Summary: Sam and Dean are driving each other crazy. Being cramped up for weeks in the Impala and grimy motels can only cause arguments about nothing. But then, a bad hunt, and they are reminded what's important.
Timeline: Sometime in Season 2. No reference to anything in the season.
Beta: None, all mistakes are my own
You Drive me Crazy
"You know Dean, if you would look at the freaking map every once in awhile, you wouldn't always be getting us lost." Sam muttered.
"We ain't lost dude, I know where we are." Dean's eyebrows arched up at his brother as he leered at him across the bench seat.
"You don't have a clue where the hell we are." Sam huffed, long fingers rattling the map across his lap.
"Oh, shut up. Don't I always get us there?" Dean smirked.
"You are driving me crazy…" Sam spouted and turned toward his brother in the front seat, angry glare falling to Dean's face.
Dean's fingers reached over and turned the ACDC tape as high as the volume would go.
He could see Sam's lips move, his brother's eyes scrunched up in anger. Sam was really pissed off . Dena just grinned bigger, shrugged at him, and mouthed, "I can't hear you."
The Impala was humming along at a nice clip around 65 mph as Dean slurped the coke from the large to go cup he had braced in his fingers. He gripped tightly to the steering wheel then pulled his kneecap up to steer it, grabbing the burger with his other hand and pushing it up to his lips.
"Dean, I told you I could drive." Sammy stammered out, his left hand coming over to grab the steering wheel hastily from his brother.
"Nope, I got it covered, Sammy boy." Dean said through a mouth of hamburger, juice dripping down his chin, little particles of bread darting from his lips. The car swerved slightly, as his knee moved against the steering wheel.
"Gross, Dean, chew with your mouth shut." Sam rolled his eyes, his fingers still gripping tightly to the wheel. "Can we just pull over so you can eat? I don't want to die cause you're eating a burger."
"Whatever dude." Dean veered the Impala off the road to the side of the two line highway and placed the car in park. He continued to munch on his burger, with extra onions, and gulped down his cola.
Sam sat stoically, watching his older brother devour the burger. His brother's stuffed mouth and drippy chin doing very little for Sam's own appetite. He looked down at his still unwrapped burger poised in his hand. "I'm not very hungry." He mumbled.
"Great, I'll take that." Dean yanked the burger from Sam's hesitant fingers and greedily unwrapped it, stuffing the entire thing in his mouth.
"Awe man…how can you eat like that?" Sam darted his eyes away from his older brother to the window.
"Cause its good." Dean said through a full mouth of food, still slurping loudly on his coke between chews.
Sam cringed and slowly sipped on his coke. His older brother was getting on his last nerve.
The tube of toothpaste sat precariously against the porcelain, paste gummed up on the top, oozing down the sides. The gooey substance was everywhere, sticky against the bathroom sink. Water sat in puddles on the countertop, and the ceramic tile. Damp towels sat in clumps around the floor.
Sam stood exasperated as he looked around the messy room for his toothbrush. He had left it right there on the counter.
"Dean, where's my toothbrush?" He yelled.
God, his brother was such pig. How does he live like this? His bare foot kicked a damp towel sending it spiraling into the shower stale. His eyes darted around the countertop for his toothbrush. He picked up a damp towel from the floor and wiped off the puddles of water around the sink, hazel eyes still scouring for his toothbrush.
"Dean?" He poked his head outside the bathroom door and glared at his older sibling.
Dean was leaning happily back on the bed, dirty boots on the blankets, food wrappers scattered haphazardly around him, beer can in one hand, remote in the other. He flipped channels in quick succession, totally oblivious to Sam or what he was saying.
"DEAN." Sam yelled loudly, as he moved in three large steps to his brother and yanked the remote from his hand. He punched the T.V. off and stood, anger rolling off his body in waves as he looked at his dumbstruck brother.
"What?" Dean said cockily and ripped the remote from Sam's hand, flipping back on the television.
"Where is my TOOTHBRUSH?"
Dean's eyes darted from the T.V. to his kid brother. "How the hell would I know? It's you're freaking toothbrush." Sammy was such a whiny ass sometimes...
