Merry Go Rounds and Burial Grounds Are All The Same To Me (1/?)
Title: Merry Go Rounds and Burial Grounds Are All The Same To Me
Author:whreflections
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Sam/Dean
Word Count: will probably finish out around 150k or so. At present it’s a 76k WIP, but don’t let that discourage you from starting it because I’ve written that much in a month(this was supposed to a Big Bang that I realized I wouldn’t be able to finish in time. *sigh*), and I’ll be writing on this steadily every day so I’ll stay plenty ahead of where I’m at chapter posting wise and I plan to post every other day. ^^
Word Count for this chapter: 5, 936
Genre: Little bit of everything. There’s romance and boys desperately in love and there’s crazy amounts of angst in places and drama and action and family and…just all over the place. But the boys in love thing, that’s the heart. <3
Spoilers: Need to have seen through 5.16
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Summary: After getting back from heaven, Sam feels like he’s hit a dead end. They seem to have finally drifted far enough apart that Dean’s unreachable, and he’s staring down the fact that it’s hard to keep the faith when you’re the only doing it, and that at this point they’re probably screwed no matter what he tries to fix. But if Ash is right then him and his brother are soulmates, and that gives him a little bit of something to hold onto, tells him that what he’s felt for his brother all along might not be so wrong. In a last ditch effort to do the right thing he sells his soul to hell to get Crowley to send him back to 6 years before the apocalypse on the night he left for Stanford, giving him the chance to not only fix his relationship with his brother, but to just maybe fix everything else too. Of course, all that hinges on just how inevitable fate really is, and if he fails, he’ll end up right where Lucifer wants him.
Right. This is what happens, apparently, when I write one Wincest and then decide I’m capable of writing our boys together, and then 5.16 happens and they’re so broken that they stomp on my heart and I want to fix them. This epic just hit me, and I knew there was no way I could keep from writing it. Once I’d thought of this I wasn’t gonna be in the right frame of mind to do justice to the J2 I had planned for Big Bangso…I knew I was just gonna have to go for this. I didn’t make it, but I’m not sorry. I hardcore love this story, and I’m proud of it.
First, writing this has been more fun from the very beginning than writing anything has ever been, and considering how much I love to write that’s saying a lot.
About 90% of this is gonna be Sam POV, just FYI. Not that I don’t adore Dean, but this is Sam’s story. Or, rather, their story seen through Sam’s eyes, I guess.
Title comes from the freaking amazing song Cosmic Cowboy (Part I) by Nitty Gritty Dirt Band. The rest of the lyrics don’t exactly fit, but I thought that part fit Sam and the general insanity of their lives very well.
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He wasn’t wearing the amulet.
Looking at his own reflection in the mirror, that hurt him. He hadn’t been able to put it on though, not even under his shirt, even though part of him had ached to feel it warm to his skin. It was Dean’s, not his, and he could only wear it for Dean. Not for himself, no matter how much he wanted to, how much he felt like he needed to.
Instead he’d put it in his pocket and he could feel it now, one point digging into his upper thigh from the way he stood pressed against the bathroom counter. Particleboard with a cracked white veneer, it reminded him of Florida. They’d had this room there once when they were kids, and he’d gotten his first serious back wound. He’d stood at the bathroom mirror, bleeding on the white counter and trying to twist his head back over his shoulder to watch the reflection as Dean patched him up. Dean had finally held his head still and made him look forward, told him he was doin’ great if he’d stop being such a pain in the ass.
That scar was still on his back somewhere, but he wasn’t sure he could find it anymore. Some of them ran together, at this point. He leaned just a little more on the counter, fingers curling around the edge of the wood, cracks digging sharp and painful into the undersides of his fingers.
He missed his brother so hard he couldn’t fucking breathe, and across the room, Dean was drinking Jack and cleaning his pistol. Cas had gone out and gotten drunk the past three nights, and riding in the car there was so much silence he wanted to scream. Dean didn’t even listen to music anymore, and when he’d asked if he wanted Metallica or AC/DC, Dean had just shaken his head. He’d tried to tell him yesterday that even if those were happy memories they weren’t his favorites, but he hadn’t gotten far before Dean stopped him with a quiet ‘I don’t want to talk about it, Sam.’ that brooked no argument. If Sam had kept talking anyway he was pretty sure Dean wouldn’t have stopped him, but what was the point if he wasn’t listening?
What was the point to any of this, honestly, because forget spiraling downward, they’d hit rock bottom and drilled past it. It was probably ironic that out of all of them, he was now the only one who had faith. Granted, it was also worthless because he couldn’t do anything alone. He could keep trying, sure, but he couldn’t possibly succeed on all fronts, not at once. Either he could fix things with Dean or he could find God or he could stop the apocalypse or…or more likely, none of the above, but at the most he could only manage one. No matter what he did at this point, they were fucked.
Dean had named their search for Joshua as the last hope of a desperate man, but for him, this was it. He had a plan and he was gonna go for it with all he had and pray to some guy who apparently wanted him to back off that this wouldn’t fall through. Because if it did, then he was back to the game of picking only one thing he wanted to try and save. This…if he did it right, this could cover it all.
Or he was crazy, and at this point, that was a high possibility, but he had to try.
He pulled himself away from the mirror, flexed fingers that tingled from having held on too tight. “I’m goin’ out.” Everything he needed was already in the car; he’d made sure of that. Dean looked up from where he sat on the bed, one knee cocked up and his arm resting on it, gun open in his hands.
Their eyes met and Sam swallowed against the tightness in his throat, refused to let himself break down right here. If this worked, he’d never see this Dean again, and just then it didn’t matter that that was what he wanted, because this Dean was his brother too, and if Sam had been a better brother to him, he’d never have ended up like this.
“Bring Cas back if you see him. Don’t really feel like another bar fight.”
Yeah, that had been the night before last. He nodded, swiped the keys up off the table by the door before he could change his mind. He stopped at the door, his hand gripping the handle painfully tight, skin stretched white over his knuckles. He couldn’t resist looking back, and he wasn’t surprised to see that Dean wasn’t looking anymore.
“I won’t be long.”
“Yeah, ok.” He was wiping off the barrel.
Inside, Sam could feel something else breaking. He would’ve sworn there wasn’t anything left that wasn’t already cracked.
“Bye, Dean.”
Once he was in the Impala, his resolve came back. There was a fine sheen of dust on the dash, and he wiped it off with loving fingers, his touch lingering like he was stroking a cat. “It’s ok. I’m gonna fix him. I promise.” He’d always ragged on Dean for talking to the car, but at the moment he didn’t care. He’d turned some kind of corner and even if it was the fast track to insanity, he was well past caring.
