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Fanfiction: The Middle Mile - Ch.2, Supernatural
THE MIDDLE MILE
Chapter 2
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lacidiana
Beta:famira
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Dean, Newb!Sam
Pairing: N/A (includes Sam/Jess, Dean/Carmen)
Genre: Gen, Drama, Action/Adventure, A/U
Words: 5,802
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Events up to S2E20 and plot revelations up to S2E22.
Summary: A/U diverging from What Is and What Should Never Be. When Dean realizes that the djinn's world is more tangible than he suspected, he decides to pursue his old life as a hunter and find out the truth of his reality. What he doesn't count on is his civilian brother tagging along, as well as the bridge that gradually grows over the rift between them.
A/N: Chapters 1 & 2 used to be a single chapter until I broke them up to comply with the limits on Fanfiction.Net and DevArt. :X Continued thank yous to Fam!
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2: Won't Get Fooled Again
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The binder was about the closest Dean could find to Dad's old journal, thick and sturdy and leather-bound. Dean fiddled with the clasp as he grabbed a pen from the bedside table, and, as he opened to a spot twenty pages in, he wondered how the hell a person started one of these things.
Sam would probably know. He'd find some internet database and scribble down every encyclopedic fact he could, then circle truths and cross out myths and tuck in newspaper scraps as they went along on their demented roadtrip. It wasn't like Dean couldn't do all of that, but when he was beat up and tired out from wrestling down hellspawn, taking notes was about the last thing on his mind. It was a good damn thing that journal-making was right up Sammy's alley; he'd much rather his chores be cleaning the guns and filling up the tank.
But he didn't have Sammy right now. He had Sam, and even then, he didn't really have him; his current civilian law student of a brother didn't seem to want much to do with him, especially since the whole mess with the djinn four months before. Dean didn't blame him, and despite the way he'd felt before the whole thing, he was glad that his brother was staying far away from him. Getting involved in hunting was about the last thing Dean wanted for a Sam who had a normal life.
Well... sure, he'd told him a couple of things in the car, but that had been Sam's own damn fault for being nosy.
"Dean?"
He looked up to see Carmen open the door to their bedroom, and he made a practiced grin.
"Hey," he said, using his free hand to grab some popcorn from the bag propped up next to him. "What's up?"
She walked over, and Dean would've been a pretty sucky hunter if he hadn't noticed the subtle way she glanced around the room. Sometimes he wondered if the reason he was so careful to act normal was more for her sake than his.
"Just checking in on you," she finally said. "You took your meds, right?"
"Like a good little boy," Dean smiled as he chewed. He swallowed and motioned towards her nurse scrubs. "You off to work?"
"Yeah, just wanted to make sure you were doing okay."
"Babe," Dean said, meeting Carmen's worried eyes with a warm and honest smile, "that whole 'psycho-hobo' thing? Just a bad memory. I'm totally not crazy now."
Carmen laughed and walked to the edge of the bed, and Dean met her face with a gentle hand as she leaned in towards him.
"You just saying that so I'll leave you alone?"
"You kiddin'?" Dean grinned as his lips brushed the side of her mouth. "That's the last thing I want you to do."
"Then you'd better keep not crazy." She smiled, pulling away before Dean could drag her into a full kiss. "I'm all for living on the edge, but not off the deep end."
"Seriously, Carmen, I've been feeling a lot better," Dean said as he leaned back into the pillows at the head of the bed. He tapped the tip of his pen against the journal in his lap. "Been listening to the doctor's orders--taking my meds, writing girly diary entries, all that stuff."
"Glad to hear it," Carmen said, and though her tone was joking, Dean could tell she was relieved. "I'll see you tomorrow."
"Damn night shift, stealing my fun." Dean smirked and waved at her. "See ya."
Dean watched as she closed the door behind her, then listened for her footsteps, the jangle of her keys, and then the lock of the front door.
He looked back down to the journal, flipping past the first chunk that he'd filled out with scribbles of bullshit self-discovery until he reached a dog-eared page towards the middle. He opened it and glanced over what he'd written there.
Name's DEAN WINCHESTER. Stuck here. Can't get back.
DJINN -
- LAST SEEN: Peoria, Illinois. old industrial district, abandoned building.
- WITNESSES: Leslie King, resident of Peoria. injured, blood loss, survived.
- VICTIMS: two female corpses, few months old. same count as before.
- INFO: hides out in abandoned buildings. tattoos, blue eyes, hand trance? can change reality? acid trip? death doesn't wake you up? feeds on blood. wish. feeds on blood = wish? dream. death doesn't wake you up MAYBE
It was hard to tell if that last point was valid since his actions had been called attempted suicide for a good reason, but then again, maybe his survival had just been a trick of the dream. The doctors had claimed the whole "not dead from a stab wound to the heart" thing to be because of Sam's heroic struggle with Dean just before the fatal last inch, but Dean knew that was crap. He'd wrestled with Sam earlier that night, and judging from the way he'd pinned his little brother down without even trying, he doubted the guy could've overpowered a nine year-old girl, let alone a battle-hardened hunter. He also didn't remember much between the stabbing and waking up at the hospital, which, he figured, meant that he still had to suspect Sam and everyone else as being the djinn's sandman cronies.
That damn djinn. Dean ran a hand over his face as he studied his meager notes for some clue that he'd missed, some reassurance that he yet had a way to break out of this world that he so badly wanted to believe was real. It figured that he couldn't if the djinn was in control of everything, though Dean doubted that he would have been able to find its lair in the first place if that were the case. Even weirder was the fact that he hadn't had any visions of ghostly girls and hanging bodies since that night.
This whole thing was so damn confusing.
He rubbed at his chest, the scar from the injury still ugly and sore under his shirt after several months of sitting on his ass. They'd given him a load of painkillers to help with it, but he'd only used a few of them, and that had only been his first week out of the hospital. He'd stashed the rest the same place he'd hidden a couple of kitchen knives: Just inside the vent under the bed.
Dean looked back to his notes and his hand went for some more popcorn only to find that the bag was empty, much like the beer bottle on the bedside table. He made a slight groan, got up, and made his way towards the kitchen, wondering with some amount of anticipation if Carmen had restocked the fridge or not. The whole idea of buying real groceries was still pretty sweet to him.
Dean was about halfway there when he heard a knock at the front door. That in itself was another novelty: Having a somewhere he lived in rather than slept in, a place where a knock at the door wasn't necessarily from an angry motel owner or angry cops, or angry demons, or angry hunters, or angry women, or anything else that was angry and out to kill him, really. Hell, Dean would've been excited to answer whoever it might've been if he hadn't been in the middle of pondering his fate and playing the role of a recovering crazy.
"Dean?" A painfully familiar voice called from the other side. "Dean, I know you're in there."
Dean was at the door quicker than he should have been, but old habits died hard, and in the end, the strangest part of this whole world was how little he saw of Sam. He turned the lock, opened the door, and grinned at his somber-faced brother.
