Secrets, Scars and Shotguns.
Empty Promises.
Jessica was dead, burned up on the ceiling the night Sam came back from his 'road trip', travelling with Dean, and doing what he swore he would never do again ; Hunt. The loss of his beloved girlfriend, possibly wife, had driven him into a blind rage. Finally he understood how is father had felt all those years ago. He was determined to kill the son of a bitch who had done this to him and his family. But right then, finding his Dad would have to do; that and keeping an eye on Dean.
So far they had wiped the supernatural asses of a woman in white, a windego and a restless spirit who had drowned in a lake. Not to mention the demon on a plane. This little embargo just scared the living shit out off Dean; Turns out flying wasn’t his cup of tea.
They were driving back on the road after sending yet another restless spirit back to hell.
Dean was driving, his music blasting into the air around him. His smile was wide, happy ; and real. When he was on the road he was happy, he was free, and he felt he could do anything and go anywhere. The world was his and he could do whatever he wanted with it. Reality just passed by. Just him, his brother and his 1967 Chevy impala.
Sam watched him with interest. His brother was grinning, he had gotten a little bigger, no longer, closely resembled a corpse and was taking the fact that John was still nowhere to be found, rather well. Seemed to be. But Sam was still watching him, keeping an eye on his arms, making sure no new wounds appeared through the white scars.
But right now as Sam watching Dean, smiling and singing, he thought Dean was generally happy.
The song on the cassette changed and the grin on his freckled face grew.
"Man! I love this song!" He said trailing off to sing.
Sam just laughed at how awful he sounded. He was tired, very tired.
"Hey Dean I’m going to get some sleep." He said," turn that down will ya? You okay to drive?"
"Come on Sammy! You know me. I’ll wait until we reach the next town. You get your 40 winks or whatever!" Dean didn't take his eyes form the road ahead.
Sam leaned over the chair into the back seat. He needed something to rest his head on, a hoodie of his or, if he was feeling dangerous, Deans. Allow he rarely felt dangerous. While trying to steady himself and keep from falling at the same time he threw aside own duffle and started to raid Deans.
"I just need to find something to..." he trailed off as he lifted a container used for Deans anti-depressants. Last time Sam had checked Dean had had four left, now he still had four left. Sam had last checked over a month ago.
"Dean?" Sam asked, he turned himself round in his seat, still grasping the container in his hand," Did you get a new batch of these?"
Dean hesitated. He was obviously cooking up a lie. But Sam was too smart; he had already read the label stating the date they had been given. They were the same pills.
"No. No I got a new batch!" Dean lied
"Dean. The label says these were bought in December. Last month. These aren't a new batch so don't lie. Why aren't you taking these?"
Dean didn't want to take them, he didn't like them, and he didn't see the need or the point rather.
"I don't know." He shrugged.
"Dean, you have to take these. I don't want you to go back to the way you were. You're arrogant and cocky now and I can live with that, hell, I love that in you. Just promise me that you won't go back to being closed up and you won't hurt yourself and get unbearably skinny. "Sam didn't take a breath," I can't hug my big brother if you're that skinny."
Dean looked into Sam's eyes; chick flick moments like these made his stomach turn. There was silence for a moment. Dean turned his eyes back to the road.
"I don't like this new attitude Sammy."
Sam rolled his eyes. He always did this. He always changed the subject when asked to be serious about this.
Once when Sam was thirteen and John had questioned Dean, yet again, on why he wouldn't take them, Dean had shrugged and asked where they were heading next. John had sighed and answered him. He didn't challenge, he didn't argue; he answered.
But Sam wasn't taking this laying down; he wasn't going to watch Dean fade away from him. Not again. Besides what was wrong with his attitude?
"Don't change the subject! Answer me! Promise!"
Dean just stared at the road, tapping on the steering wheel. Sam remembered that rhythm, Dean used to thump it out to calm down, when he was distressed or afraid. It comforted him.
"Talk to me." Sam tried again, his tone softer.
"Okay." Dean's reply was quiet," I promise."
So far they had wiped the supernatural asses of a woman in white, a windego and a restless spirit who had drowned in a lake. Not to mention the demon on a plane. This little embargo just scared the living shit out off Dean; Turns out flying wasn’t his cup of tea.
They were driving back on the road after sending yet another restless spirit back to hell.
Dean was driving, his music blasting into the air around him. His smile was wide, happy ; and real. When he was on the road he was happy, he was free, and he felt he could do anything and go anywhere. The world was his and he could do whatever he wanted with it. Reality just passed by. Just him, his brother and his 1967 Chevy impala.
Sam watched him with interest. His brother was grinning, he had gotten a little bigger, no longer, closely resembled a corpse and was taking the fact that John was still nowhere to be found, rather well. Seemed to be. But Sam was still watching him, keeping an eye on his arms, making sure no new wounds appeared through the white scars.
But right now as Sam watching Dean, smiling and singing, he thought Dean was generally happy.
The song on the cassette changed and the grin on his freckled face grew.
"Man! I love this song!" He said trailing off to sing.
Sam just laughed at how awful he sounded. He was tired, very tired.
"Hey Dean I’m going to get some sleep." He said," turn that down will ya? You okay to drive?"
"Come on Sammy! You know me. I’ll wait until we reach the next town. You get your 40 winks or whatever!" Dean didn't take his eyes form the road ahead.
Sam leaned over the chair into the back seat. He needed something to rest his head on, a hoodie of his or, if he was feeling dangerous, Deans. Allow he rarely felt dangerous. While trying to steady himself and keep from falling at the same time he threw aside own duffle and started to raid Deans.
"I just need to find something to..." he trailed off as he lifted a container used for Deans anti-depressants. Last time Sam had checked Dean had had four left, now he still had four left. Sam had last checked over a month ago.
"Dean?" Sam asked, he turned himself round in his seat, still grasping the container in his hand," Did you get a new batch of these?"
Dean hesitated. He was obviously cooking up a lie. But Sam was too smart; he had already read the label stating the date they had been given. They were the same pills.
"No. No I got a new batch!" Dean lied
"Dean. The label says these were bought in December. Last month. These aren't a new batch so don't lie. Why aren't you taking these?"
Dean didn't want to take them, he didn't like them, and he didn't see the need or the point rather.
"I don't know." He shrugged.
"Dean, you have to take these. I don't want you to go back to the way you were. You're arrogant and cocky now and I can live with that, hell, I love that in you. Just promise me that you won't go back to being closed up and you won't hurt yourself and get unbearably skinny. "Sam didn't take a breath," I can't hug my big brother if you're that skinny."
Dean looked into Sam's eyes; chick flick moments like these made his stomach turn. There was silence for a moment. Dean turned his eyes back to the road.
"I don't like this new attitude Sammy."
Sam rolled his eyes. He always did this. He always changed the subject when asked to be serious about this.
Once when Sam was thirteen and John had questioned Dean, yet again, on why he wouldn't take them, Dean had shrugged and asked where they were heading next. John had sighed and answered him. He didn't challenge, he didn't argue; he answered.
But Sam wasn't taking this laying down; he wasn't going to watch Dean fade away from him. Not again. Besides what was wrong with his attitude?
"Don't change the subject! Answer me! Promise!"
Dean just stared at the road, tapping on the steering wheel. Sam remembered that rhythm, Dean used to thump it out to calm down, when he was distressed or afraid. It comforted him.
"Talk to me." Sam tried again, his tone softer.
"Okay." Dean's reply was quiet," I promise."