The Impala roared to life around him, and he shot out of the parking lot and onto the deserted road, already thinking only of the future.
‘’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’
He sat everything up in a deserted parking lot. There’d been a supermarket here once but it looked to be long closed, though the lights in the parking lot were still on. He settled in under one of them, moths buzzing around and pinging against the light high above his head. The Impala mostly blocked him from view of the street, though it hardly mattered. It was 3 AM, and in this little town practically no one was out.
The box of white chalk was down to 2 pieces, and it made him a little sick to remember that the last time he’d used this, it’d had been in summoning Ruby the day Dean died. The Latin flowed easily from his lips, going through the motions as he slit his palm open, offering blood. He wasn’t sure but by his estimation the one he needed was important enough to need a little bit of sacrifice in the summoning, and in any case, better safe than sorry. The match burned bright, hissing in the dark as he dropped it and watched the spark rise. It was done.
He’d just barely let out the breath he’d been holding when he heard the voice he’d been expecting.
“You know, I really wasn’t sure I’d ever hear from you boys again. Kind of assumed after I was wrong about the Colt; I’d be on your black list.” Crowley was leaning back up against the Impala, straightening a blue silk tie. His eyes were hidden by dark sunglasses, but he sounded amused enough.
“I wanna make a deal.”
Crowley laughed, pushed his sunglasses up on top of his head. They glowed red briefly, no more than a flash in the night. “Seriously? And to think I thought you realized just how far in you two were. This is the last inning, Sam, and it’s past the time when you boys could call a time out.”
“More of a…do over, actually.” He stood up, brushing the chalk off his hands and onto his jeans. “Look, just hear me out ok? I want to make a deal that takes me, with everything I know now, back to before this all started.”
“What makes you think I can just-“
“Look, I’m not just asking you to do it. I said I wanted to make a deal.” This part, this was where it got sticky and probably impossible, but he was at the end of his rope, here. “So that means eventually, you guys own my soul. You can…take me and have me ready and waiting to offer Lucifer when he gets out of his cage.” God he hoped that wasn’t the case.
“Excuse me but…why the hell would I want to do this? I mean, even if I could…which I can…why would I want to? I’ve already told you how I feel about all this end of the world business so why the hell do you think I would-“
“Because maybe I can stop it!” His voice rose drowning Crowley out and getting his attention. “Crowley, I know everything that happens and for pretty much all of it, I know exactly where it went wrong. Don’t you think that gives me the advantage?”
Crowley’s eyes widened, and it was clear that now, he was thinking. He crossed his arms across his chest, head tilting back to look up at the light. “I doubt you can stop it from starting…but you’ve done a piss poor job of stopping it this time around and maybe if you knew what not to try…”
He really didn’t want to rehash all this right now. If this worked, he wouldn’t have to think about it for at least a couple years and besides, he was still hoping he could avert it. That’d make stopping it totally unnecessary. “Will you do it? I mean worst case, I get 10 good years with Dean before the devil owns my ass like he almost does anyway.”
“6 years…there’s a schedule for these things. If I hold it up this deal’ll draw even more attention than it already will. At 6 years I’ll get a commendation for this, maybe a few perks…they’ll love the prospect of getting your soul. If I push it, then this becomes something for them to scrutinize and…well I don’t like to draw attention.”
Yeah, he didn’t really want that either. He just wanted to slip under the radar, let them get secure in thinking he was gonna play right into their hands and just maybe, just maybe everything would be different by the time 6 years rolled around. “Ok, 6, fine, whatever. Just…yes?”
Crowley rubbed his chin, nodding slowly. “Yes. Yes, I think so.”
Thank God.
“Alright, I need a general idea of where you want me to-“
“Weeping Water, Nebraska.” He didn’t have a general idea of where he wanted to go, he had it exact. Down to the goddamn stretch of road. He’d remembered it well enough anyway, but after having seen it just a few days before, it was burned into his mind all over again, hovering somewhere behind his eyes. “August 10th ,2002. I had, uh…I left 13 days early to get myself there on time.” As if Crowley cared, really. He was just getting lost in it too soon, his mind weighed down with every thought that had been running through it since they’d come back from heaven. “This stretch of road about two miles from…I think it was the Fletcher Road Motor Inn. I ended up at this run down old Texaco and I called a cab but…just set me down on the road. Across from this house with the lights still on…gotta be about 1 in the morning.”
“Specific aren’t we?” Crowley’s eyebrows rose, the look in his eyes less curious than knowing. “You do realize, Sam, that the road to hell really is paved with-“
“Can we just do this?”
Crowley held his hands up, smirking. “You know, I forget how damn hardheaded you Winchester’s are. Frustrating family trait, I think.” He held his hand out, beckoning Sam forward. “Well, come here, pretty boy. Let’s get on with it.”
He had no second thoughts, not really. There was a brief I’m sorry, Dean that flitted through his head, but it didn’t take root. He just stepped forward, took Crowley’s hand and let Crowley pull him down for an all too real kiss. He tasted surprisingly good, like dark red wine and wood smoke, but Sam just wanted to get this part over with.
When Crowley pulled back he was smiling, and he shook his head. “I wish you luck, Sam. I really do.”
Then, everything went dark.
‘’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’
The first thing he saw was the house. Crowley’d sat him down in just the right place. It was there across the road, windows blazing with light, and Sam could hear the crickets singing in the late summer night air. He dropped the bag that had been slung over his shoulder and patted frantically at his pockets. The amulet was gone, and his cell was too, and it was a second before he could remember why that was. In a typical bout of rebellious adolescence he’d tossed it in a dumpster after he’d walked out, wanting to get a new one and a new number once he got out to Palo Alto. He’d reasoned that he had theirs, and when he called Dean to let him know he got there ok he could block his number so there’d be no way of dad getting it.
Looking back, it was stupid. Anything could’ve happened to him on the way there and he’d have had no way to contact Dean or dad and let them know. It would’ve saved him some time at the moment, too, because if he’d called Dean, he knew Dean would’ve been there to pick him up as fast as he could no matter how much they’d been fighting. And honestly, this fight hadn’t really been with Dean at all. In fact, Dean had hardly gotten a word in edgewise. Him and dad had gone at it spectacularly, cussing and screaming loud enough that if they’d had neighbors at the motel complex they’d have probably gotten themselves kicked out. Dean had mostly stood there looking stricken, like Sam had just punched him in the gut. Somehow, he’d been stupid enough not to think about it much at the time.
