It had taken exactly two phrases to convince Dean to check out the case in California. Sam wasn't proud to admit that those phrases included, "it's an hour to the nearest beach" and "we can hit Las Vegas on the way back." However, it was for a good cause. Sam stared ahead, pointedly ignoring the way Dean drummed on the wheel and lip-synched with his hair metal favorites, and admitted to himself that he'd probably feel bad about manipulating his older brother if it wasn't so damned easy to do.
And if it hadn't been the only thing about this case that WAS easy. It grated at Sam that he was having to research backwards. Normally, they found evidence of something strange, then went to talk to people who'd seen it and worked their way towards identifying the weird and kicking its ass. Currently, he had some idea of what the weird was- ice cream truck, kidnap, somehow related to his visions- but next to no evidence trail to follow to a logical conclusion. He couldn't pick apart the dream well enough to see where it might be leading, even though it had come to dominate his sleeping moments. As soon as he'd acknowledged that it had some basis in fact, it was like the dream was working overtime trying to cram itself into his skull- but it always stopped before he could learn anything new, just left him suspended in darkness with the sound of something breathing behind him.
After the second night of this, Sam had started chugging coffee. At least he could blame his jumpiness on the caffeine. In one more day, they'd hit the California border, and then it was a matter of hours until they reached the town. Sam wrinkled his nose and swallowed another slug of long-cold gritty motel coffee. The sooner they arrived, the sooner he'd be able to stop whatever was messing with his head.
God, his little brother was at it again. The kid had started burning the midnight oil before his voice even cracked, trying to keep his schoolwork and hunting in balance… And now that school was no longer an option, he buried himself in research and drank so much coffee he might as well just set up an IV and inject it directly into his bloodstream.
Not that Dean wasn't used to sleep-deprived Sam, but it was a real pain to drive cross-country with someone who only became more neurotic the more he avoided sleep. Still, it had its perks, he thought as he drummed his fingers on the wheel. Sleep-deprived Sammy led inevitably to napping-in-the-car Sammy, which always helped Dean's collection of blackmail photos on his phone. He had a funny hat held ready under the seat for just this contingency. With long years of bothering and damn near parenting under his belt, he spied the signs out of the corner of his eye- the way Sam's head slowly sunk to his chest before snapping back, the long blinks, clumsy hands- and smirked. One passenger for Dreamland, E.T.A. ten minutes or so.
"Look, can we switch something more rock and less roll?" Sam sniped.
"Shotgun shuts his cake hole," Dean reminded him, not bothering to hide his smug smile. " 'Samattar? Too snoozy to appreciate the greats?"
Sam attempted a level glare, which would have been more impressive if he'd been awake enough to focus his eyes properly. "It's not the greats… If…"
Dean raised an eyebrow and turned to the passenger seat, letting out a quiet cackle of victory when he saw his geek little brother had fallen asleep mid-sentence, hands still resting atop the case articles. Careful to check the road first, he dug under his seat with his left leg to knock the hat free, then snatched it up with his right hand. Ha- HA!
With care, he slid the pink conical Dummy hat until it jutted at an odd angle from Sam's head. Slowly, so slowly, he took his hand away and watched the hat balance on its own. After that it was child's play to pull his cell from his pocket and snap a picture.
After the click, his brother moaned a little in his sleep, his head sliding further towards center. The hat, miraculously, stayed in place.
"I'm disappointed in you, Sammy boy. Your reflexes are shit when you're asleep," Dean informed him in an undertone. As if in answer, Sam moaned again… Not a fun-sounding one, either. Twisting slightly in his seat, Dean noted the sweat standing out on Sam's face, the wrinkle between his eyebrows and- oh shit, Sam was CRYING. In his SLEEP.
"Damnit, Sam," Dean growled, pulling a hand from the wheel to grab his brother's shoulder.
"No… No. NOOOOOOO!" Sam woke with a roar that would have sent a less experienced driver spinning off the road in reflexive shock. As it was, Dean's hands clenched and the Impala jerked a little, but steadied out soon after. The pink Dummy hat bounced off the dash and into Sam's seat well, something that would have been funny in different circumstances. Blowing out a sigh as his lungs started working again, Dean rounded on Sam. "What the hell, man, you're having nightmares again?"
Pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand, his little brother sighed. He sat there without speaking long enough for Dean to worry he'd actually gone to sleep again. So he socked Sam in the shoulder and repeated himself. "Hey. Nightmares?"
"…Yeah." Sam sighed, bringing both hands together and digging the heels against his eyes. Standard Sam behavior for when he was stalling for time.
"Clowns or midgets?" Dean prodded, readying to punch his brother's shoulder again. No chick flick moment rule aside, if his little brother was crying in his sleep, he needed to know what about. Sam gave a mirthless chuckle.
"Ice cream and lollipops," he shot back.
Dean was about to get on his case for it when something about the phrase started sounding familiar. Hadn't Sam snarked at him about bad dreams before? Back when they'd been chasing Bloody Mary, or something.
