Fic: Wild By Skye (7/27)
Dean had no trouble finding him the next morning. Sam stepped out of the motel room shortly after dawn to see Dean leaning against the hood of the car sipping at a cup of coffee.
Sam froze and stared at his brother.
Dean, as though there was absolutely nothing amiss, glanced over at him then looked down at the cup. "This coffee is awful. Do yourself a favor and skip the morning java."
Sam just continued staring. Dean looked completely normal, as though yesterday's cut and run, the day before filled with hostility and agitation, as if the entire last two days had not even happened. He was just Dean again.
Now that he wasn't filled with terror anymore, Sam's temper was boiling.
Dean frowned at him. "What?"
"That's it? After yesterday, all you have to say is 'skip the coffee'?"
Dean's eyes went cold, but his voice still played the game. "Just trying to watch out for you, bro, but if you want to swig this hot motor oil, be my guest."
Sam lost his veneer of control. "Dean… what the hell is going on with you?"
"Sam," he said in that dangerous voice that mimicked their father's so well.
"No. I'm not going to ignore this anymore. You scared me yesterday."
"Come on, don't be a drama queen," Dean said.
"This isn't a joke, Dean. You were haired out yesterday. I thought you were going to implode or something. Then you just run off? Where the hell did you go?"
"That's none of your business."
"Yes, it is! It's my business because I'm your brother and I'm worried about you."
"Well, don't be."
Sam, furious and fed up, turned on his heel and stomped back to his motel room. He threw open the door and went straight for his things. He began to shove his few belongings into his duffel.
Dean took his sweet time following Sam into the room. "What do you think you're doing?" he asked flatly.
"If you won't trust me then we shouldn't hunt together," Sam answered sharply.
"Please… you're making a big deal out of nothing."
Sam threw the shirt in his hand down and rounded on his brother. "Nothing? Man, I have to trust you to have my back. I have to know you're with me, one hundred percent, or it becomes dangerous. Dad taught us that… don't hunt with someone you can't explicitly trust at your back. It's simple, Dean. You don't trust me."
With slow, precise movements, Dean stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. His eyes never left Sam. After a thick silence, Dean asked lowly, "You think I'd ever let anything hurt you?"
The wind went out of Sam's sails. "That's… that's not even the point."
"That is exactly the point. Fine, if you don't think you can trust me to protect you, to kill for you, to die for you, then leave."
Dean's voice was steady, but Sam saw the agony in his eyes. He'd let Sam walk out, but it would destroy him.
Sam dropped down unceremoniously on his bed and let out a shaky breath. "I just want to know what's wrong with you. I want you to trust me to help you."
Sam couldn't bear the look in Dean's face and focused on a stain on the carpet instead.
With quiet steps, Dean crossed the room and crouched down in front of Sam, placing himself into Sam's line of vision. Hesitantly, Sam looked up at his brother.
Dean offered an empty smirk and said softly, "This is all I am going to say about it. If this was something you could help me with, I'd tell you in a second. But you can't, so drop it."
Sam looked away, sick with helplessness. All he took from Dean's words was that there was something wrong with his brother. Something was wrong, and he wouldn't let Sam share the burden.
Dean rose and gave Sam an awkward pat on the shoulder, trying so hard to go back to light and casual. "Let's hit the road."
Sam didn't know what else to do but follow Dean's command. Numbly, he packed up his stuff and got into the car.
Dean put in a Black Sabbath cassette tape, cranked the volume, and pulled out of the motel parking lot and back onto the open roads.
Eight
Sam froze and stared at his brother.
Dean, as though there was absolutely nothing amiss, glanced over at him then looked down at the cup. "This coffee is awful. Do yourself a favor and skip the morning java."
Sam just continued staring. Dean looked completely normal, as though yesterday's cut and run, the day before filled with hostility and agitation, as if the entire last two days had not even happened. He was just Dean again.
Now that he wasn't filled with terror anymore, Sam's temper was boiling.
Dean frowned at him. "What?"
"That's it? After yesterday, all you have to say is 'skip the coffee'?"
Dean's eyes went cold, but his voice still played the game. "Just trying to watch out for you, bro, but if you want to swig this hot motor oil, be my guest."
Sam lost his veneer of control. "Dean… what the hell is going on with you?"
"Sam," he said in that dangerous voice that mimicked their father's so well.
"No. I'm not going to ignore this anymore. You scared me yesterday."
"Come on, don't be a drama queen," Dean said.
"This isn't a joke, Dean. You were haired out yesterday. I thought you were going to implode or something. Then you just run off? Where the hell did you go?"
"That's none of your business."
"Yes, it is! It's my business because I'm your brother and I'm worried about you."
"Well, don't be."
Sam, furious and fed up, turned on his heel and stomped back to his motel room. He threw open the door and went straight for his things. He began to shove his few belongings into his duffel.
Dean took his sweet time following Sam into the room. "What do you think you're doing?" he asked flatly.
"If you won't trust me then we shouldn't hunt together," Sam answered sharply.
"Please… you're making a big deal out of nothing."
Sam threw the shirt in his hand down and rounded on his brother. "Nothing? Man, I have to trust you to have my back. I have to know you're with me, one hundred percent, or it becomes dangerous. Dad taught us that… don't hunt with someone you can't explicitly trust at your back. It's simple, Dean. You don't trust me."
With slow, precise movements, Dean stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. His eyes never left Sam. After a thick silence, Dean asked lowly, "You think I'd ever let anything hurt you?"
The wind went out of Sam's sails. "That's… that's not even the point."
"That is exactly the point. Fine, if you don't think you can trust me to protect you, to kill for you, to die for you, then leave."
Dean's voice was steady, but Sam saw the agony in his eyes. He'd let Sam walk out, but it would destroy him.
Sam dropped down unceremoniously on his bed and let out a shaky breath. "I just want to know what's wrong with you. I want you to trust me to help you."
Sam couldn't bear the look in Dean's face and focused on a stain on the carpet instead.
With quiet steps, Dean crossed the room and crouched down in front of Sam, placing himself into Sam's line of vision. Hesitantly, Sam looked up at his brother.
Dean offered an empty smirk and said softly, "This is all I am going to say about it. If this was something you could help me with, I'd tell you in a second. But you can't, so drop it."
Sam looked away, sick with helplessness. All he took from Dean's words was that there was something wrong with his brother. Something was wrong, and he wouldn't let Sam share the burden.
Dean rose and gave Sam an awkward pat on the shoulder, trying so hard to go back to light and casual. "Let's hit the road."
Sam didn't know what else to do but follow Dean's command. Numbly, he packed up his stuff and got into the car.
Dean put in a Black Sabbath cassette tape, cranked the volume, and pulled out of the motel parking lot and back onto the open roads.
Eight