Of course in his defense, Dean was part of the reason why he was leaving. The Dean he’d just left behind in 2010 would’ve jumped right on that, called it proof that Sam had never really given a damn about him in the first place but that absolutely just wasn’t true. It was the honest to God truth that he’d left mostly because of dad, and a little bit because he was smart enough to know that wanting your brother was a lot fucked up, and he’d been pretty sure that if he didn’t get out and get some ‘healthy’ distance between them for awhile, he was gonna do something that screwed their relationship up forever. Sam did that, and they’d never be what they were, so better to put some space between them than to lose everything when he slipped up, right?
That part was something he’d never seriously questioned, not until Ash had stood right there and flat out told them they were soulmates. A lot of cultures had different interpretations of the concept, that’s true, but it didn’t really matter. Soulmates. He might’ve been crazy, but it had felt like something he’d always known deep down, as if this was the answer and he’d been waiting all his life for the confirmation. If they were bound like that, surely on some level Dean wanted the same things he did, and while he’d never have accepted it where they were, maybe if he took things back, if he went for it at the time he should’ve to begin with…
That was the second half of all this. Prevent the apocalypse and fix his relationship with Dean. Well. He was pretty sure dad and a whole hell of a lot of other people wouldn’t have considered it fixing, but he was also pretty sure at this point that ‘they’ were wrong. And that he wouldn’t’ve have cared even if they weren’t.
He hefted his bag back up over his shoulder and started back the way he’d come, eyes on the gravel in front of him on the shoulder. When he’d left before he could remember starting to walk backwards at this stretch, going slow and looking up and finding Cassiopeia, and thinking about how fucking happy he was that he was gonna be not only going to school but living without dad breathing down his neck. When he’d taken the cab to the bus stop he’d thought of Dean, and he’d started thinking about calling him up as soon as he got settled in his dorm, inviting him to drive out and visit.
In the end, though he’d called a few times that first year, Dean hardly ever picked up and he’d only come to see him twice. After they’d fought the second time, he’d stopped coming at all and they hadn’t spoken for a little over two years, until Dean broke into his house with the news that dad was missing.
Really, this was gonna be better on several counts. Jess was probably home in Ojai just then, asleep in her bed with her old dog Baskin curled up next to her. He was a dachshund that had died before Sam met her, but she’d put a couple pictures up in the house and they’d been talking about getting a puppy once school calmed down. Without Sam in her life, she was gonna go on just fine. She’d get her teaching license, be a wonderful teacher and mother and wife to someone…just not him.
And honestly, he was more than ok with that. She got to live, and no matter what he’d felt for her, it had never come close to what he’d felt for Dean. Even when he’d wanted it to.
The Fletcher Road Motor Inn was just down the road now and he could see the ‘vacancy’ sign, gleaming red. There was a short somewhere in the wiring and it flickered, light buzzing and dimming like morse code against the sign. He tightened his hand on the strap of his bag until it dug in, and he almost tossed it down in frustration when he got close enough to see the parking lot.
The Impala was gone. He hadn’t really thought about it before, but he had never known what exactly had gone down right after he left. Wouldn’t it just be his luck if they’d lit out of town? He’d have to go to the office to borrow a phone, to call and ask Dean to come pick him up. That was gonna be a wonderful conversation to have over the phone, particularly if dad picked up.
Their room had been down on the end, first floor, and he went up to it, relieved to see the light still on inside. The curtain was mostly drawn but there was a crack at the edge, and he sidled up against the building and peered through it. He could see right off that their stuff was still there, and that would’ve been enough, but he shifted and changed the view, and what he saw then brought up one more reason to be beyond thankful he was getting a chance to do all of this again. Even if it did end in hell, this’d still be worth it. He’d meant every word he said to a young John Winchester that couldn’t understand it, and now, maybe he’d get the chance to say it when it could actually mean something.
He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands, and he looked so goddamn broken that Sam wanted to knock on the door right then. They’d fight even while he was trying to apologize, but just maybe he could get through that he was done running away, and maybe dad’d run short on yelling for awhile and just listen. But that was gonna have to wait a little because first, he had to find Dean.
Weeping Water was about the size of a postage stamp, and it wasn’t hard to figure out where Dean had probably gone. Before hell and the apocalypse and everything that had turned everything on its head, Sam had had predicting Dean pretty much down to a science. He should, after all. Like he’d told Dean once, he’d been studying him all his life. When he was hurt like this, he buried it hard, put on his mask and went for alcohol and women and buried himself in his work. Since the hunt was already over in this town, he’d be at a bar, Sam was certain. The way he’d set out walking before was out of town, so when he got to the end of the parking lot this time he turned right instead of left, figuring he was sure of one of two things happening. Either he’d find the bar and find Dean, or Dean would eventually leave and have to drive past him on this road on his way back. Even drunk, Dean wasn’t likely to miss seeing him walking down the road.
He’d barely made it five steps before his nerves were jangling, the anticipation eating at him. This…he wasn’t sure he was going to be able to keep his cover for this. He needed to not react too far or Dean would be suspicious but fuck he missed him. He missed the way he laughed, warm and open, missed the way his eyes lit up when he smiled. There was a lightness, a confidence to young Dean that he hadn’t seen in years. He was gonna be confronted with a 22 year old Dean that had never seen hell, never tortured, never been asked to kill his own brother, never watched Sam die, never even watched him walk away. Until tonight, but now…now he was gonna fix that, make sure that weight never settled in on his shoulders and that the others never came at all, and just maybe 30 year old Dean would end up with only a few more scars on the outside to show for the time, everything that mattered still intact.
Intact, and strengthened, because if Ash had been right, then every time Sam had ever thought the way he thought about his brother had been wrong, it had been right, and if Dean had felt the same, well…
There was probably such a thing as too optimistic, but honestly, he’d just come out of a world where getting shot point blank by a shotgun by other hunters was par for the course. Here, he’d never drunk demon blood, never trusted Ruby, never freed Lucifer. Here, he’d never let Dean down so bad his brother would be willing to give up on him. To have his love again, to have his trust…he wasn’t gonna take a second of it for granted. Not this time.
He nearly broke into a run when he saw the car. The Impala was parked outside of Hank’s Place, chrome gleaming dully in the light of a single street lamp. He was so eager he almost headed right in before he remembered he wasn’t 26 anymore. He knelt down on the sidewalk, slinging his bag around and sifting through until he found the fake ID Dean had made for him last year. With the skills they’d been taught it was perfect, and he’d never been caught using it. He could still remember the first time Dean had given it to him with a somewhat stern ‘Don’t tell dad, ok?’, and had taken him out to buy him his first real beer(not that he hadn’t been drinking cans right along with Dean for a few years before that). That? That was another one of those good memories Dean hadn’t seen.
