[FIC] The Hitch-Hunter's Guide to Apple Country (3/?)
Title: The Hitch-Hunter's Guide to Apple Country (or Why Abandoning Your Back-Up at a Dairy Queen and Setting Off to Prove Some Macho Point is a TERRIBLE Idea) [Brother's Blood 'Verse]
Authors: diana_lucifera & tersichore
Pairing: Gen, Wincest in future parts
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: vindictive couple fighting, massive angst (as should be expected from us)
Summary: Things aren't alright after Roosevelt, and Dad's call takes them from "Manfully Ignoring the Problem" to "Screaming at Each Other on the Side of the Road." Sam wishes he could say he was surprised.
Previous Chapter | Brother's Blood Masterpost
"Goddammit, Dean," Sam swears, punching redial and slapping the phone to his ear.
"He not picking up again?" Meg asks, fresh gossip mag in her hand.
"Oh no," Sam shakes his head. "He's picking up; he's just being an idiot."
"How?" Meg asks, nudging aside a stack of Sam's research to take the seat across from him.
“He says he needs a ‘break,’” Sam says scornfully, hitting redial again even though he knows Dean's not gonna pick up.
“Well… Maybe he does, Sam,” Meg suggests.
“What?” Sam demands, looking up from his phone sharply.
“Look, I know it’s not my business," Meg shrugs, fiddling with her straw, "but like I said before: six months is a really long time to spend together. Of course you’re gonna knock heads."
"This? What you and your brother are going through? It's normal," she assures him, "and if you give him some space now, I bet you’ll be able to patch things up a lot easier than if you keep pushing it."
At Sam's look, she holds her hands up.
"No offense. I know you mean well," she continues, "but kid sibling knows best? Pushing and pushing until you just gotta get out, get some air? I’ve been there. I know where your brother is coming from.”
She laughs a little, fishes the pinky-sized pocket knife from her pocket and turns it in her hands, folding the little tools in and out absently.
"I mean, I'd do anything for my sister. Love her to death, but after I told her about this whole road trip of mine? After she read me the "You're Gonna Get Skinned By Drifters" Riot Act?"
She shakes her head, wry smile on her face.
"Well, let's just say if we had to share a front seat, blood would have been shed."
“But you’re-” Sam protests, trying and failing to find a way to say 'You’re not actually in danger. Dean is!' that doesn't make him sound like a complete and total crazy person. “It’s not like that. I’m just-”
“Worried about him?” Meg finishes, a knowing look on her face as she holds the knife up with a little wiggle.
Sam sighs.
“Yeah,” he says softly.
“The truth is, he- Something happened to him a little while ago," he explains. "It was a close call, really close, and I was the one who found him, and it- I mean, it really messed me up, Meg. I don’t know what I would have done if he-”
He breaks off when the air gets thin, when his throat closes up and the words just won't come.
“I can’t go through that again," Sam confesses. "I can’t lose him.”
Meg nods slowly, taking it in.
“Well,” she reasons, “I hate to say this, but there’s more than one way to lose somebody.”
Sam stares at her.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, if you keep riding him like this?” Meg says, eyes soft. “Keep hanging on tight when he says he needs space? There may be a time when he kicks you out of the car and doesn’t come back.”
Sam has to hold himself steady to keep from wincing.
“Right now he’s asking for a couple of days,” she continues. “If you don’t give him that, the problem’s just gonna get worse and worse. The tighter you hold on, the more smothered he’s gonna feel. Trust me. I know. So honestly? I think maybe you should take that trip to California.”
“But,” Sam starts, “you don’t understand, Meg. If I’m not there, he could get hurt! He could-!”
“And you could both get hit by a bus tomorrow," Meg points out. “Anything could happen, Sam, and it's terrifying, it is, but worrying about it every second of every day? Letting it control your life? You can’t live like that. You’re gonna drive yourself and your brother crazy.”
Sam bites his lip, and Meg reaches out, touching his hand gently.
“Sam, I think you need this, too,” she suggests softly. “So, come on. Let’s go to California. Find whatever it is you’ve been looking for, and then you can meet back up with your brother, and you’ll both feel better. You’ll see."
She gives his hand a comforting squeeze and then draws back again.
"And when I'm telling my sister about all this later," she adds with a grin, "I’ll just leave out the part of the story where I picked up a seven foot tall drifter on a whim.”