"Well, I can't find it. All your crap is strewn all over the bathroom. God, you are such a slob…no wonder you don't have a girlfriend."
Dean slammed the remote down on the nightstand and swung his legs over the bed to the carpet, fiery eyes darting to Sam's face. "Look here you little smart ass, I don't have a girlfriend, because I don't want one. Some of us like to play the field while others…" Dean's eyebrows arched up, "Well let's just say, they don't even know how to get a piece of ass."
Sam looked scathingly at his brother. What a jerk.
Dean snagged up his jacket and shrugged it on, whipped the Impala keys from the table, and stepped toward the door. "I'm going out. You just get your boxers out of a twist while I'm gone. Oh, and I think your toothbrush, kind of fell in the toilet earlier. Not to worry, I washed it off and put it in your bag." Dean swung the door open, grin curling up on his lips as he exited the room and made hasty steps to the Impala. Just breaks my heart.
Sam's eyes grew huge as he glared at his brother. "You…you…" He watched as the motel door swung closed with a thud and he heard the Impala roar to life and exit the parking lot. Jeeeezzzzz, he makes me so mad.
Dean stayed out till 4:00 in the morning, coming back to the room drunk off his ass. He attempted to tiptoe but then stumbled and decided he needed to turn on the light. The bright glare permeated Sam's face as he blinked and raised his hand across his eyes to hold the glow at bay.
"Deeeannn?" Sam mumbled as he stared at the clock on the nightstand and then back to his inebriated brother. He watched as Dean stumbled to the bed and dropped boneless down against it, leaving the light on in his wake.
Sam sat up quickly, eyes glaring at his almost unconscious sibling. "Please, tell me you didn't drink and drive?"
Dean muttered something incoherent and Sam seethed. He slid from the bed to the window, and glanced out. The Impala was parked right in front of the room. He should have called me, he could have hurt himself, or worse someone else.
Sam stomped bare foot to the bed; his hand reached down and gave his brother a harsh shake. "Did you drive?"
"Wh…Huh?" Dean mumbled, "Shit Sam, leave me alone." He slurred, his hand swatting up at Sam, smacking him harshly against his arm, then he drifted off to a drunken stupor.
Sam was furious as he flipped the light off and lay back down on his bed. He could not believe his brother would drink and drive, after all the sermons he had preached at him all these years. He was such a freaking ass.
Dean heard the door swing open and he squint his eyes as the sun shone brightly into the room. The taste of beer still coated his tongue and he licked his parched lips, wishing he had a glass of water, but too hung over to go get it. He prayed that Sam had brought him some stout coffee. He raised his hand to his bleary head and tried to remember how many beers he had the night before. Sam had pissed him off; that much he could remember. He had left the motel in a huff, drank enough beers to barely remember coming back to the room… the whole evening pretty much a blur of beer, broads, and pool games.
He pushed up against the headboard and slit open his gritty eyes. He blinked as he cleared his vision to see his little brother sitting on the chair in the corner, gazing unsympathetically at him; one cup of coffee adorning his hands. He watched with longing as Sam blew on the hot brew, then tipped it to his lips and took a long gulp.
Dean scrunched up his face, his eyes dashing around from the table to the floor and back to Sam's smirk. "Did you bring me coffee?" What, no coffee for me? You asshole….
"No." Sam's eyes continued to gaze at Dean, piercing hazel orbs that were radiating with anger.
"What the hell you looking at, Sam? Like you ain't never drunk too much?" Dean bit out as he ran his hand across his forehead. Damn he should have stopped drinking earlier. His head pounded from the excessive alcohol he had consumed.
Sam's lips stayed in a firm line, eyes an angry glare at his brother. "I don't bring coffee to drunk drivers."
"What?" Dean's voice rose and he let his hand drop to his lap, eyes gazing intently at his little brother. "What…" He said again as confusion weighed heavily on his mind. He blinked and steadied his stare at his brother. Clear reality hit him like a ton of bricks. Sam thinks I drove back here drunk. Son of a bitch, I thought he knew me better than that.
Dean pushed off the bed, "I'm taking a shower, and then we can hit the road." He said suddenly as he swallowed back his anger at his little brother.