With his bag slung back over his shoulder he made his way inside, showing the ID to a waitress he passed who clearly didn’t believe him at first. He wasn’t in the mood to be held up, and he practically snatched it back when she handed it to him, his heart hammering in his chest. Dean was somewhere in here, and in just a few minutes…
There. He was at the bar, leather jacket off and slung across the stool next to him. The number of empty shots in front of him told Sam how quick he’d been goin’ through them, and God it hurt. He was glaring down at the bar like it had wronged him too, and his fingers were slowly turning a full shot on the counter. When he knocked it back, Sam snapped out of it.
He crossed the space between them as quick as he could, eager. “Dean.” Just then it was all he could say.
Dean turned to look at him slow, drunk enough that his reflexes were a little dim. His eyebrows rose, that same wall Sam had grown all too familiar with covering most of the hurt in his eyes. Sam knew where to look, though, and he could still see it shining through.
“Well, aren’t you somethin’. What is it, Sam, you want to rub it in a little more before you go? Look I get it, you made it pretty damn clear the first time, ok? You wanna be normal, you never wanted us and-“
“Dean, no, ok, I do, I…” Fuck, this was hard. The first time he’d talked to Dean before, it had been three months down the road, and he’d been gushing to him about how awesome college was. Dean had sat on the other end of the line and listened, and Sam hadn’t been able to stop talking for five seconds to hear how much was being said in his silence. “Dean, I-“
“Look, will you just go? I’m dealing, I’m fine, you don’t have to…I’m not gonna be some burden to you, Sam, which is apparently all we’ve ever been. You said you’re leaving, fine. You know how I feel about it; there’s nothing left to-“
This was going even worse than he’d thought and he went on reflex, his hand darting out to pull on Dean’s arm, turning him just a little more to face him. “Will you stop? I changed my mind, ok? I don’t…I don’t want to go. I want to stay.” The words were so true they hurt, burning through his throat and stinging behind his eyes. He couldn’t let Dean see him cry over this, though, because Dean wouldn’t understand. This wasn’t coming home after 2 hours it was coming home after something just over 2 years, and the need to be welcomed back was so strong it was clawing in his chest. Dean was silent, and it was all too clear he just didn’t want to hope. “I…it’s dad, he’s just been driving me crazy, but I…I was leaving, and I couldn’t…” Yeah, forget the not crying thing. That was out of the question. “Dean, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I don’t want to leave you, ok? I…you’re my brother. I can’t. I was wrong, and I just…I want to stay.”
He’d almost forgotten that back then, Dean forgave him as easy as that. Easier, really. One ‘I’m sorry’ probably would’ve been enough, but honestly, he was apologizing for way more than this. Dean jerked him into a one armed hug, rough and natural, and Sam tried not to hold on too tight. Dean ruffled his hair when he pushed him back, and Sam reacted on instinct, reaching up to smack his hand away.
Dean tapped on the bar, drawing the bartender’s attention. “Can I get a shot of Jack for me and m’ brother over here?”
When it came, Dean held his up, waited for Sam to knock his against it. His hand might’ve shook just a little, whiskey spilling over his fingers, but Dean never drew attention to things like that, never teased him when it was important.
They took it together, and Sam squeezed his eyes shut tight as he focused on the feel of the burn in his throat. He heard Dean set his glass down on the counter, listened to the scrape of wood as he dragged it closer to the others.
“You know, Sam…I just can’t help thinkin’ this isn’t the first time you’ve-“
“I know.” He really really didn’t want to talk about this. But he needed to, all the same. He dragged his head up, forced himself to meet Dean’s eyes. “I’m done leaving. I mean it. I didn’t…I missed you.”
Dean rolled his eyes, looked away to counter the smile Sam could see twitching at the corners of his mouth, the way the tension in his shoulders had eased. “Oh please. You didn’t have time to miss me.”
Yes, he had. Far too much time. “Sure I did.”
Dean shook his head, but now, he actually was smiling. He slapped Sam on the back, stood up a little unsteadily off his bar stool. “Alright, bitch. C’mon, let’s get outta here. Think I’ve had enough.”
Sam picked his bag up and hung it off his left shoulder, let Dean lean just a little on his right. He could almost walk straight but not quite, and though Sam tried to put an arm around Dean to help him Dean shook it off, letting go of him entirely for a minute before reaching for his shoulder to steady himself again a couple steps later.
“Just how many of those did you have?”
“Shuddup.”
Sam laughed, pushed the door open sideways and they stepped out into the night air. Dean stopped just outside the door, fishing around in his jacket pockets from the keys. “Where to, Sammy?”
Sammy. God, it had never sounded better. “Home?”
Dean laughed, sharp and incredulous but still easy. “I can’t take you home, not right now, dad’ll rip you a new one! Come on we’ll just…let’s just drive for awhile, huh?”
Yeah, that sounded alright. Except that at the moment, Dean wasn’t exactly fit to drive anywhere. Sam caught his hand once he found the keys, long fingers closing around his brother’s hand. Dean gave him the full on big brother ‘oh hell no’ look, and Sam couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt that honestly happy. Really, though, he should’ve given Dean a disapproving look rather than a smile, but he was hoping Dean was just drunk enough not to really notice.
“C’mon, you’re not drivin’ like this. I can do it.”
“Sam, I’ve driven drunk. More than this, in fact, and you-“
“Yeah, I’ve been there. Still not smart. C’mon, man, what was the point of teachin’ me how to drive the Impala if I can’t do it for you every now and then?” That was another good memory, right down to his telling Dean it was about time he and the car got a room after Dean had told him all the rules about how to take care of her while he was driving.
Dean let the keys slip out of his fingers, and walked around the hood until he could slide into the other side. Sam slipped in, tossed his bag over the seat and into the back. He’d grown just a little bit since he was 18, and it felt strange not fitting into the seat just the same. Still, nothing had changed about how the wheel felt in his hands, and the dash was clean, everything about her speaking to just how well she was loved. This Impala had never been his alone, had never been totaled by a semi and rebuilt under Dean’s hands. She was perfect and whole like she had been the day dad bought her, and this time, she was gonna stay that way.
As soon as he turned the car on and started backing up Dean slid closer to the center, fiddling with the tape deck and turning up Zeppelin once he had it in. Sam smiled, rolled down the windows and leaned his arm against the door as he took the wheel in one hand.
“I thought the driver picked the music.”
“That rule only applies if the driver’s music doesn’t suck.”