Sam looked at him with eyes so bloodshot they looked greener than ever and Dean GOT IT. No wonder. They were headed back to California. Sam's old apartment- the crumbling remains of it, anyway- was barely two hours away from the town they were headed for. He was having nightmares about Jess again.
"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," Dean said in a rush. "But you can… If. Uh. You know…"
"If you're trying to give an 'I'm here for you' speech… Uh, thanks?" Sam cut him off before his increasingly embarrassing rumbling could infect them both with FEELINGS. "But seriously. I'm fine." Dean leveled a pointed look at the bags under Sam's eyes, but made no further comment on his brother's obvious lie. He'd said what he needed to say, the rest was up to Sam.
They spent the rest of the ride in the semi-silence of people who know each other too well to require full conversations. Each spoke only enough to keep Sam from falling asleep again.
In a certain town in California:
Shoving heels into sneakers with laces kept permanently double-knotted, she whistled for the dog to come. From across the house came the sound of an inherently lazy animal gradually working itself into a tizzy. She loped towards the sound, calling out in the unconscious singsong people use with domesticated animals and babies, "Haaaaarveeeey, wanna go for a WALK?"
A series of clicking and metallic jangling exploded towards her and resolved itself into a round mess of furry Rottweiler- something mix. She braced herself for impact and gave a preemptive order for "Down" but the dog barreled towards her without slowing, finally planting two paws on her stomach to huff happy dog breath into her face.
"Ugh. Phew! Love you too, Harvey, now DOWN," she choked out, air constricted by forty-some pounds per square inch of applied pressure. Harvey dropped to stand fully on the floor and promptly went bounding off again through the house. She followed to a stand near the front door with appropriate walk supplies and managed to get a pinch collar and leash firmly situated around the panting furry neck.
At the door, she turned back and bellowed, "Going for a walk!", which received a shrill, "Okay, have fun!" from somewhere in the back yard. Harvey, impatient to get out and roll in something truly foul, pulled her through the door and barely waited for her to lock up before springing forward to enjoy the California spring air.
Walking through the sprawling suburban neighborhood, the two were a convincing argument for the old adage of dogs coming to resemble their masters. There was a suggestion of puzzlement in the high brow and blobby eyebrows of the Rottweiler that found its match in the perpetually mobile expressions of his owner. Both shared heavy-lidded brown eyes with thick black lashes, and even the way the girl twitched her head to remove floppy bangs from her eyes resembled the dog's occasional ear-flapping head shakes.
As the pair progressed further from their house, the bouncy, boundless joy slowly seemed to drain from their bodies. Harvey's tail drooped, wagged weakly, then tucked itself between his legs. He stopped sniffing enthusiastically at the neighbors' yards and directed several pleading looks towards the holder of the leash.
Other than muttering that everything was "alright, boy, you're alright," she ignored the dog's protests, moving steadily in the direction it least wanted to go. The two passed an elementary school, a community center, a tiny public park- Harvey strained at his leash to enter the last, but finally allowed her to drag him away.
"Nearly there, boy," she murmured as they neared a weed-filled field. Harvey looked at the dry bed of tangled dead plant life, and to the scattered buildings beyond, letting out a low growl. She bent slightly to smooth his fur where it had begun to stand up along his back. "Nearly there."
They walked together through the scratchy plants and past the peeling sign declaring the buildings to be the site of a community remedial high school. Barely past the sign, there was a wooden bench, designed to make the experience of sitting and waiting as splintery and uncomfortable as possible.
She sat down on it anyway, and hunched over in her lap, like a person bracing against the cold. The charms from her bracelet clinked together musically- the first time they had made any noise since she left the house. She sat there for long enough that Harvey gave up being wary and hostile and simply flopped down at her feet, panting.
A breeze stirred through the field and brought the charms to chime loudly. She sighed and lifted her head, unsurprised to see another person leaning against the nearest building.
"Hey, Becks." She smiled, hand moving automatically to keep Harvey from leaping out at the newcomer in a decidedly unfriendly manner. "Long time no see."
"Ray." 'Becks' raised an eyebrow at the dog, but pushed herself off the wall and sat next to her. "He didn't used to hate me this much," she remarked.
"Yeah, maybe he doesn't like your new perfume?" 'Ray' responded. Becks shot her a 'taking none of your B.S. today' look, but reluctantly laughed. "You… doing okay?" Ray asked, reaching a hand to Becks's forehead. She sat back away from the hand.
"You'd know. Just tell me you've found something to help." Her voice came out flat. Ray winced a little.
"I think I found someone? They're coming tomorrow," she offered.
"When you say found-"
Ray's answering smile was sheepish. "They had some help deciding to come." Becks sighed. "I didn't force anything! Just gave a bit of a push, that's all."
"… And when you say 'someone'?" Becks prodded.
"The only kind of people who would help people like us," Ray finished. Becks let out a guffaw that startled Harvey into barking furiously.
"Oh, shit. We're actually gonna die, aren't we?"
"Easy for you to say," Ray quipped. The two stared at each other for a second, then collapsed in helpless giggles while the dog continued to bark.