Sam laughs, just a little, lets the possibilities run through his head, spinning and spreading and multiplying like fractals.
It's tempting. It's so tempting. It's Dad and the Demon. Solving this case. Vengeance for mom and Jess and everything they've ever lost, everything the fire's taken from them, all in one.
It's living, just for a little, the lie he's been telling for so long.
Roadtripping his way across the country. Taking his time. Dealing.
It's exactly what Sam wanted and exactly what Dean wants and exactly what Dad would never see coming.
And Sam doesn't even have to pretend to not know why the 'yes' sticks in his throat, why he just can't make himself get in the car and go.
Dean.
It always comes back to Dean.
He always comes back to Dean.
If Dean would just let him.
"Meg-" he starts, refusal on the tip of his tongue, but she doesn't let him get any further.
"Give it some time," Meg interrupts gently. "Think about it."
She stands, tucking her thumbs into the pockets of her jeans.
"And maybe let me buy you dinner to make up for sticking my nose in your life like this," she grins. "After all, it's been a whole fifteen minutes since that smoothie, and I'm starved."
"No kidding?" Sam can't help but chuckle, reminded of a hundred diners on a thousand stretches of asphalt, stop offs they made because Dean just had to stuff his face with this cheesy fry or that chili burger.
"Yeah," Meg nods. "Come on. I think I saw a Korean place a little ways back."
~
It's about an hour back, actually, but halfway there, Sam's stomach growls in the way that reminds him how breakfast was abandoned in favor of fighting with Dean, and lunch was postponed for after research and how - okay - maybe he hasn't eaten anything today, but in his defense, he's been busy.
Not everyone can net the cushy detail of staking out sacrificial victims in a diner of all places, which, trust Dean to find a magical soul-searching solo hunt that involves him just sitting around, stuffing his face full of pie and creeping on people.
Because it's not like he does that with Sam every single day.
God.
"So, what do you think?" Meg asks once they're inside. "Bibimbap or kimchi jjigae?"
"What?" Sam blinks, jerking back to the present and grabbing up his menu to try and look a little less like he wasn't listening to a word she said. "Umm, I-They both look good, I guess?"
"Right," Meg nods with a knowing smirk, "because you're totally invested in this and paying attention."
"Sorry," Sam ducks his head. "It's just-"
"Your brother," Meg finishes wryly. "No, I get it. You've got a lot on your mind right now. You thinking about calling him again?"
She asks like she already knows the answer.
"Maybe," Sam mumbles, not meeting her eye.
"He'll check in when he's ready," Meg assures, going back to menus and entrees and debates over how much gochujjang a restaurant is legally allowed to add to a dish before it stops being seasoning and starts being assault, and that 's fine. That's great for her, but Dean was on his way to face off against a minor deity a little over two hours ago, and he still hasn't checked in, so excuse Sam for not really giving a shit about food or her opinion on food or really anything outside the phone in his pocket which will not ring, no matter how hard he wills it to give him a call, a text message, a fucking smoke signal, anything to tell him that Dean is alive, Dean is okay, Dean is not lying in a ditch somewhere, a scarecrow-fist shaped hole in his chest and the life slowly bleeding out of him again.
He tells himself that it's okay.
Tells himself that he's being paranoid. Irrational. That Dean doesn't want Sam bugging him and Meg is right about giving him space and that his brother's pulled off about a hundred solo hunts against things a hell of a lot scarier than freaking apple gods, and that if things were bad, if Dean actually did need his help, he'd call.
He would.
He totally wouldn't risk his life to prove a point that doesn't even need proving.
…fuck.
Somehow, Sam makes it through dinner.
He's distant and distracted and completely deaf to whatever it is that Meg is chattering on about across the table as a hundred thousand visions - visions but not visions - because that's pretty much the only awful thing that could happen today but hasn't, of what could be happening to Dean right now tear through his head. They pound back and forth from Dean getting gored by apple deities to Dean finishing the case without even breaking a sweat and blowing town without him, abandoning Sam to Meg and California, and never, ever seeing Dean again, because Dean doesn't want him. Not anymore.
He doesn't want Sam, and he doesn't need him - never needed him - and that was fine. Why would Dean need Sam? Why would anyone need Sam? Especially someone like Dean. Dean is a better son, a better hunter, a better human being than Sam could ever be, and Sam knows that, has known that all along. And Sam was fine with it, because as long as Dean wanted him, none of that mattered.