"Hey, man!" Dean said with more enthusiasm than he should've, considering how gloomy Sam looked. Even now, it was hard for Dean to remember this Sam's need for personal space, and he had to consciously squelch the urge to slap him on the shoulder in greeting. "What's up? Haven't seen you in a while!"
"Oh, not much," Sam said lightly, glancing out at the front yard as if appraising just how weed-filled the lawn was. "Been helping Mom with some stuff, taking some elective courses online..."
"That's awesome." Dean said even though he had no idea what an elective course was or how you could take one online. He stepped out from in front of the door and gestured Sam in with his hand. "You wanna come in, have a--" he stopped himself "...have some popcorn or something?"
"Yeah, sure," Sam said, moving past Dean and into the living area. He glanced from the chairs at the table to the couch.
"Come on, take a seat!" Dean offered, moving into the kitchen area. "I'll fix something up for you or... something."
Sam almost smiled. "Dean, the last time you tried cooking pasta at home, the thing boiled over and melted part of the counter."
"Well..." Dean faltered, wondering what to say. He imagined he would've sucked at cooking even if he'd grown up normal, though he also had to consider that Sam was sly enough to test him on all this.
"Yeah... yeah, I remember that!" Dean chuckled, going for the fridge and pretending to glance at its contents as he racked his brain for proper BS material. "Dad sure ripped me a new one over that, huh?"
"Yeah," Sam said, "if you think that him yelling at me for letting you take over the stove and him making you pay for the repairs counts as 'ripping you a new one.'"
Dean looked back at Sam and blinked.
"Huh?"
"C'mon, Dean," Sam smiled sardonically as he took a seat at the table, "he was a great guy and I loved him too, but let's face it: you were always his favorite."
Something thudded in Dean's chest at that, and his brow knitted as he turned back to the fridge and grabbed the first thing he saw: A box of leftover Chinese. By the time he turned around and set the food on the counter, he was wearing one of his best fake grins.
"Well, yeah," he said, opening the take-out container and peering at its contents: Orange chicken, by the looks of it. "Maybe he would've understood you better if you'd spent more time hanging out with him instead of studying your butt off."
Dean inwardly winced as he waited for Sam's reply. He was taking shots in the dark here, but at least they were educated shots, and from the stiff smile that crossed Sam's face, it looked like "education" was still a pretty touchy subject in this flipside version of the Winchester family.
"Yeah, well..." Sam paused, as if trying to find a good middle-ground between polite and scathing. "I don't have any regrets."
"Ouch," Dean said, though he didn't really know what to follow that up with. He might have yelled at real Sam in this situation, but then again, even real Sam wouldn't have said something so cold in such a pleasant tone.
"Yeah," Sam replied vaguely. "Ouch."
Dean shifted his weight and fiddled with the take-out container. He finally grabbed a plate and poured out the contents of the box before shoving it in the microwave.
Sam sighed as he rested his elbow on the counter. "Not really hungry, and especially not for your leftovers."
"Who said I was making this for you?" Dean shot back, sounding more defensive than he meant to. Sam frowned even though he didn't say anything, and they spent the 45 seconds on the microwave countdown in awkward silence. Dean preemptively racked his brain for more vague stories he could use to lead Sam on with, though he couldn't shake the gravity of what his brother had said. After all, Mom and Dad had looked really damn proud in that graduation picture back home, so what the hell could have been so bad that Sam resented Dad for it?
"Dean--" Sam started as the microwave beeped and Dean pulled out a hot plate of greasy goodness, "--we need to talk about something kinda important."
"Sure thing," said Dean as he grabbed for a fork and then fell into the chair opposite Sam's. He braced himself for some lecture on psychos, some demand for an apology, or maybe some reference to family drama that he probably knew nothing about, all of which he could probably handle with some amount of smoke-blowing and sarcasm. What he didn't expect, as he took a bite of the chicken, was:
"Mom thinks it'd be a good idea if we went on a roadtrip together."
Dean nearly choked on his food. He looked up at Sam, Sam who wasn't Sam, Sam who was prissy and stupid and Sam who Dean thought would last about five minutes on backcountry roads before he hurled.
Sam who he wanted to keep safe.
"What, is she nuts?"
Sam leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as if he was delivering bad news to a deserving party. "Apparently, Carmen told Mom that you said that you wanted to go on a roadtrip with me, and she thinks that it'd be a good way for us to bond and help you get over your... whatever it is."
Good God, Dean thought. Sam told stories like a girl. And worse, the whole family had turned hunting evil into some cheesy Lifetime special, and all Dean could do was mentally kick himself for letting his guard down and mentioning anything in the first place.
Out loud, he said: "No disrespect to Mom or anything, but, uh..." He took another bite and didn't bother to swallow before continuing. "Don't really need any homemade remedies. Already feelin' awesome."
He gave a chicken-filled grin to both prove his point and gross Sam out. From the wince on his brother's face, it looked like he'd at least succeeded at the second objective.
"No disrespect to you, but I don't think you're the best judge of that," Sam grumbled as he shifted in his seat. "And you're the one who put the idea in their heads, so don't act like this is my fault. I don't want to do this and I don't have the time."
"At least we agree on something," Dean muttered, shoveling down his food. He was craving another beer, but he knew that getting one would end with Sam giving him that look, and while Dean usually didn't give a crap what people thought of him, seeing Sam's eyes with that kind of disdain hurt like hell.
"Yeah... listen:" Sam leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. "I don't know if spending that kind of time with me will help you or not, but Mom thinks it will, and that's what matters here."
"Glad to know you're puttin' me first."
"Dean, this isn't a joke." Sam's tone turned severe and Dean found himself tensing because of it. "She's worried sick over you and you owe her that much if you're going to pretend you're getting better."
"Who says I'm pretending?" Dean shot back, angry not because of the accusation but out of fear that he'd screwed up as badly here as he had back home.
"Oh, come on, Dean," Sam gave a humorless laugh as he met his eyes. "Everyone else has high hopes for you, but I'm the one who made the trip that night. Kind of hard to fool me after that."
Dean opened his mouth to respond before closing it again. The kid was right even if Dean didn't want him to be, and though Sam had blocked out the supernatural aspect of the whole excursion four months before, it didn't seem like he was letting go of the other details any time soon.
Dean glanced down at his plate and registered that he'd already eaten everything. He took the opportunity to stand up and walk to the sink, though as he did so, he was thinking more about his immediate future than the pile of dirty dishes on the counter. He did have to roadtrip, bad, not because he needed it and not because he particularly wanted to, but because a life this comfortable was too good to be true and even if it was real, he owed it to the world to put things back the way they were.
He just wished his family didn't have to pay for it too.
"Sam..." He started, then faltered. He didn't know how to tell someone 'I need to fix things so your life is horrible again' even if the someone didn't know it, and he doubted any kind of rewording would convince Sam that Dean was cool to take the trip by himself. Besides, like Sam had said: This wasn't about Dean. This was about Mom, and what Mom needed to see was her kids hanging out together even if they had to be force-crammed into a '67 Impala to do it.