Sam just shook his head, smile widening when Dean started to sing along with Travelling Riverside Blues. This world was looking better already.
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Master post is here.
Author:whreflections
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Sam/Dean
Word Count: will probably finish out around 150k or so. At present it’s a 76k WIP, but don’t let that discourage you from starting it because I’ve written that much in a month(this was supposed to a Big Bang that I realized I wouldn’t be able to finish in time. *sigh*), and I’ll be writing on this steadily every day so I’ll stay plenty ahead of where I’m at chapter posting wise and I plan to post every other day. ^^
Word Count for this chapter: 5, 936
Genre: Little bit of everything. There’s romance and boys desperately in love and there’s crazy amounts of angst in places and drama and action and family and…just all over the place. But the boys in love thing, that’s the heart. <3
Spoilers: Need to have seen through 5.16
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Summary: After getting back from heaven, Sam feels like he’s hit a dead end. They seem to have finally drifted far enough apart that Dean’s unreachable, and he’s staring down the fact that it’s hard to keep the faith when you’re the only doing it, and that at this point they’re probably screwed no matter what he tries to fix. But if Ash is right then him and his brother are soulmates, and that gives him a little bit of something to hold onto, tells him that what he’s felt for his brother all along might not be so wrong. In a last ditch effort to do the right thing he sells his soul to hell to get Crowley to send him back to 6 years before the apocalypse on the night he left for Stanford, giving him the chance to not only fix his relationship with his brother, but to just maybe fix everything else too. Of course, all that hinges on just how inevitable fate really is, and if he fails, he’ll end up right where Lucifer wants him.
Right. This is what happens, apparently, when I write one Wincest and then decide I’m capable of writing our boys together, and then 5.16 happens and they’re so broken that they stomp on my heart and I want to fix them. This epic just hit me, and I knew there was no way I could keep from writing it. Once I’d thought of this I wasn’t gonna be in the right frame of mind to do justice to the J2 I had planned for Big Bangso…I knew I was just gonna have to go for this. I didn’t make it, but I’m not sorry. I hardcore love this story, and I’m proud of it.
First, writing this has been more fun from the very beginning than writing anything has ever been, and considering how much I love to write that’s saying a lot.
About 90% of this is gonna be Sam POV, just FYI. Not that I don’t adore Dean, but this is Sam’s story. Or, rather, their story seen through Sam’s eyes, I guess.
Title comes from the freaking amazing song Cosmic Cowboy (Part I) by Nitty Gritty Dirt Band. The rest of the lyrics don’t exactly fit, but I thought that part fit Sam and the general insanity of their lives very well.
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He wasn’t wearing the amulet.
Looking at his own reflection in the mirror, that hurt him. He hadn’t been able to put it on though, not even under his shirt, even though part of him had ached to feel it warm to his skin. It was Dean’s, not his, and he could only wear it for Dean. Not for himself, no matter how much he wanted to, how much he felt like he needed to.
Instead he’d put it in his pocket and he could feel it now, one point digging into his upper thigh from the way he stood pressed against the bathroom counter. Particleboard with a cracked white veneer, it reminded him of Florida. They’d had this room there once when they were kids, and he’d gotten his first serious back wound. He’d stood at the bathroom mirror, bleeding on the white counter and trying to twist his head back over his shoulder to watch the reflection as Dean patched him up. Dean had finally held his head still and made him look forward, told him he was doin’ great if he’d stop being such a pain in the ass.
That scar was still on his back somewhere, but he wasn’t sure he could find it anymore. Some of them ran together, at this point. He leaned just a little more on the counter, fingers curling around the edge of the wood, cracks digging sharp and painful into the undersides of his fingers.
He missed his brother so hard he couldn’t fucking breathe, and across the room, Dean was drinking Jack and cleaning his pistol. Cas had gone out and gotten drunk the past three nights, and riding in the car there was so much silence he wanted to scream. Dean didn’t even listen to music anymore, and when he’d asked if he wanted Metallica or AC/DC, Dean had just shaken his head. He’d tried to tell him yesterday that even if those were happy memories they weren’t his favorites, but he hadn’t gotten far before Dean stopped him with a quiet ‘I don’t want to talk about it, Sam.’ that brooked no argument. If Sam had kept talking anyway he was pretty sure Dean wouldn’t have stopped him, but what was the point if he wasn’t listening?
What was the point to any of this, honestly, because forget spiraling downward, they’d hit rock bottom and drilled past it. It was probably ironic that out of all of them, he was now the only one who had faith. Granted, it was also worthless because he couldn’t do anything alone. He could keep trying, sure, but he couldn’t possibly succeed on all fronts, not at once. Either he could fix things with Dean or he could find God or he could stop the apocalypse or…or more likely, none of the above, but at the most he could only manage one. No matter what he did at this point, they were fucked.
Dean had named their search for Joshua as the last hope of a desperate man, but for him, this was it. He had a plan and he was gonna go for it with all he had and pray to some guy who apparently wanted him to back off that this wouldn’t fall through. Because if it did, then he was back to the game of picking only one thing he wanted to try and save. This…if he did it right, this could cover it all.
Or he was crazy, and at this point, that was a high possibility, but he had to try.
He pulled himself away from the mirror, flexed fingers that tingled from having held on too tight. “I’m goin’ out.” Everything he needed was already in the car; he’d made sure of that. Dean looked up from where he sat on the bed, one knee cocked up and his arm resting on it, gun open in his hands.
Their eyes met and Sam swallowed against the tightness in his throat, refused to let himself break down right here. If this worked, he’d never see this Dean again, and just then it didn’t matter that that was what he wanted, because this Dean was his brother too, and if Sam had been a better brother to him, he’d never have ended up like this.
“Bring Cas back if you see him. Don’t really feel like another bar fight.”
Yeah, that had been the night before last. He nodded, swiped the keys up off the table by the door before he could change his mind. He stopped at the door, his hand gripping the handle painfully tight, skin stretched white over his knuckles. He couldn’t resist looking back, and he wasn’t surprised to see that Dean wasn’t looking anymore.
“I won’t be long.”
“Yeah, ok.” He was wiping off the barrel.
Inside, Sam could feel something else breaking. He would’ve sworn there wasn’t anything left that wasn’t already cracked.
“Bye, Dean.”
Once he was in the Impala, his resolve came back. There was a fine sheen of dust on the dash, and he wiped it off with loving fingers, his touch lingering like he was stroking a cat. “It’s ok. I’m gonna fix him. I promise.” He’d always ragged on Dean for talking to the car, but at the moment he didn’t care. He’d turned some kind of corner and even if it was the fast track to insanity, he was well past caring.