But Dean doesn't want him anymore.
He doesn't want him, and it's all Sam's fault. It's Sam's fault for getting on his case this morning and fucking up at Roosevelt and fucking off to Stanford when he knew, he knew that it would mean leaving Dean in this alone, but he did at anyway, told himself it would be okay and it would work out fine, and look where that got all of them.
Dad on the run. Dean half-dead. Jess-
God, she would smack him for all of this, would roll her eyes and laugh at him and tell him to stop freaking out and just call his brother. He can picture her now, all gold curls and bright smile, always laughing and always paint-smeared. She was always exactly what he needed exactly when he needed it, and if this is what he needs now, then goddammit Dean can fucking deal.
If he's allowed to have Soul-Searching Solo Hunt Fun Time, Sam's allowed to worry about him, dammit.
He excuses himself while Meg's pouring over the dessert menu, trying to decide between berry and green tea bingsu, and she's either really into shaved ice desserts or he totally doesn't sound like he's sneaking off to call Dean in the bathroom, because she doesn't raise an eyebrow or make a comment about him being an annoying little brother who's stifling Dean's fucking independent spirit just by existing near him, which thank god for that.
There's only so much a guy can take, after all.
Dean, stifled independent spirit or no, picks up on the third ring.
“Put your head between your knees and breathe,” he answers boredly.
“Fuck you!” Sam snaps, looking incredulously at the phone because seriously? He spent twelve fucking hours making himself sick with worry over this asshole, and he just-
"Sam-" Dean tries to backpedal, and Sam is letting him have none of that.
"No, really. Fuck. You," he explodes. "I am so sorry that my ANXIETY-INDUCED PANIC ATTACKS are a fucking inconvenience to you. I'll try not to let my girlfriend's FIERY MURDER and your ALMOST DYING get to me so much."
"Sam-!"
"I mean, it's not like I almost lost you, and then turned around to watch my whole life go up in flames or anything!" Sam rants. "Why worry about that? It's not like I'll ever have to worry about losing you again or anything! It's not like our job is hunting monsters or risking our lives or following our idiot father's orders to our almost certain deaths or anything, so really, laugh it up! Our lives are hilarious."
"You done?" Dean asks archly.
"I hate you."
"I'll take that as a yes. Are you okay?"
"Well, I'm not scarecrow chow if that's what you're asking," Sam answers bitterly.
"It is," Dean says. "You call for a reason, Sammy?"
"Yeah," Sam answers tightly. "How's the goddamn case?"
"Fuckin' peachy," Dean tosses back. "You get a damn room yet?"
Sam hums noncommittally.
"Not exactly."
"Well, why the hell not?" Dean demands. "These hicks just got gypped out of a sacrifice, Sammy. They're gonna need a new one. Now tell me, you gunnin' to get snatched and grabbed by hill people to get back at me or somethin'?"
"Oh yeah, because if I get kidnapped by crazy townsfolk, it's gotta be because I'm making a passive aggressive dig at you!" Sam scoffs incredulously. "It's not like there's a town wide sacrificial conspiracy or anything! That would be crazy!"
"Sammy, just get a goddamn room," Dean sighs, and Sam can just see him, phone held to his ear with one hand, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose with the other 'Sammy Quit Being So Goddamn Stubborn Already' face firmly applied as he appeals for aid from on high to deal with his pain-in-the-ass little brother.
"I can't," Sam grumbles. "I'm having trouble shaking my ride."
"You hitched? With a townie?" Dean's voice picks up, takes on the protective, big-brother backbone Sam's heard aimed at bullies and baddies alike in his defense since birth. "Get out, Sam. Kick his ass, steal his car, and get out. I'm not playing around here."
"It's okay, Dean," Sam shakes his head, trying not to let the fierce rush of pleasure hearing Dean so worried about him brings come through in his voice. "She's just passing through on her way to California."
"Perfect," Dean enthuses. "You can hit the road with her, get a head-start on the hunt for Dad. I'll wrap up here and catch up with you. Everybody's happy, and hey, no one gets Joe Versus the Volcano’ed by angry villagers. It's win-win."
"I'm not doing that, Dean."
"Why not?" Dean demands, and Sam's not imagining the edge in his voice. "California? Looking for Dad? That's your thing, right?"