And damn, the Impala. Dean would be lying to himself if he said he didn't miss taking his baby out on the open road, something he'd been completely deprived of ever since the doctors had diagnosed him and put him on heavy meds (or so they thought).
"...When'd we be leaving?" Dean finally asked over his shoulder, thoughts of newspaper clippings and his tarp-covered car at the forefront of his mind. "And how long 'till we get back?"
In the corner of his vision, Dean could see Sam's shoulders sag as if he was disappointed about his own success. That was Sam's version of sacrifice for his family, Dean guessed, and though it was pretty weak all things considered, he still had to respect the gesture.
Sam sighed. "In a couple of days," he said, rubbing his eyes. "We'd only be gone a couple of weeks. Just need to talk to Mom and let Jessica know what's going on."
Dean felt a surge of guilt and he found he couldn't raise his eyes to meet his brother's. If he went through with what he needed to do, there'd be no Mom to make happy and no Jessica to keep up to date. There'd be no home to go back to, no law school, no pasta boiling memories, and no summer elective online classes or whatever the hell they were called. There'd just be him and Sam, alone and on the road and driving towards a dark and uncertain future. They'd have a loaded gun between them, and one day, Sam would ask him to use it.
Dean wondered if he kept convincing himself this was a dream because he couldn't handle the thought that he was making a conscious choice. Hell, he didn't want to have a choice, he didn't want to feel like he was throwing something beautiful away just to end up in the miserable place he was. He'd steeled himself when he'd first gone after the djinn, but after four long months in this place, even with the doctors and the wound and everyone worrying over him, he felt weaker than he ever had. He didn't want to go home.
But he had to.
"Sure," he caved with a long, shuddering breath, covering it up by rubbing the sore scar on his chest. He forced a smile that came out looking more like a grimace. "What the hell, let's go on a roadtrip."
Sam didn't look like he was doing much better, though Dean figured it was all relative. His brother took a similarly deep breath and said: "I guess that's that then."
"Yup," said Dean. The two of them were a damn bucket of sunshine.
Sam stood up from his chair, looking a weird mix of reluctant and determined. "I'll go back to Mom's and pack up the Honda in the morning. You talk to Carmen and get your clothes and whatever else together."
It took a whole two seconds for Sam's words to register with Dean, and by the time they did, his brother was already halfway to the door.
"Whoa, waitaminute." Dean's eyes narrowed. "If we ain't taking my car, I ain't going."
"Dean--" Sam snapped as he turned back towards him. It seemed like he'd been expecting this and hadn't been looking forward to dealing with it. "I don't know if it's gotten through your head yet, but you're not going to be driving, period, and I'm not driving a hundred miles in some macho car with old brakes and no seat belts."
Stung, Dean jabbed a finger in Sam's direction. "You'd best watch your mouth or get a fist in it, y'hear?!" After a pause of consideration, he added: "And who the hell says I can't drive? Who the hell says you can?"
"Mom is who," said Sam, indignant. "The whole point of this trip is to help you get over being crazy. Meaning you're crazy now. Meaning... you're not allowed to drive."
"Aw, c'mon! I was crazy back when we drove to Illinois, right? Key word being drove."
"No, Dean, key word being crazy."
Dean wanted to shoot back something about how he'd ended up saving some poor girl through his 'crazy,' but he resisted. Reminding Sam of the details of their last trip wouldn't do much for his cause and besides, he figured digging his heels in would be the only thing that could save him from a new-age pansy car now.
"Whatever." Dean grumbled. He turned to yank the fridge door open and grab a beer, not caring much how Sam looked at him when he wasn't acting like Sam. He turned to grab the bottle-opener, then headed for his bedroom. "You can pack up the Honda, but I'm only leaving if we're going in my car."
"Dean--"
"Hey, man, your call."
Sam seemed too frustrated to express himself in words, and Dean walked past him with a small smirk on his face. He wasn't surprised at all when he heard Sam exhale, then say: "Fine, we'll take the Impala."
"Damn straight," Dean grinned, turning around to face Sam again. "And if you crash it, you're dead to me."
He didn't pay much attention to the look of resentment that crossed Sam's face. After all, Dean was just saying that to play along; he'd sooner swear abstinence than not drive his own damn car.
---
"Make sure he takes his meds," Mom said as Sam managed to squeeze a bottle of shampoo into his already-stuffed bag of toiletries. "And keep an eye on him! He's doing much better, but..."
"I know, Mom," Sam replied for the fourth time that morning.
He glanced at his suitcase, then at the laptop bag on the bed, and then at his watch: he was supposed to be at Dean's place in fifteen minutes, and due to Dean's ridiculous notion that Dad's old Impala was the only thing worth driving in, Mom and Jess were going to have to drop him off there.
"Hey, Sam!" Jess called from downstairs. "You going to eat these pancakes or what?"
"Gimme a sec!" Sam yelled back, zipping up his last bag and throwing it over his shoulder. Mom grabbed his laptop bag before he could insist that she didn't need to, and he took his suitcase by the handle as he headed out of the room.
"And you promise you're not going to let him drive?" Mom continued even despite his reassurances. "No matter how much he complains? Because you know he'll complain."
"Yeah, trust me, I won't." Sam said, trying his hardest not to sound irritated and impatient. The idea of spending hours in the car that Dean and Dad had treated like a chariot of gold all his life was bad enough without the thought of Dean behind the wheel. "I do value my life, you know."
"So long as you're firm about it," Mom laughed.
They reached the foot of the stairs and Sam dropped his bags, immediately heading towards the kitchen. He was ready to scarf down a couple of pancakes if only to show that he appreciated Jess making them; he already felt guilty enough about abandoning her with his mom even though the two of them got along like mother and daughter, which, Sam guessed, was a pretty good sign that their engagement would work out in the long run.
"Hey!" Jess smiled as soon as Sam walked in the door. She seemed to interpret Sam's rush to his seat at the table correctly, because she followed up with: "Running late?"
"Yeah, a little," Sam returned with a weak grin. He grabbed a fork and dug into the pancakes she'd already set out for him, then glanced out the hallway to see what Mom was doing. It looked like she was taking a long time finding a sweater, and knowing Mom, she was probably just doing it so Jess and Sam would have some alone time before he left.
Jess slid into the chair next to his. "I thought you were Mr. Punctual. Or is that just with school?"
Sam paused before smiling wryly, though genuinely. He wondered if the reason he'd asked her to marry him was because she never failed to know what he was really thinking and he never failed to know what she was really saying.
"Yeah, Jess, just with school," he replied, putting a hand to the side of her face. "And you."
"Isn't that sweet." Jess smiled back, and she kissed him on the cheek before standing up again. "Now eat up so you have one less thing to complain about."
And Sam did eat up, and Mom did eventually find her cardigan, and they did manage to arrive at Dean's house roughly on time. They didn't even have to knock on the door; Dean was already out front loading the Impala, and he grinned as the three of them got out of Mom's car.