The Impala roared to life around him, and he shot out of the parking lot and onto the deserted road, already thinking only of the future.
‘’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’
He sat everything up in a deserted parking lot. There’d been a supermarket here once but it looked to be long closed, though the lights in the parking lot were still on. He settled in under one of them, moths buzzing around and pinging against the light high above his head. The Impala mostly blocked him from view of the street, though it hardly mattered. It was 3 AM, and in this little town practically no one was out.
The box of white chalk was down to 2 pieces, and it made him a little sick to remember that the last time he’d used this, it’d had been in summoning Ruby the day Dean died. The Latin flowed easily from his lips, going through the motions as he slit his palm open, offering blood. He wasn’t sure but by his estimation the one he needed was important enough to need a little bit of sacrifice in the summoning, and in any case, better safe than sorry. The match burned bright, hissing in the dark as he dropped it and watched the spark rise. It was done.
He’d just barely let out the breath he’d been holding when he heard the voice he’d been expecting.
“You know, I really wasn’t sure I’d ever hear from you boys again. Kind of assumed after I was wrong about the Colt; I’d be on your black list.” Crowley was leaning back up against the Impala, straightening a blue silk tie. His eyes were hidden by dark sunglasses, but he sounded amused enough.
“I wanna make a deal.”
Crowley laughed, pushed his sunglasses up on top of his head. They glowed red briefly, no more than a flash in the night. “Seriously? And to think I thought you realized just how far in you two were. This is the last inning, Sam, and it’s past the time when you boys could call a time out.”
“More of a…do over, actually.” He stood up, brushing the chalk off his hands and onto his jeans. “Look, just hear me out ok? I want to make a deal that takes me, with everything I know now, back to before this all started.”
“What makes you think I can just-“
“Look, I’m not just asking you to do it. I said I wanted to make a deal.” This part, this was where it got sticky and probably impossible, but he was at the end of his rope, here. “So that means eventually, you guys own my soul. You can…take me and have me ready and waiting to offer Lucifer when he gets out of his cage.” God he hoped that wasn’t the case.
“Excuse me but…why the hell would I want to do this? I mean, even if I could…which I can…why would I want to? I’ve already told you how I feel about all this end of the world business so why the hell do you think I would-“
“Because maybe I can stop it!” His voice rose drowning Crowley out and getting his attention. “Crowley, I know everything that happens and for pretty much all of it, I know exactly where it went wrong. Don’t you think that gives me the advantage?”
Crowley’s eyes widened, and it was clear that now, he was thinking. He crossed his arms across his chest, head tilting back to look up at the light. “I doubt you can stop it from starting…but you’ve done a piss poor job of stopping it this time around and maybe if you knew what not to try…”
He really didn’t want to rehash all this right now. If this worked, he wouldn’t have to think about it for at least a couple years and besides, he was still hoping he could avert it. That’d make stopping it totally unnecessary. “Will you do it? I mean worst case, I get 10 good years with Dean before the devil owns my ass like he almost does anyway.”
“6 years…there’s a schedule for these things. If I hold it up this deal’ll draw even more attention than it already will. At 6 years I’ll get a commendation for this, maybe a few perks…they’ll love the prospect of getting your soul. If I push it, then this becomes something for them to scrutinize and…well I don’t like to draw attention.”
Yeah, he didn’t really want that either. He just wanted to slip under the radar, let them get secure in thinking he was gonna play right into their hands and just maybe, just maybe everything would be different by the time 6 years rolled around. “Ok, 6, fine, whatever. Just…yes?”
Crowley rubbed his chin, nodding slowly. “Yes. Yes, I think so.”
Thank God.
“Alright, I need a general idea of where you want me to-“
“Weeping Water, Nebraska.” He didn’t have a general idea of where he wanted to go, he had it exact. Down to the goddamn stretch of road. He’d remembered it well enough anyway, but after having seen it just a few days before, it was burned into his mind all over again, hovering somewhere behind his eyes. “August 10th ,2002. I had, uh…I left 13 days early to get myself there on time.” As if Crowley cared, really. He was just getting lost in it too soon, his mind weighed down with every thought that had been running through it since they’d come back from heaven. “This stretch of road about two miles from…I think it was the Fletcher Road Motor Inn. I ended up at this run down old Texaco and I called a cab but…just set me down on the road. Across from this house with the lights still on…gotta be about 1 in the morning.”
“Specific aren’t we?” Crowley’s eyebrows rose, the look in his eyes less curious than knowing. “You do realize, Sam, that the road to hell really is paved with-“
“Can we just do this?”
Crowley held his hands up, smirking. “You know, I forget how damn hardheaded you Winchester’s are. Frustrating family trait, I think.” He held his hand out, beckoning Sam forward. “Well, come here, pretty boy. Let’s get on with it.”
He had no second thoughts, not really. There was a brief I’m sorry, Dean that flitted through his head, but it didn’t take root. He just stepped forward, took Crowley’s hand and let Crowley pull him down for an all too real kiss. He tasted surprisingly good, like dark red wine and wood smoke, but Sam just wanted to get this part over with.
When Crowley pulled back he was smiling, and he shook his head. “I wish you luck, Sam. I really do.”
Then, everything went dark.
‘’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’
The first thing he saw was the house. Crowley’d sat him down in just the right place. It was there across the road, windows blazing with light, and Sam could hear the crickets singing in the late summer night air. He dropped the bag that had been slung over his shoulder and patted frantically at his pockets. The amulet was gone, and his cell was too, and it was a second before he could remember why that was. In a typical bout of rebellious adolescence he’d tossed it in a dumpster after he’d walked out, wanting to get a new one and a new number once he got out to Palo Alto. He’d reasoned that he had theirs, and when he called Dean to let him know he got there ok he could block his number so there’d be no way of dad getting it.
Looking back, it was stupid. Anything could’ve happened to him on the way there and he’d have had no way to contact Dean or dad and let them know. It would’ve saved him some time at the moment, too, because if he’d called Dean, he knew Dean would’ve been there to pick him up as fast as he could no matter how much they’d been fighting. And honestly, this fight hadn’t really been with Dean at all. In fact, Dean had hardly gotten a word in edgewise. Him and dad had gone at it spectacularly, cussing and screaming loud enough that if they’d had neighbors at the motel complex they’d have probably gotten themselves kicked out. Dean had mostly stood there looking stricken, like Sam had just punched him in the gut. Somehow, he’d been stupid enough not to think about it much at the time.