"Yeah, but I'm not just gonna leave you here-"
“Why? You think I can't handle it? Think I'm not up to ducking these people long enough to burn down a fucking tree? I'm fine, Sam. Hit the road already. I know you know how."
“Okay, do you want me to go to California or not?" Sam demands. "Because we both know that, if I did, it'd be 'There goes Sammy, running out on his family again.' If I follow you on the hunt, it means I don't trust you, but if I head off on my own, I'm abandoning you. What the hell am I supposed to do here? I'm damned if I do and damned if I don't, Dean!”
There's silence on the other end of the line for a long time.
"Just promise me you'll head outta town," Dean gravels. "Can't hunt this thing if I'm worried about facing down that ugly-ass scarecrow and seeing your fucking machete scar on its arm, okay?"
"Okay," Sam promises faintly, taken aback. "I'll get a room outside of town. Promise."
"And ditch that chick you're with," Dean adds. "Pretty sure it's just Burkittsville, but no way you're getting snatched because one of these hicks has a cousin or somethin' outside the city limits."
"Yeah," Sam nods, shooting a look back into the dining room at Meg, filing her nails with her little pocket knife as she waits for dessert. "Yeah, all right. Just… stay in touch, okay?"
"You got it," Dean agrees, voice still too heavy, too serious. "Take care, Sammy."
"Yeah, you too," Sam nods around a thick swallow.
He tries to bite back the words, he does, but he just can't, can't stop them from tumbling out in a hot, awkward rush.
"Hey, Dean?" he fumbles, grip too tight on the phone. "You're still- you're still coming back, right? After the case? You're still- still gonna come and get me, aren't you?"
He tries to keep his voice casual, tries to keep the fact that Dean calling - Dean keeping in touch, Dean letting him know he's okay, that he's not gone for good - is all that's keeping the ground under his feet and the world turning. Because Sam is fine on his own, and he trusts Dean to hunt alone, he really does, but only as long as he knows without a shadow of doubt that his brother is alive and coming back to him.
Which, in retrospect, really means that he's not okay at all, but no one but Sam needs to know that.
"Yeah, Sammy," Dean murmurs from the other end of the line. "'Course I am."
And just like that, the air rushes back into Sam's lungs as the awful aching, gnawing pit in his stomach dissolves and the world starts turning again.
"I mean, you changed your laptop password," Dean jokes, and Sam hates that he won't just talk to him and loves that he's giving him the out, letting this be the one thing that keeps them from having a girly share and care over the phone while Sam's in the men's room of a hole-in-the-wall Korean joint off Highway 31. "How'm I gonna get any mileage outta my Busty Asian Beauties Platinum Membership if your little geek toy's lockin' me out?"
"It's 'deanstopusingmylaptoptojackoffitsweird,'" Sam tosses back, rolling his eyes with a wry smile. "No caps."
"Awesome," Dean says and Sam can hear his grin through the phone. "I'm gonna tail our not-sacrificed civvies to the state line, go set this Magic Tree on fire, then use your laptop to jack off."
"You're disgusting."
"Hey, you think I'm disgusting," Dean teases. "Wait 'till you see your keyboard. I'm not cleanin' up a damn thing."
"Dean!"
"Call ya later, Sammy," Dean hangs up with a laugh, leaving Sam glaring at the phone and feeling lighter than he's felt in hours.
"So, we Cali bound?" Meg chirps when he strides back into the dining room, spoon suspended over a chilly soup of berries and shaved ice.
"Actually I'm gonna stick around," Sam shrugs, shelling out enough to cover his half of the bill and shrugging into his jacket. "You know, get a room. Chill while Dean works his shit out."
"You lookin' for a roomie?" she asks, just a little hesitant, a little shy.
It sits awkwardly on her, this girl who has been nothing but confident, nothing but self-possessed, in the short time that Sam's known her. "Not to, like, be your shadow or anything, but it is gettin' kinda late, and we are kind of in No-One-Can-Hear-You-Scream-sville. We can make popcorn, play Truth or Dare?"
"Nah," Sam shakes his head, "I'm a pretty awful roommate."
"I bet you use all the towels," Meg nods, gesturing with her spoon. "Steal those little conditioners they give you."
"It's not my fault they never give you enough," Sam grins.