"Hey!" He called, shoving in one last duffel bag before he walked over to greet them. Sam watched as he gave Mom and Jess a couple of those weirdly big, tight hugs, and then turned to do the same for Sam before stopping mid-motion and taking a step back.
Sam really, really tried his best to put on a smile.
"Hey, Dean."
"Hey, Sam!" Dean said cheerfully as if there wasn't a giant invisible wall between them. He turned to Mom and Jess. "It's great to see you guys. Sorry if I've uh... if I've worried you a lot, Mom."
"What?" Mom blinked, looking a little taken aback. "Dean, I'm always going to worry about you."
"Yeah, but... more reason to do that, seein' as uh..." Dean trailed off, and it was a good thing that the oncoming silence was broken by Carmen calling out to them from the front door. After a general round of "hellos" and "how are yous," Mom and Jess took up Carmen's invitation to come in for some coffee as Sam declined and went to grab his stuff from the car.
Dean waited until the girls went inside, then gestured vaguely towards Mom's sedan. "So... What'd you bring?"
"Clothes, textbooks, laptop, and... soap," Sam said, trying not to let on just how uncomfortable he felt. The far-off dread he'd felt towards this trip was beginning to manifest as a horrible weight at the pit of his stomach, though the thought that he'd be helping out Mom in some small way made him feel a little better. "You?"
"Just some clothes," Dean answered a little too casually, and Sam might have called him on it if he hadn't been preoccupied with juggling his bags and trying to get the trunk open. He apparently looked as incompetent as he felt, because the next thing Dean did was walk over and motion for him to step away.
"Trunk's kinda tricky, champ."
Dean jiggled his key in the lock and pried it open. Sam opened his mouth to protest before pursing his lips and handing Dean his bags.
"Whatever you say," he grumbled. If the guy wanted to feel smart about something, it was better to let him have his moment before they got out on the road.
"That's an awesome attitude right there, Sam!" Dean grinned, and all Sam could do was look over his brother's shoulder and make sure he wasn't tossing the bag with his textbooks on top of the bag with his laptop. Surprisingly, he'd actually put the laptop bag to the side as if he already knew the drill, and even more surprisingly, there wasn't much room left in the trunk in the first place.
"Huh," Sam remarked.
"What?" Dean asked, glancing at him.
"Nothing." Sam shrugged, taking a step back again. "Just remembered the trunk being bigger is all."
"Well," Dean said, slamming the top closed, "you used to be smaller."
He turned, glancing from Sam's head to his toes.
"A lot smaller."
"Yeah, yeah, I know." Sam rolled his eyes, not really in the mood to deal with Dean whining about how he'd once been the taller of the two. He looked towards the house to see Jess standing in the doorway, coffee mug in hand. She waved at him.
Sam waved back and ambled over, hoping that this was a sign that Mom and Carmen were talking over Dean's current condition and would continue to do so for a good while longer.
"Looks like we're all packed," he said, glancing back at the car. Dean looked like he was checking under the hood one last time, and Sam vaguely hoped his brother wasn't sabotaging anything for the purpose of making an excuse to take over the wheel.
"That's good," Jess said, taking a sip of coffee. She arched an eyebrow at Sam's noncommittal grunt. "Or is it?"
"Just..." Sam trailed off, finding himself staring at the car he'd be spending far too much time in these next couple of weeks. He shook his head and looked back to Jess. "Just thinking of how much I'll miss you."
"It's not like you're going off to war." Jess laughed, nudging him in the arm with her elbow. "It's just two weeks, Sam. I think I'll manage, and who knows? Maybe you'll actually have fun."
"You sound like my mom." Sam gave a reluctant smile. In all honesty, he really did hope there'd be some kind of upside to this trip, because it'd be a real damn drag if there wasn't. He was at least glad Jess seemed to have a positive outlook on the situation, and he let her enthusiasm spill over into him until he finally managed a grin.
"All right," he said, resting his arm over her shoulders, "and if I don't call you once a day, assume Dean threw my phone out the window again."
"You're still angry about that?" Jess giggled, tugging at his sleeve with her free hand.
"Hey, I had a lot of important stuff in that thing!" Sam gave her a look halfway between sheepish and indignant. He tilted his head. "And it's kind of scary not to have a phone when you're driving to god knows where with a psycho at the wheel."
The words had come out of his mouth without much thought beforehand, and he tensed a little as he heard heavy footfalls come up the walkway. He slowly turned to see Dean wiping his hands on a rag.
"That why you don't want me driving, Sam?" He asked lightly. Sam could hear the hurt in his voice, subtle though it was.
"No, Dean," he said, trying to keep his tone cool even though he wanted more than anything to demand why his brother felt like he deserved any trust right now. "It's because I promised Mom I wouldn't let you."
Once again, Carmen had impeccable timing when she decided to step out the front door and interrupt a conversation tilting heavily towards the side of awkward. This time, Mom was following her, though instead of a coffee cup in her hand, she had a paper bag that Sam could only imagine held Dean's medication.
"All right, girls!" Carmen said, moving past Sam and Jess to put an arm around Dean. "Time to say goodbye to our guys."
Dean grinned just before he kissed her. "Gonna miss you."
"And I," Mom said as she moved towards Sam and Dean, "am going to miss both of you."
Carmen and Jess moved out of the way so that Mom could pull them both into a hug that was probably only awkward for Sam, and even then, only from one side. When she pulled away, she looked the happiest she'd been since her birthday dinner four months ago, just before the excitement from Sam and Jess' announcement had been completely overshadowed by Dean's actions that night.
And this was the guy who demanded they go in his stupid car.
Sam pulled away and Jess gave him her own hug and kiss that Sam vowed he'd remember throughout the frustrations he'd no doubt encounter on the road. He began to walk away, and it was when Mom handed him the paper bag and whispered to him that Dean needed to take one of those and one of these every day that he realized he was actually going through with this; he was actually going to spend two weeks cramped in the trophy car of a brother he couldn't stand with said brother riding shotgun.
Sam caught Dean's keys when he tossed them along with a wink and a click of his tongue. Sam got the weird feeling that this was more normal for Dean than it was for him, and as he climbed into the driver's side and began adjusting the seat and the mirrors, he sighed.
"What?" Dean asked, sliding in and slamming the door behind him. "Never driven a classic before?"
"Never driven a tuna boat before," Sam corrected him.
He winced as he turned the ignition and some manner of electric guitar immediately began blaring from the speakers. His hand shot out to turn the radio off before he even put the car in gear.
"What the hell?!" Dean exclaimed, looking at Sam like he was a total stranger--which was kind of weird, considering he was and it shouldn't have been something shocking. "What's the matter with you?"
"I can't concentrate on getting used to this thing with all that noise, Dean," Sam said. He began backing out of the spot, shooting Jess one last, long, nervous look before he put the car in drive and started heading down the street.
"It ain't noise, Sam," Dean said, leaning forward and turning the music back on. He cranked up the volume and grinned.
"It's Kansas."