Of course in his defense, Dean was part of the reason why he was leaving. The Dean he’d just left behind in 2010 would’ve jumped right on that, called it proof that Sam had never really given a damn about him in the first place but that absolutely just wasn’t true. It was the honest to God truth that he’d left mostly because of dad, and a little bit because he was smart enough to know that wanting your brother was a lot fucked up, and he’d been pretty sure that if he didn’t get out and get some ‘healthy’ distance between them for awhile, he was gonna do something that screwed their relationship up forever. Sam did that, and they’d never be what they were, so better to put some space between them than to lose everything when he slipped up, right?
That part was something he’d never seriously questioned, not until Ash had stood right there and flat out told them they were soulmates. A lot of cultures had different interpretations of the concept, that’s true, but it didn’t really matter. Soulmates. He might’ve been crazy, but it had felt like something he’d always known deep down, as if this was the answer and he’d been waiting all his life for the confirmation. If they were bound like that, surely on some level Dean wanted the same things he did, and while he’d never have accepted it where they were, maybe if he took things back, if he went for it at the time he should’ve to begin with…
That was the second half of all this. Prevent the apocalypse and fix his relationship with Dean. Well. He was pretty sure dad and a whole hell of a lot of other people wouldn’t have considered it fixing, but he was also pretty sure at this point that ‘they’ were wrong. And that he wouldn’t’ve have cared even if they weren’t.
He hefted his bag back up over his shoulder and started back the way he’d come, eyes on the gravel in front of him on the shoulder. When he’d left before he could remember starting to walk backwards at this stretch, going slow and looking up and finding Cassiopeia, and thinking about how fucking happy he was that he was gonna be not only going to school but living without dad breathing down his neck. When he’d taken the cab to the bus stop he’d thought of Dean, and he’d started thinking about calling him up as soon as he got settled in his dorm, inviting him to drive out and visit.
In the end, though he’d called a few times that first year, Dean hardly ever picked up and he’d only come to see him twice. After they’d fought the second time, he’d stopped coming at all and they hadn’t spoken for a little over two years, until Dean broke into his house with the news that dad was missing.
Really, this was gonna be better on several counts. Jess was probably home in Ojai just then, asleep in her bed with her old dog Baskin curled up next to her. He was a dachshund that had died before Sam met her, but she’d put a couple pictures up in the house and they’d been talking about getting a puppy once school calmed down. Without Sam in her life, she was gonna go on just fine. She’d get her teaching license, be a wonderful teacher and mother and wife to someone…just not him.
And honestly, he was more than ok with that. She got to live, and no matter what he’d felt for her, it had never come close to what he’d felt for Dean. Even when he’d wanted it to.
The Fletcher Road Motor Inn was just down the road now and he could see the ‘vacancy’ sign, gleaming red. There was a short somewhere in the wiring and it flickered, light buzzing and dimming like morse code against the sign. He tightened his hand on the strap of his bag until it dug in, and he almost tossed it down in frustration when he got close enough to see the parking lot.
The Impala was gone. He hadn’t really thought about it before, but he had never known what exactly had gone down right after he left. Wouldn’t it just be his luck if they’d lit out of town? He’d have to go to the office to borrow a phone, to call and ask Dean to come pick him up. That was gonna be a wonderful conversation to have over the phone, particularly if dad picked up.
Their room had been down on the end, first floor, and he went up to it, relieved to see the light still on inside. The curtain was mostly drawn but there was a crack at the edge, and he sidled up against the building and peered through it. He could see right off that their stuff was still there, and that would’ve been enough, but he shifted and changed the view, and what he saw then brought up one more reason to be beyond thankful he was getting a chance to do all of this again. Even if it did end in hell, this’d still be worth it. He’d meant every word he said to a young John Winchester that couldn’t understand it, and now, maybe he’d get the chance to say it when it could actually mean something.
He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands, and he looked so goddamn broken that Sam wanted to knock on the door right then. They’d fight even while he was trying to apologize, but just maybe he could get through that he was done running away, and maybe dad’d run short on yelling for awhile and just listen. But that was gonna have to wait a little because first, he had to find Dean.
Weeping Water was about the size of a postage stamp, and it wasn’t hard to figure out where Dean had probably gone. Before hell and the apocalypse and everything that had turned everything on its head, Sam had had predicting Dean pretty much down to a science. He should, after all. Like he’d told Dean once, he’d been studying him all his life. When he was hurt like this, he buried it hard, put on his mask and went for alcohol and women and buried himself in his work. Since the hunt was already over in this town, he’d be at a bar, Sam was certain. The way he’d set out walking before was out of town, so when he got to the end of the parking lot this time he turned right instead of left, figuring he was sure of one of two things happening. Either he’d find the bar and find Dean, or Dean would eventually leave and have to drive past him on this road on his way back. Even drunk, Dean wasn’t likely to miss seeing him walking down the road.
He’d barely made it five steps before his nerves were jangling, the anticipation eating at him. This…he wasn’t sure he was going to be able to keep his cover for this. He needed to not react too far or Dean would be suspicious but fuck he missed him. He missed the way he laughed, warm and open, missed the way his eyes lit up when he smiled. There was a lightness, a confidence to young Dean that he hadn’t seen in years. He was gonna be confronted with a 22 year old Dean that had never seen hell, never tortured, never been asked to kill his own brother, never watched Sam die, never even watched him walk away. Until tonight, but now…now he was gonna fix that, make sure that weight never settled in on his shoulders and that the others never came at all, and just maybe 30 year old Dean would end up with only a few more scars on the outside to show for the time, everything that mattered still intact.
Intact, and strengthened, because if Ash had been right, then every time Sam had ever thought the way he thought about his brother had been wrong, it had been right, and if Dean had felt the same, well…
There was probably such a thing as too optimistic, but honestly, he’d just come out of a world where getting shot point blank by a shotgun by other hunters was par for the course. Here, he’d never drunk demon blood, never trusted Ruby, never freed Lucifer. Here, he’d never let Dean down so bad his brother would be willing to give up on him. To have his love again, to have his trust…he wasn’t gonna take a second of it for granted. Not this time.
He nearly broke into a run when he saw the car. The Impala was parked outside of Hank’s Place, chrome gleaming dully in the light of a single street lamp. He was so eager he almost headed right in before he remembered he wasn’t 26 anymore. He knelt down on the sidewalk, slinging his bag around and sifting through until he found the fake ID Dean had made for him last year. With the skills they’d been taught it was perfect, and he’d never been caught using it. He could still remember the first time Dean had given it to him with a somewhat stern ‘Don’t tell dad, ok?’, and had taken him out to buy him his first real beer(not that he hadn’t been drinking cans right along with Dean for a few years before that). That? That was another one of those good memories Dean hadn’t seen.