"Guess we'll just have to knock over the maid service cart on our way in," Meg jokes with a smirk, standing up and dropping some bills on the table. "I get to be the diversion."
Chapter 4
Authors: diana_lucifera & tersichore
Pairing: Gen, Wincest in future parts
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: vindictive couple fighting, massive angst (as should be expected from us)
Summary: Things aren't alright after Roosevelt, and Dad's call takes them from "Manfully Ignoring the Problem" to "Screaming at Each Other on the Side of the Road." Sam wishes he could say he was surprised.
Previous Chapter | Brother's Blood Masterpost
"Goddammit, Dean," Sam swears, punching redial and slapping the phone to his ear.
"He not picking up again?" Meg asks, fresh gossip mag in her hand.
"Oh no," Sam shakes his head. "He's picking up; he's just being an idiot."
"How?" Meg asks, nudging aside a stack of Sam's research to take the seat across from him.
“He says he needs a ‘break,’” Sam says scornfully, hitting redial again even though he knows Dean's not gonna pick up.
“Well… Maybe he does, Sam,” Meg suggests.
“What?” Sam demands, looking up from his phone sharply.
“Look, I know it’s not my business," Meg shrugs, fiddling with her straw, "but like I said before: six months is a really long time to spend together. Of course you’re gonna knock heads."
"This? What you and your brother are going through? It's normal," she assures him, "and if you give him some space now, I bet you’ll be able to patch things up a lot easier than if you keep pushing it."
At Sam's look, she holds her hands up.
"No offense. I know you mean well," she continues, "but kid sibling knows best? Pushing and pushing until you just gotta get out, get some air? I’ve been there. I know where your brother is coming from.”
She laughs a little, fishes the pinky-sized pocket knife from her pocket and turns it in her hands, folding the little tools in and out absently.
"I mean, I'd do anything for my sister. Love her to death, but after I told her about this whole road trip of mine? After she read me the "You're Gonna Get Skinned By Drifters" Riot Act?"
She shakes her head, wry smile on her face.
"Well, let's just say if we had to share a front seat, blood would have been shed."
“But you’re-” Sam protests, trying and failing to find a way to say 'You’re not actually in danger. Dean is!' that doesn't make him sound like a complete and total crazy person. “It’s not like that. I’m just-”
“Worried about him?” Meg finishes, a knowing look on her face as she holds the knife up with a little wiggle.
Sam sighs.
“Yeah,” he says softly.
“The truth is, he- Something happened to him a little while ago," he explains. "It was a close call, really close, and I was the one who found him, and it- I mean, it really messed me up, Meg. I don’t know what I would have done if he-”
He breaks off when the air gets thin, when his throat closes up and the words just won't come.
“I can’t go through that again," Sam confesses. "I can’t lose him.”
Meg nods slowly, taking it in.
“Well,” she reasons, “I hate to say this, but there’s more than one way to lose somebody.”
Sam stares at her.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, if you keep riding him like this?” Meg says, eyes soft. “Keep hanging on tight when he says he needs space? There may be a time when he kicks you out of the car and doesn’t come back.”
Sam has to hold himself steady to keep from wincing.
“Right now he’s asking for a couple of days,” she continues. “If you don’t give him that, the problem’s just gonna get worse and worse. The tighter you hold on, the more smothered he’s gonna feel. Trust me. I know. So honestly? I think maybe you should take that trip to California.”
“But,” Sam starts, “you don’t understand, Meg. If I’m not there, he could get hurt! He could-!”
“And you could both get hit by a bus tomorrow," Meg points out. “Anything could happen, Sam, and it's terrifying, it is, but worrying about it every second of every day? Letting it control your life? You can’t live like that. You’re gonna drive yourself and your brother crazy.”
Sam bites his lip, and Meg reaches out, touching his hand gently.
“Sam, I think you need this, too,” she suggests softly. “So, come on. Let’s go to California. Find whatever it is you’ve been looking for, and then you can meet back up with your brother, and you’ll both feel better. You’ll see."
She gives his hand a comforting squeeze and then draws back again.
"And when I'm telling my sister about all this later," she adds with a grin, "I’ll just leave out the part of the story where I picked up a seven foot tall drifter on a whim.”
Sam laughs, just a little, lets the possibilities run through his head, spinning and spreading and multiplying like fractals.
