged one shoulder and gave him a tired smirk.
"Now lay back, relax and go to sleep" Dean said. "That's an order."
Sam once again slouched down in his seat, closing his eyes briefly before they opened to half-mast to stare at Dean.
"I'll be right here, Sammy," Dean assured his brother softly, gripping his shoulder. "Not goin' anywhere."