---
Navigation: Ch. 1 | Ch. 2
Chapter 2
Author:
lacidianaBeta:
famiraFandom: Supernatural
Characters: Dean, Newb!Sam
Pairing: N/A (includes Sam/Jess, Dean/Carmen)
Genre: Gen, Drama, Action/Adventure, A/U
Words: 5,802
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Events up to S2E20 and plot revelations up to S2E22.
Summary: A/U diverging from What Is and What Should Never Be. When Dean realizes that the djinn's world is more tangible than he suspected, he decides to pursue his old life as a hunter and find out the truth of his reality. What he doesn't count on is his civilian brother tagging along, as well as the bridge that gradually grows over the rift between them.
A/N: Chapters 1 & 2 used to be a single chapter until I broke them up to comply with the limits on Fanfiction.Net and DevArt. :X Continued thank yous to Fam!
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2: Won't Get Fooled Again
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The binder was about the closest Dean could find to Dad's old journal, thick and sturdy and leather-bound. Dean fiddled with the clasp as he grabbed a pen from the bedside table, and, as he opened to a spot twenty pages in, he wondered how the hell a person started one of these things.
Sam would probably know. He'd find some internet database and scribble down every encyclopedic fact he could, then circle truths and cross out myths and tuck in newspaper scraps as they went along on their demented roadtrip. It wasn't like Dean couldn't do all of that, but when he was beat up and tired out from wrestling down hellspawn, taking notes was about the last thing on his mind. It was a good damn thing that journal-making was right up Sammy's alley; he'd much rather his chores be cleaning the guns and filling up the tank.
But he didn't have Sammy right now. He had Sam, and even then, he didn't really have him; his current civilian law student of a brother didn't seem to want much to do with him, especially since the whole mess with the djinn four months before. Dean didn't blame him, and despite the way he'd felt before the whole thing, he was glad that his brother was staying far away from him. Getting involved in hunting was about the last thing Dean wanted for a Sam who had a normal life.
Well... sure, he'd told him a couple of things in the car, but that had been Sam's own damn fault for being nosy.
"Dean?"
He looked up to see Carmen open the door to their bedroom, and he made a practiced grin.
"Hey," he said, using his free hand to grab some popcorn from the bag propped up next to him. "What's up?"
She walked over, and Dean would've been a pretty sucky hunter if he hadn't noticed the subtle way she glanced around the room. Sometimes he wondered if the reason he was so careful to act normal was more for her sake than his.
"Just checking in on you," she finally said. "You took your meds, right?"
"Like a good little boy," Dean smiled as he chewed. He swallowed and motioned towards her nurse scrubs. "You off to work?"
"Yeah, just wanted to make sure you were doing okay."
"Babe," Dean said, meeting Carmen's worried eyes with a warm and honest smile, "that whole 'psycho-hobo' thing? Just a bad memory. I'm totally not crazy now."
Carmen laughed and walked to the edge of the bed, and Dean met her face with a gentle hand as she leaned in towards him.
"You just saying that so I'll leave you alone?"
"You kiddin'?" Dean grinned as his lips brushed the side of her mouth. "That's the last thing I want you to do."
"Then you'd better keep not crazy." She smiled, pulling away before Dean could drag her into a full kiss. "I'm all for living on the edge, but not off the deep end."
"Seriously, Carmen, I've been feeling a lot better," Dean said as he leaned back into the pillows at the head of the bed. He tapped the tip of his pen against the journal in his lap. "Been listening to the doctor's orders--taking my meds, writing girly diary entries, all that stuff."
"Glad to hear it," Carmen said, and though her tone was joking, Dean could tell she was relieved. "I'll see you tomorrow."
"Damn night shift, stealing my fun." Dean smirked and waved at her. "See ya."
Dean watched as she closed the door behind her, then listened for her footsteps, the jangle of her keys, and then the lock of the front door.
He looked back down to the journal, flipping past the first chunk that he'd filled out with scribbles of bullshit self-discovery until he reached a dog-eared page towards the middle. He opened it and glanced over what he'd written there.
Name's DEAN WINCHESTER. Stuck here. Can't get back.
DJINN -
- LAST SEEN: Peoria, Illinois. old industrial district, abandoned building.
- WITNESSES: Leslie King, resident of Peoria. injured, blood loss, survived.
- VICTIMS: two female corpses, few months old. same count as before.
- INFO: hides out in abandoned buildings. tattoos, blue eyes, hand trance? can change reality? acid trip? death doesn't wake you up? feeds on blood. wish. feeds on blood = wish? dream. death doesn't wake you up MAYBE
It was hard to tell if that last point was valid since his actions had been called attempted suicide for a good reason, but then again, maybe his survival had just been a trick of the dream. The doctors had claimed the whole "not dead from a stab wound to the heart" thing to be because of Sam's heroic struggle with Dean just before the fatal last inch, but Dean knew that was crap. He'd wrestled with Sam earlier that night, and judging from the way he'd pinned his little brother down without even trying, he doubted the guy could've overpowered a nine year-old girl, let alone a battle-hardened hunter. He also didn't remember much between the stabbing and waking up at the hospital, which, he figured, meant that he still had to suspect Sam and everyone else as being the djinn's sandman cronies.
That damn djinn. Dean ran a hand over his face as he studied his meager notes for some clue that he'd missed, some reassurance that he yet had a way to break out of this world that he so badly wanted to believe was real. It figured that he couldn't if the djinn was in control of everything, though Dean doubted that he would have been able to find its lair in the first place if that were the case. Even weirder was the fact that he hadn't had any visions of ghostly girls and hanging bodies since that night.
This whole thing was so damn confusing.
He rubbed at his chest, the scar from the injury still ugly and sore under his shirt after several months of sitting on his ass. They'd given him a load of painkillers to help with it, but he'd only used a few of them, and that had only been his first week out of the hospital. He'd stashed the rest the same place he'd hidden a couple of kitchen knives: Just inside the vent under the bed.
Dean looked back to his notes and his hand went for some more popcorn only to find that the bag was empty, much like the beer bottle on the bedside table. He made a slight groan, got up, and made his way towards the kitchen, wondering with some amount of anticipation if Carmen had restocked the fridge or not. The whole idea of buying real groceries was still pretty sweet to him.
Dean was about halfway there when he heard a knock at the front door. That in itself was another novelty: Having a somewhere he lived in rather than slept in, a place where a knock at the door wasn't necessarily from an angry motel owner or angry cops, or angry demons, or angry hunters, or angry women, or anything else that was angry and out to kill him, really. Hell, Dean would've been excited to answer whoever it might've been if he hadn't been in the middle of pondering his fate and playing the role of a recovering crazy.
"Dean?" A painfully familiar voice called from the other side. "Dean, I know you're in there."
Dean was at the door quicker than he should have been, but old habits died hard, and in the end, the strangest part of this whole world was how little he saw of Sam. He turned the lock, opened the door, and grinned at his somber-faced brother.