It's tempting. It's so tempting. It's Dad and the Demon. Solving this case. Vengeance for mom and Jess and everything they've ever lost, everything the fire's taken from them, all in one.
It's living, just for a little, the lie he's been telling for so long.
Roadtripping his way across the country. Taking his time. Dealing.
It's exactly what Sam wanted and exactly what Dean wants and exactly what Dad would never see coming.
And Sam doesn't even have to pretend to not know why the 'yes' sticks in his throat, why he just can't make himself get in the car and go.
Dean.
It always comes back to Dean.
He always comes back to Dean.
If Dean would just let him.
"Meg-" he starts, refusal on the tip of his tongue, but she doesn't let him get any further.
"Give it some time," Meg interrupts gently. "Think about it."
She stands, tucking her thumbs into the pockets of her jeans.
"And maybe let me buy you dinner to make up for sticking my nose in your life like this," she grins. "After all, it's been a whole fifteen minutes since that smoothie, and I'm starved."
"No kidding?" Sam can't help but chuckle, reminded of a hundred diners on a thousand stretches of asphalt, stop offs they made because Dean just had to stuff his face with this cheesy fry or that chili burger.
"Yeah," Meg nods. "Come on. I think I saw a Korean place a little ways back."
~
It's about an hour back, actually, but halfway there, Sam's stomach growls in the way that reminds him how breakfast was abandoned in favor of fighting with Dean, and lunch was postponed for after research and how - okay - maybe he hasn't eaten anything today, but in his defense, he's been busy.
Not everyone can net the cushy detail of staking out sacrificial victims in a diner of all places, which, trust Dean to find a magical soul-searching solo hunt that involves him just sitting around, stuffing his face full of pie and creeping on people.
Because it's not like he does that with Sam every single day.
God.
"So, what do you think?" Meg asks once they're inside. "Bibimbap or kimchi jjigae?"
"What?" Sam blinks, jerking back to the present and grabbing up his menu to try and look a little less like he wasn't listening to a word she said. "Umm, I-They both look good, I guess?"
"Right," Meg nods with a knowing smirk, "because you're totally invested in this and paying attention."
"Sorry," Sam ducks his head. "It's just-"
"Your brother," Meg finishes wryly. "No, I get it. You've got a lot on your mind right now. You thinking about calling him again?"
She asks like she already knows the answer.
"Maybe," Sam mumbles, not meeting her eye.
"He'll check in when he's ready," Meg assures, going back to menus and entrees and debates over how much gochujjang a restaurant is legally allowed to add to a dish before it stops being seasoning and starts being assault, and that 's fine. That's great for her, but Dean was on his way to face off against a minor deity a little over two hours ago, and he still hasn't checked in, so excuse Sam for not really giving a shit about food or her opinion on food or really anything outside the phone in his pocket which will not ring, no matter how hard he wills it to give him a call, a text message, a fucking smoke signal, anything to tell him that Dean is alive, Dean is okay, Dean is not lying in a ditch somewhere, a scarecrow-fist shaped hole in his chest and the life slowly bleeding out of him again.
He tells himself that it's okay.
Tells himself that he's being paranoid. Irrational. That Dean doesn't want Sam bugging him and Meg is right about giving him space and that his brother's pulled off about a hundred solo hunts against things a hell of a lot scarier than freaking apple gods, and that if things were bad, if Dean actually did need his help, he'd call.
He would.
He totally wouldn't risk his life to prove a point that doesn't even need proving.
…fuck.
Somehow, Sam makes it through dinner.
He's distant and distracted and completely deaf to whatever it is that Meg is chattering on about across the table as a hundred thousand visions - visions but not visions - because that's pretty much the only awful thing that could happen today but hasn't, of what could be happening to Dean right now tear through his head. They pound back and forth from Dean getting gored by apple deities to Dean finishing the case without even breaking a sweat and blowing town without him, abandoning Sam to Meg and California, and never, ever seeing Dean again, because Dean doesn't want him. Not anymore.
He doesn't want Sam, and he doesn't need him - never needed him - and that was fine. Why would Dean need Sam? Why would anyone need Sam? Especially someone like Dean. Dean is a better son, a better hunter, a better human being than Sam could ever be, and Sam knows that, has known that all along. And Sam was fine with it, because as long as Dean wanted him, none of that mattered.
But Dean doesn't want him anymore.