With his bag slung back over his shoulder he made his way inside, showing the ID to a waitress he passed who clearly didn’t believe him at first. He wasn’t in the mood to be held up, and he practically snatched it back when she handed it to him, his heart hammering in his chest. Dean was somewhere in here, and in just a few minutes…
There. He was at the bar, leather jacket off and slung across the stool next to him. The number of empty shots in front of him told Sam how quick he’d been goin’ through them, and God it hurt. He was glaring down at the bar like it had wronged him too, and his fingers were slowly turning a full shot on the counter. When he knocked it back, Sam snapped out of it.
He crossed the space between them as quick as he could, eager. “Dean.” Just then it was all he could say.
Dean turned to look at him slow, drunk enough that his reflexes were a little dim. His eyebrows rose, that same wall Sam had grown all too familiar with covering most of the hurt in his eyes. Sam knew where to look, though, and he could still see it shining through.
“Well, aren’t you somethin’. What is it, Sam, you want to rub it in a little more before you go? Look I get it, you made it pretty damn clear the first time, ok? You wanna be normal, you never wanted us and-“
“Dean, no, ok, I do, I…” Fuck, this was hard. The first time he’d talked to Dean before, it had been three months down the road, and he’d been gushing to him about how awesome college was. Dean had sat on the other end of the line and listened, and Sam hadn’t been able to stop talking for five seconds to hear how much was being said in his silence. “Dean, I-“
“Look, will you just go? I’m dealing, I’m fine, you don’t have to…I’m not gonna be some burden to you, Sam, which is apparently all we’ve ever been. You said you’re leaving, fine. You know how I feel about it; there’s nothing left to-“
This was going even worse than he’d thought and he went on reflex, his hand darting out to pull on Dean’s arm, turning him just a little more to face him. “Will you stop? I changed my mind, ok? I don’t…I don’t want to go. I want to stay.” The words were so true they hurt, burning through his throat and stinging behind his eyes. He couldn’t let Dean see him cry over this, though, because Dean wouldn’t understand. This wasn’t coming home after 2 hours it was coming home after something just over 2 years, and the need to be welcomed back was so strong it was clawing in his chest. Dean was silent, and it was all too clear he just didn’t want to hope. “I…it’s dad, he’s just been driving me crazy, but I…I was leaving, and I couldn’t…” Yeah, forget the not crying thing. That was out of the question. “Dean, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I don’t want to leave you, ok? I…you’re my brother. I can’t. I was wrong, and I just…I want to stay.”
He’d almost forgotten that back then, Dean forgave him as easy as that. Easier, really. One ‘I’m sorry’ probably would’ve been enough, but honestly, he was apologizing for way more than this. Dean jerked him into a one armed hug, rough and natural, and Sam tried not to hold on too tight. Dean ruffled his hair when he pushed him back, and Sam reacted on instinct, reaching up to smack his hand away.
Dean tapped on the bar, drawing the bartender’s attention. “Can I get a shot of Jack for me and m’ brother over here?”
When it came, Dean held his up, waited for Sam to knock his against it. His hand might’ve shook just a little, whiskey spilling over his fingers, but Dean never drew attention to things like that, never teased him when it was important.
They took it together, and Sam squeezed his eyes shut tight as he focused on the feel of the burn in his throat. He heard Dean set his glass down on the counter, listened to the scrape of wood as he dragged it closer to the others.
“You know, Sam…I just can’t help thinkin’ this isn’t the first time you’ve-“
“I know.” He really really didn’t want to talk about this. But he needed to, all the same. He dragged his head up, forced himself to meet Dean’s eyes. “I’m done leaving. I mean it. I didn’t…I missed you.”
Dean rolled his eyes, looked away to counter the smile Sam could see twitching at the corners of his mouth, the way the tension in his shoulders had eased. “Oh please. You didn’t have time to miss me.”
Yes, he had. Far too much time. “Sure I did.”
Dean shook his head, but now, he actually was smiling. He slapped Sam on the back, stood up a little unsteadily off his bar stool. “Alright, bitch. C’mon, let’s get outta here. Think I’ve had enough.”
Sam picked his bag up and hung it off his left shoulder, let Dean lean just a little on his right. He could almost walk straight but not quite, and though Sam tried to put an arm around Dean to help him Dean shook it off, letting go of him entirely for a minute before reaching for his shoulder to steady himself again a couple steps later.
“Just how many of those did you have?”
“Shuddup.”
Sam laughed, pushed the door open sideways and they stepped out into the night air. Dean stopped just outside the door, fishing around in his jacket pockets from the keys. “Where to, Sammy?”
Sammy. God, it had never sounded better. “Home?”
Dean laughed, sharp and incredulous but still easy. “I can’t take you home, not right now, dad’ll rip you a new one! Come on we’ll just…let’s just drive for awhile, huh?”
Yeah, that sounded alright. Except that at the moment, Dean wasn’t exactly fit to drive anywhere. Sam caught his hand once he found the keys, long fingers closing around his brother’s hand. Dean gave him the full on big brother ‘oh hell no’ look, and Sam couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt that honestly happy. Really, though, he should’ve given Dean a disapproving look rather than a smile, but he was hoping Dean was just drunk enough not to really notice.
“C’mon, you’re not drivin’ like this. I can do it.”
“Sam, I’ve driven drunk. More than this, in fact, and you-“
“Yeah, I’ve been there. Still not smart. C’mon, man, what was the point of teachin’ me how to drive the Impala if I can’t do it for you every now and then?” That was another good memory, right down to his telling Dean it was about time he and the car got a room after Dean had told him all the rules about how to take care of her while he was driving.
Dean let the keys slip out of his fingers, and walked around the hood until he could slide into the other side. Sam slipped in, tossed his bag over the seat and into the back. He’d grown just a little bit since he was 18, and it felt strange not fitting into the seat just the same. Still, nothing had changed about how the wheel felt in his hands, and the dash was clean, everything about her speaking to just how well she was loved. This Impala had never been his alone, had never been totaled by a semi and rebuilt under Dean’s hands. She was perfect and whole like she had been the day dad bought her, and this time, she was gonna stay that way.
As soon as he turned the car on and started backing up Dean slid closer to the center, fiddling with the tape deck and turning up Zeppelin once he had it in. Sam smiled, rolled down the windows and leaned his arm against the door as he took the wheel in one hand.
“I thought the driver picked the music.”
“That rule only applies if the driver’s music doesn’t suck.”
Sam just shook his head, smile widening when Dean started to sing along with Travelling Riverside Blues. This world was looking better already.
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Master post is here.