"Hey, man!" Dean said with more enthusiasm than he should've, considering how gloomy Sam looked. Even now, it was hard for Dean to remember this Sam's need for personal space, and he had to consciously squelch the urge to slap him on the shoulder in greeting. "What's up? Haven't seen you in a while!"
"Oh, not much," Sam said lightly, glancing out at the front yard as if appraising just how weed-filled the lawn was. "Been helping Mom with some stuff, taking some elective courses online..."
"That's awesome." Dean said even though he had no idea what an elective course was or how you could take one online. He stepped out from in front of the door and gestured Sam in with his hand. "You wanna come in, have a--" he stopped himself "...have some popcorn or something?"
"Yeah, sure," Sam said, moving past Dean and into the living area. He glanced from the chairs at the table to the couch.
"Come on, take a seat!" Dean offered, moving into the kitchen area. "I'll fix something up for you or... something."
Sam almost smiled. "Dean, the last time you tried cooking pasta at home, the thing boiled over and melted part of the counter."
"Well..." Dean faltered, wondering what to say. He imagined he would've sucked at cooking even if he'd grown up normal, though he also had to consider that Sam was sly enough to test him on all this.
"Yeah... yeah, I remember that!" Dean chuckled, going for the fridge and pretending to glance at its contents as he racked his brain for proper BS material. "Dad sure ripped me a new one over that, huh?"
"Yeah," Sam said, "if you think that him yelling at me for letting you take over the stove and him making you pay for the repairs counts as 'ripping you a new one.'"
Dean looked back at Sam and blinked.
"Huh?"
"C'mon, Dean," Sam smiled sardonically as he took a seat at the table, "he was a great guy and I loved him too, but let's face it: you were always his favorite."
Something thudded in Dean's chest at that, and his brow knitted as he turned back to the fridge and grabbed the first thing he saw: A box of leftover Chinese. By the time he turned around and set the food on the counter, he was wearing one of his best fake grins.
"Well, yeah," he said, opening the take-out container and peering at its contents: Orange chicken, by the looks of it. "Maybe he would've understood you better if you'd spent more time hanging out with him instead of studying your butt off."
Dean inwardly winced as he waited for Sam's reply. He was taking shots in the dark here, but at least they were educated shots, and from the stiff smile that crossed Sam's face, it looked like "education" was still a pretty touchy subject in this flipside version of the Winchester family.
"Yeah, well..." Sam paused, as if trying to find a good middle-ground between polite and scathing. "I don't have any regrets."
"Ouch," Dean said, though he didn't really know what to follow that up with. He might have yelled at real Sam in this situation, but then again, even real Sam wouldn't have said something so cold in such a pleasant tone.
"Yeah," Sam replied vaguely. "Ouch."
Dean shifted his weight and fiddled with the take-out container. He finally grabbed a plate and poured out the contents of the box before shoving it in the microwave.
Sam sighed as he rested his elbow on the counter. "Not really hungry, and especially not for your leftovers."
"Who said I was making this for you?" Dean shot back, sounding more defensive than he meant to. Sam frowned even though he didn't say anything, and they spent the 45 seconds on the microwave countdown in awkward silence. Dean preemptively racked his brain for more vague stories he could use to lead Sam on with, though he couldn't shake the gravity of what his brother had said. After all, Mom and Dad had looked really damn proud in that graduation picture back home, so what the hell could have been so bad that Sam resented Dad for it?
"Dean--" Sam started as the microwave beeped and Dean pulled out a hot plate of greasy goodness, "--we need to talk about something kinda important."
"Sure thing," said Dean as he grabbed for a fork and then fell into the chair opposite Sam's. He braced himself for some lecture on psychos, some demand for an apology, or maybe some reference to family drama that he probably knew nothing about, all of which he could probably handle with some amount of smoke-blowing and sarcasm. What he didn't expect, as he took a bite of the chicken, was:
"Mom thinks it'd be a good idea if we went on a roadtrip together."
Dean nearly choked on his food. He looked up at Sam, Sam who wasn't Sam, Sam who was prissy and stupid and Sam who Dean thought would last about five minutes on backcountry roads before he hurled.
Sam who he wanted to keep safe.
"What, is she nuts?"
Sam leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as if he was delivering bad news to a deserving party. "Apparently, Carmen told Mom that you said that you wanted to go on a roadtrip with me, and she thinks that it'd be a good way for us to bond and help you get over your... whatever it is."
Good God, Dean thought. Sam told stories like a girl. And worse, the whole family had turned hunting evil into some cheesy Lifetime special, and all Dean could do was mentally kick himself for letting his guard down and mentioning anything in the first place.
Out loud, he said: "No disrespect to Mom or anything, but, uh..." He took another bite and didn't bother to swallow before continuing. "Don't really need any homemade remedies. Already feelin' awesome."
He gave a chicken-filled grin to both prove his point and gross Sam out. From the wince on his brother's face, it looked like he'd at least succeeded at the second objective.
"No disrespect to you, but I don't think you're the best judge of that," Sam grumbled as he shifted in his seat. "And you're the one who put the idea in their heads, so don't act like this is my fault. I don't want to do this and I don't have the time."
"At least we agree on something," Dean muttered, shoveling down his food. He was craving another beer, but he knew that getting one would end with Sam giving him that look, and while Dean usually didn't give a crap what people thought of him, seeing Sam's eyes with that kind of disdain hurt like hell.
"Yeah... listen:" Sam leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. "I don't know if spending that kind of time with me will help you or not, but Mom thinks it will, and that's what matters here."
"Glad to know you're puttin' me first."
"Dean, this isn't a joke." Sam's tone turned severe and Dean found himself tensing because of it. "She's worried sick over you and you owe her that much if you're going to pretend you're getting better."
"Who says I'm pretending?" Dean shot back, angry not because of the accusation but out of fear that he'd screwed up as badly here as he had back home.
"Oh, come on, Dean," Sam gave a humorless laugh as he met his eyes. "Everyone else has high hopes for you, but I'm the one who made the trip that night. Kind of hard to fool me after that."
Dean opened his mouth to respond before closing it again. The kid was right even if Dean didn't want him to be, and though Sam had blocked out the supernatural aspect of the whole excursion four months before, it didn't seem like he was letting go of the other details any time soon.
Dean glanced down at his plate and registered that he'd already eaten everything. He took the opportunity to stand up and walk to the sink, though as he did so, he was thinking more about his immediate future than the pile of dirty dishes on the counter. He did have to roadtrip, bad, not because he needed it and not because he particularly wanted to, but because a life this comfortable was too good to be true and even if it was real, he owed it to the world to put things back the way they were.
He just wished his family didn't have to pay for it too.
"Sam..." He started, then faltered. He didn't know how to tell someone 'I need to fix things so your life is horrible again' even if the someone didn't know it, and he doubted any kind of rewording would convince Sam that Dean was cool to take the trip by himself. Besides, like Sam had said: This wasn't about Dean. This was about Mom, and what Mom needed to see was her kids hanging out together even if they had to be force-crammed into a '67 Impala to do it.