He doesn't want him, and it's all Sam's fault. It's Sam's fault for getting on his case this morning and fucking up at Roosevelt and fucking off to Stanford when he knew, he knew that it would mean leaving Dean in this alone, but he did at anyway, told himself it would be okay and it would work out fine, and look where that got all of them.
Dad on the run. Dean half-dead. Jess-
God, she would smack him for all of this, would roll her eyes and laugh at him and tell him to stop freaking out and just call his brother. He can picture her now, all gold curls and bright smile, always laughing and always paint-smeared. She was always exactly what he needed exactly when he needed it, and if this is what he needs now, then goddammit Dean can fucking deal.
If he's allowed to have Soul-Searching Solo Hunt Fun Time, Sam's allowed to worry about him, dammit.
He excuses himself while Meg's pouring over the dessert menu, trying to decide between berry and green tea bingsu, and she's either really into shaved ice desserts or he totally doesn't sound like he's sneaking off to call Dean in the bathroom, because she doesn't raise an eyebrow or make a comment about him being an annoying little brother who's stifling Dean's fucking independent spirit just by existing near him, which thank god for that.
There's only so much a guy can take, after all.
Dean, stifled independent spirit or no, picks up on the third ring.
“Put your head between your knees and breathe,” he answers boredly.
“Fuck you!” Sam snaps, looking incredulously at the phone because seriously? He spent twelve fucking hours making himself sick with worry over this asshole, and he just-
"Sam-" Dean tries to backpedal, and Sam is letting him have none of that.
"No, really. Fuck. You," he explodes. "I am so sorry that my ANXIETY-INDUCED PANIC ATTACKS are a fucking inconvenience to you. I'll try not to let my girlfriend's FIERY MURDER and your ALMOST DYING get to me so much."
"Sam-!"
"I mean, it's not like I almost lost you, and then turned around to watch my whole life go up in flames or anything!" Sam rants. "Why worry about that? It's not like I'll ever have to worry about losing you again or anything! It's not like our job is hunting monsters or risking our lives or following our idiot father's orders to our almost certain deaths or anything, so really, laugh it up! Our lives are hilarious."
"You done?" Dean asks archly.
"I hate you."
"I'll take that as a yes. Are you okay?"
"Well, I'm not scarecrow chow if that's what you're asking," Sam answers bitterly.
"It is," Dean says. "You call for a reason, Sammy?"
"Yeah," Sam answers tightly. "How's the goddamn case?"
"Fuckin' peachy," Dean tosses back. "You get a damn room yet?"
Sam hums noncommittally.
"Not exactly."
"Well, why the hell not?" Dean demands. "These hicks just got gypped out of a sacrifice, Sammy. They're gonna need a new one. Now tell me, you gunnin' to get snatched and grabbed by hill people to get back at me or somethin'?"
"Oh yeah, because if I get kidnapped by crazy townsfolk, it's gotta be because I'm making a passive aggressive dig at you!" Sam scoffs incredulously. "It's not like there's a town wide sacrificial conspiracy or anything! That would be crazy!"
"Sammy, just get a goddamn room," Dean sighs, and Sam can just see him, phone held to his ear with one hand, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose with the other 'Sammy Quit Being So Goddamn Stubborn Already' face firmly applied as he appeals for aid from on high to deal with his pain-in-the-ass little brother.
"I can't," Sam grumbles. "I'm having trouble shaking my ride."
"You hitched? With a townie?" Dean's voice picks up, takes on the protective, big-brother backbone Sam's heard aimed at bullies and baddies alike in his defense since birth. "Get out, Sam. Kick his ass, steal his car, and get out. I'm not playing around here."
"It's okay, Dean," Sam shakes his head, trying not to let the fierce rush of pleasure hearing Dean so worried about him brings come through in his voice. "She's just passing through on her way to California."
"Perfect," Dean enthuses. "You can hit the road with her, get a head-start on the hunt for Dad. I'll wrap up here and catch up with you. Everybody's happy, and hey, no one gets Joe Versus the Volcano’ed by angry villagers. It's win-win."
"I'm not doing that, Dean."
"Why not?" Dean demands, and Sam's not imagining the edge in his voice. "California? Looking for Dad? That's your thing, right?"
"Yeah, but I'm not just gonna leave you here-"
“Why? You think I can't handle it? Think I'm not up to ducking these people long enough to burn down a fucking tree? I'm fine, Sam. Hit the road already. I know you know how."
“Okay, do you want me to go to California or not?" Sam demands. "Because we both know that, if I did, it'd be 'There goes Sammy, running out on his family again.' If I follow you on the hunt, it means I don't trust you, but if I head off on my own, I'm abandoning you. What the hell am I supposed to do here? I'm damned if I do and damned if I don't, Dean!”
There's silence on the other end of the line for a long time.
"Just promise me you'll head outta town," Dean gravels. "Can't hunt this thing if I'm worried about facing down that ugly-ass scarecrow and seeing your fucking machete scar on its arm, okay?"
"Okay," Sam promises faintly, taken aback. "I'll get a room outside of town. Promise."
"And ditch that chick you're with," Dean adds. "Pretty sure it's just Burkittsville, but no way you're getting snatched because one of these hicks has a cousin or somethin' outside the city limits."
"Yeah," Sam nods, shooting a look back into the dining room at Meg, filing her nails with her little pocket knife as she waits for dessert. "Yeah, all right. Just… stay in touch, okay?"
"You got it," Dean agrees, voice still too heavy, too serious. "Take care, Sammy."
"Yeah, you too," Sam nods around a thick swallow.
He tries to bite back the words, he does, but he just can't, can't stop them from tumbling out in a hot, awkward rush.
"Hey, Dean?" he fumbles, grip too tight on the phone. "You're still- you're still coming back, right? After the case? You're still- still gonna come and get me, aren't you?"
He tries to keep his voice casual, tries to keep the fact that Dean calling - Dean keeping in touch, Dean letting him know he's okay, that he's not gone for good - is all that's keeping the ground under his feet and the world turning. Because Sam is fine on his own, and he trusts Dean to hunt alone, he really does, but only as long as he knows without a shadow of doubt that his brother is alive and coming back to him.
Which, in retrospect, really means that he's not okay at all, but no one but Sam needs to know that.
"Yeah, Sammy," Dean murmurs from the other end of the line. "'Course I am."
And just like that, the air rushes back into Sam's lungs as the awful aching, gnawing pit in his stomach dissolves and the world starts turning again.
"I mean, you changed your laptop password," Dean jokes, and Sam hates that he won't just talk to him and loves that he's giving him the out, letting this be the one thing that keeps them from having a girly share and care over the phone while Sam's in the men's room of a hole-in-the-wall Korean joint off Highway 31. "How'm I gonna get any mileage outta my Busty Asian Beauties Platinum Membership if your little geek toy's lockin' me out?"
"It's 'deanstopusingmylaptoptojackoffitsweird,'" Sam tosses back, rolling his eyes with a wry smile. "No caps."
"Awesome," Dean says and Sam can hear his grin through the phone. "I'm gonna tail our not-sacrificed civvies to the state line, go set this Magic Tree on fire, then use your laptop to jack off."
"You're disgusting."
"Hey, you think I'm disgusting," Dean teases. "Wait 'till you see your keyboard. I'm not cleanin' up a damn thing."
"Dean!"
"Call ya later, Sammy," Dean hangs up with a laugh, leaving Sam glaring at the phone and feeling lighter than he's felt in hours.
"So, we Cali bound?" Meg chirps when he strides back into the dining room, spoon suspended over a chilly soup of berries and shaved ice.
"Actually I'm gonna stick around," Sam shrugs, shelling out enough to cover his half of the bill and shrugging into his jacket. "You know, get a room. Chill while Dean works his shit out."
"You lookin' for a roomie?" she asks, just a little hesitant, a little shy.
It sits awkwardly on her, this girl who has been nothing but confident, nothing but self-possessed, in the short time that Sam's known her. "Not to, like, be your shadow or anything, but it is gettin' kinda late, and we are kind of in No-One-Can-Hear-You-Scream-sville. We can make popcorn, play Truth or Dare?"
"Nah," Sam shakes his head, "I'm a pretty awful roommate."
"I bet you use all the towels," Meg nods, gesturing with her spoon. "Steal those little conditioners they give you."
"It's not my fault they never give you enough," Sam grins.
"Guess we'll just have to knock over the maid service cart on our way in," Meg jokes with a smirk, standing up and dropping some bills on the table. "I get to be the diversion."
Chapter 4