And damn, the Impala. Dean would be lying to himself if he said he didn't miss taking his baby out on the open road, something he'd been completely deprived of ever since the doctors had diagnosed him and put him on heavy meds (or so they thought).
"...When'd we be leaving?" Dean finally asked over his shoulder, thoughts of newspaper clippings and his tarp-covered car at the forefront of his mind. "And how long 'till we get back?"
In the corner of his vision, Dean could see Sam's shoulders sag as if he was disappointed about his own success. That was Sam's version of sacrifice for his family, Dean guessed, and though it was pretty weak all things considered, he still had to respect the gesture.
Sam sighed. "In a couple of days," he said, rubbing his eyes. "We'd only be gone a couple of weeks. Just need to talk to Mom and let Jessica know what's going on."
Dean felt a surge of guilt and he found he couldn't raise his eyes to meet his brother's. If he went through with what he needed to do, there'd be no Mom to make happy and no Jessica to keep up to date. There'd be no home to go back to, no law school, no pasta boiling memories, and no summer elective online classes or whatever the hell they were called. There'd just be him and Sam, alone and on the road and driving towards a dark and uncertain future. They'd have a loaded gun between them, and one day, Sam would ask him to use it.
Dean wondered if he kept convincing himself this was a dream because he couldn't handle the thought that he was making a conscious choice. Hell, he didn't want to have a choice, he didn't want to feel like he was throwing something beautiful away just to end up in the miserable place he was. He'd steeled himself when he'd first gone after the djinn, but after four long months in this place, even with the doctors and the wound and everyone worrying over him, he felt weaker than he ever had. He didn't want to go home.
But he had to.
"Sure," he caved with a long, shuddering breath, covering it up by rubbing the sore scar on his chest. He forced a smile that came out looking more like a grimace. "What the hell, let's go on a roadtrip."
Sam didn't look like he was doing much better, though Dean figured it was all relative. His brother took a similarly deep breath and said: "I guess that's that then."
"Yup," said Dean. The two of them were a damn bucket of sunshine.
Sam stood up from his chair, looking a weird mix of reluctant and determined. "I'll go back to Mom's and pack up the Honda in the morning. You talk to Carmen and get your clothes and whatever else together."
It took a whole two seconds for Sam's words to register with Dean, and by the time they did, his brother was already halfway to the door.
"Whoa, waitaminute." Dean's eyes narrowed. "If we ain't taking my car, I ain't going."
"Dean--" Sam snapped as he turned back towards him. It seemed like he'd been expecting this and hadn't been looking forward to dealing with it. "I don't know if it's gotten through your head yet, but you're not going to be driving, period, and I'm not driving a hundred miles in some macho car with old brakes and no seat belts."
Stung, Dean jabbed a finger in Sam's direction. "You'd best watch your mouth or get a fist in it, y'hear?!" After a pause of consideration, he added: "And who the hell says I can't drive? Who the hell says you can?"
"Mom is who," said Sam, indignant. "The whole point of this trip is to help you get over being crazy. Meaning you're crazy now. Meaning... you're not allowed to drive."
"Aw, c'mon! I was crazy back when we drove to Illinois, right? Key word being drove."
"No, Dean, key word being crazy."
Dean wanted to shoot back something about how he'd ended up saving some poor girl through his 'crazy,' but he resisted. Reminding Sam of the details of their last trip wouldn't do much for his cause and besides, he figured digging his heels in would be the only thing that could save him from a new-age pansy car now.
"Whatever." Dean grumbled. He turned to yank the fridge door open and grab a beer, not caring much how Sam looked at him when he wasn't acting like Sam. He turned to grab the bottle-opener, then headed for his bedroom. "You can pack up the Honda, but I'm only leaving if we're going in my car."
"Dean--"
"Hey, man, your call."
Sam seemed too frustrated to express himself in words, and Dean walked past him with a small smirk on his face. He wasn't surprised at all when he heard Sam exhale, then say: "Fine, we'll take the Impala."
"Damn straight," Dean grinned, turning around to face Sam again. "And if you crash it, you're dead to me."
He didn't pay much attention to the look of resentment that crossed Sam's face. After all, Dean was just saying that to play along; he'd sooner swear abstinence than not drive his own damn car.
---
"Make sure he takes his meds," Mom said as Sam managed to squeeze a bottle of shampoo into his already-stuffed bag of toiletries. "And keep an eye on him! He's doing much better, but..."
"I know, Mom," Sam replied for the fourth time that morning.
He glanced at his suitcase, then at the laptop bag on the bed, and then at his watch: he was supposed to be at Dean's place in fifteen minutes, and due to Dean's ridiculous notion that Dad's old Impala was the only thing worth driving in, Mom and Jess were going to have to drop him off there.
"Hey, Sam!" Jess called from downstairs. "You going to eat these pancakes or what?"
"Gimme a sec!" Sam yelled back, zipping up his last bag and throwing it over his shoulder. Mom grabbed his laptop bag before he could insist that she didn't need to, and he took his suitcase by the handle as he headed out of the room.
"And you promise you're not going to let him drive?" Mom continued even despite his reassurances. "No matter how much he complains? Because you know he'll complain."
"Yeah, trust me, I won't." Sam said, trying his hardest not to sound irritated and impatient. The idea of spending hours in the car that Dean and Dad had treated like a chariot of gold all his life was bad enough without the thought of Dean behind the wheel. "I do value my life, you know."
"So long as you're firm about it," Mom laughed.
They reached the foot of the stairs and Sam dropped his bags, immediately heading towards the kitchen. He was ready to scarf down a couple of pancakes if only to show that he appreciated Jess making them; he already felt guilty enough about abandoning her with his mom even though the two of them got along like mother and daughter, which, Sam guessed, was a pretty good sign that their engagement would work out in the long run.
"Hey!" Jess smiled as soon as Sam walked in the door. She seemed to interpret Sam's rush to his seat at the table correctly, because she followed up with: "Running late?"
"Yeah, a little," Sam returned with a weak grin. He grabbed a fork and dug into the pancakes she'd already set out for him, then glanced out the hallway to see what Mom was doing. It looked like she was taking a long time finding a sweater, and knowing Mom, she was probably just doing it so Jess and Sam would have some alone time before he left.
Jess slid into the chair next to his. "I thought you were Mr. Punctual. Or is that just with school?"
Sam paused before smiling wryly, though genuinely. He wondered if the reason he'd asked her to marry him was because she never failed to know what he was really thinking and he never failed to know what she was really saying.
"Yeah, Jess, just with school," he replied, putting a hand to the side of her face. "And you."
"Isn't that sweet." Jess smiled back, and she kissed him on the cheek before standing up again. "Now eat up so you have one less thing to complain about."
And Sam did eat up, and Mom did eventually find her cardigan, and they did manage to arrive at Dean's house roughly on time. They didn't even have to knock on the door; Dean was already out front loading the Impala, and he grinned as the three of them got out of Mom's car.
"Hey!" He called, shoving in one last duffel bag before he walked over to greet them. Sam watched as he gave Mom and Jess a couple of those weirdly big, tight hugs, and then turned to do the same for Sam before stopping mid-motion and taking a step back.
Sam really, really tried his best to put on a smile.
"Hey, Dean."
"Hey, Sam!" Dean said cheerfully as if there wasn't a giant invisible wall between them. He turned to Mom and Jess. "It's great to see you guys. Sorry if I've uh... if I've worried you a lot, Mom."
"What?" Mom blinked, looking a little taken aback. "Dean, I'm always going to worry about you."
"Yeah, but... more reason to do that, seein' as uh..." Dean trailed off, and it was a good thing that the oncoming silence was broken by Carmen calling out to them from the front door. After a general round of "hellos" and "how are yous," Mom and Jess took up Carmen's invitation to come in for some coffee as Sam declined and went to grab his stuff from the car.
Dean waited until the girls went inside, then gestured vaguely towards Mom's sedan. "So... What'd you bring?"
"Clothes, textbooks, laptop, and... soap," Sam said, trying not to let on just how uncomfortable he felt. The far-off dread he'd felt towards this trip was beginning to manifest as a horrible weight at the pit of his stomach, though the thought that he'd be helping out Mom in some small way made him feel a little better. "You?"
"Just some clothes," Dean answered a little too casually, and Sam might have called him on it if he hadn't been preoccupied with juggling his bags and trying to get the trunk open. He apparently looked as incompetent as he felt, because the next thing Dean did was walk over and motion for him to step away.
"Trunk's kinda tricky, champ."
Dean jiggled his key in the lock and pried it open. Sam opened his mouth to protest before pursing his lips and handing Dean his bags.
"Whatever you say," he grumbled. If the guy wanted to feel smart about something, it was better to let him have his moment before they got out on the road.
"That's an awesome attitude right there, Sam!" Dean grinned, and all Sam could do was look over his brother's shoulder and make sure he wasn't tossing the bag with his textbooks on top of the bag with his laptop. Surprisingly, he'd actually put the laptop bag to the side as if he already knew the drill, and even more surprisingly, there wasn't much room left in the trunk in the first place.
"Huh," Sam remarked.
"What?" Dean asked, glancing at him.
"Nothing." Sam shrugged, taking a step back again. "Just remembered the trunk being bigger is all."
"Well," Dean said, slamming the top closed, "you used to be smaller."
He turned, glancing from Sam's head to his toes.
"A lot smaller."
"Yeah, yeah, I know." Sam rolled his eyes, not really in the mood to deal with Dean whining about how he'd once been the taller of the two. He looked towards the house to see Jess standing in the doorway, coffee mug in hand. She waved at him.
Sam waved back and ambled over, hoping that this was a sign that Mom and Carmen were talking over Dean's current condition and would continue to do so for a good while longer.
"Looks like we're all packed," he said, glancing back at the car. Dean looked like he was checking under the hood one last time, and Sam vaguely hoped his brother wasn't sabotaging anything for the purpose of making an excuse to take over the wheel.
"That's good," Jess said, taking a sip of coffee. She arched an eyebrow at Sam's noncommittal grunt. "Or is it?"
"Just..." Sam trailed off, finding himself staring at the car he'd be spending far too much time in these next couple of weeks. He shook his head and looked back to Jess. "Just thinking of how much I'll miss you."
"It's not like you're going off to war." Jess laughed, nudging him in the arm with her elbow. "It's just two weeks, Sam. I think I'll manage, and who knows? Maybe you'll actually have fun."
"You sound like my mom." Sam gave a reluctant smile. In all honesty, he really did hope there'd be some kind of upside to this trip, because it'd be a real damn drag if there wasn't. He was at least glad Jess seemed to have a positive outlook on the situation, and he let her enthusiasm spill over into him until he finally managed a grin.
"All right," he said, resting his arm over her shoulders, "and if I don't call you once a day, assume Dean threw my phone out the window again."
"You're still angry about that?" Jess giggled, tugging at his sleeve with her free hand.
"Hey, I had a lot of important stuff in that thing!" Sam gave her a look halfway between sheepish and indignant. He tilted his head. "And it's kind of scary not to have a phone when you're driving to god knows where with a psycho at the wheel."
The words had come out of his mouth without much thought beforehand, and he tensed a little as he heard heavy footfalls come up the walkway. He slowly turned to see Dean wiping his hands on a rag.
"That why you don't want me driving, Sam?" He asked lightly. Sam could hear the hurt in his voice, subtle though it was.
"No, Dean," he said, trying to keep his tone cool even though he wanted more than anything to demand why his brother felt like he deserved any trust right now. "It's because I promised Mom I wouldn't let you."
Once again, Carmen had impeccable timing when she decided to step out the front door and interrupt a conversation tilting heavily towards the side of awkward. This time, Mom was following her, though instead of a coffee cup in her hand, she had a paper bag that Sam could only imagine held Dean's medication.
"All right, girls!" Carmen said, moving past Sam and Jess to put an arm around Dean. "Time to say goodbye to our guys."
Dean grinned just before he kissed her. "Gonna miss you."
"And I," Mom said as she moved towards Sam and Dean, "am going to miss both of you."
Carmen and Jess moved out of the way so that Mom could pull them both into a hug that was probably only awkward for Sam, and even then, only from one side. When she pulled away, she looked the happiest she'd been since her birthday dinner four months ago, just before the excitement from Sam and Jess' announcement had been completely overshadowed by Dean's actions that night.
And this was the guy who demanded they go in his stupid car.
Sam pulled away and Jess gave him her own hug and kiss that Sam vowed he'd remember throughout the frustrations he'd no doubt encounter on the road. He began to walk away, and it was when Mom handed him the paper bag and whispered to him that Dean needed to take one of those and one of these every day that he realized he was actually going through with this; he was actually going to spend two weeks cramped in the trophy car of a brother he couldn't stand with said brother riding shotgun.
Sam caught Dean's keys when he tossed them along with a wink and a click of his tongue. Sam got the weird feeling that this was more normal for Dean than it was for him, and as he climbed into the driver's side and began adjusting the seat and the mirrors, he sighed.
"What?" Dean asked, sliding in and slamming the door behind him. "Never driven a classic before?"
"Never driven a tuna boat before," Sam corrected him.
He winced as he turned the ignition and some manner of electric guitar immediately began blaring from the speakers. His hand shot out to turn the radio off before he even put the car in gear.
"What the hell?!" Dean exclaimed, looking at Sam like he was a total stranger--which was kind of weird, considering he was and it shouldn't have been something shocking. "What's the matter with you?"
"I can't concentrate on getting used to this thing with all that noise, Dean," Sam said. He began backing out of the spot, shooting Jess one last, long, nervous look before he put the car in drive and started heading down the street.
"It ain't noise, Sam," Dean said, leaning forward and turning the music back on. He cranked up the volume and grinned.
"It's Kansas."