"Sure, whatever?" Sam offered in a clipped tone as he eased back against the chair, sipping his coffee, and watching his brother move slowly toward the bathroom.
Dean turned back from the bathroom door, tense, bloodshot eyes honing in on his little brother's face. "And for the record, Mr. Know It All, I did not drive the car back here. One of the guys I played pool with wasn't drinking, he drove it back and his friends followed us. Cause, I didn't want to wake you up." Dean shook his head and gazed at the floor, "I cant' believe…." Dean's voice cracked slightly, and then drifted off as he slammed the bathroom door abruptly.
Sam hung his head to the floor, staring at a spot on the carpet. The coffee suddenly loosing all it's appeal. Damn it, he should have known his brother wouldn't drink and drive. They had just been arguing so much lately, Dean had been so drunk, he didn't think about what he was accusing him of. His anger at everything else had morphed into this. He knew his brother. Knew Dean wouldn't drink and drive. What was wrong with him?
Sam's cell phone rang loudly in his jacket; he raised his eyebrows, Dean's head twisted around from in front of him to gawk at his little brother with wide eyes. "Dude, you we're supposed to turn your freaking phone off!" Dean muttered in amazement, anger still evident in his tone. "Cell phones distract from the hunt, you know that. Let alone, they can help an ugly mother find your location."
Sam shrugged at his older brother. "I forgot." He whispered, then stopped walking and reached his hand to his pocket, eyeballing Bobby's name on the screen before he punched off the distraction.
Dean huffed lightly, shook his head in discontent, and continued on his forward motion through the dimly lit surroundings. Jeez, Sammy, get your head out your ass.
"Sorry", Sam muttered as he placed the salt gun evenly back up against his shoulder and let his eyes scan the vacant subway building, his steps even and quick, right behind his brother.
Sam had picked this case off the internet. Just a random choice, no real connection to anything they had done before. Dean figured it was in California, and maybe Sam wanted to drive by his deceased girlfriend, Jessica's grave, maybe stop in and see some of Sam's friends from college. Dean didn't ask, didn't want to know and since they hadn't been talking much in the last two days, it was a mute point. He certainly did not want to upset Sam by bringing it up. His brother had picked the hunt, and that was good enough for him. But he would be ready, just in case they had any unplanned stops in Palo Alto.
The EMF spiked for a moment and Dean abruptly stopped, Sam bumped immediately against his back.
"DeeeAAAnnn", Sam stammered and eased backward off his brother's hunched shoulders. "Warn me when you're stopping, man."
"Holy crap Sam, give a guy some freaking space here would cha?" Dean nudged his hand to Sam's chest and gave him a slight shove backwards. He shuffled his shoulders around and then straightened them back up. Sam was driving him nuts.
"Whatever dude, don't stop right in the middle of no freaking where." Sam huffed as he nudged past his brother and eased up next to him. Horse's ass, just like Dad.
Dean turned and continued scanning the large area, boots scuffing against the concrete floor. The EMF meter was silent.
They were hunting the spirit of one Steven Moore, a young man that had died in this building in the early eighties, before this subway station had closed. Apparently, he had been run over by a subway train on the last day before the building was closed, body parts mangled and left everywhere along the tracks. Not enough remains left to even have a burial. Normally, burning the bones would take care of this situation, but alas, no bones to burn on this one. Bobby had researched and found a vanquishing spell, but in order to get it to work, you had to have the apparition pinned down in a hexagon circle made with Cat's Eye Rocks. Eight rocks; set in a formation around a floating ghost. Certainly, not their normal salt and burn; and it had taken them a couple of phone calls with Bobby before they finally located the cherished rock of choice. Sam had decided that if Dean kept the ghost busy, he could put out seven rocks, and then when Dean got the ghost in the area, he could thrust the last rock down and read the vanquishing spell.
The building had been standing empty since the 1980's, no one around. Now, some twenty odd years later, modernization had come to this run down structure. The spirit had other ideas. It had been injuring and killing the construction workers who were attempting to renovate. Three men killed, four men injured, all within the last six weeks and all within plain sight of the other workers. Although none of the construction workers would admit what they saw. They all said it was strange, a young man's transparent body and face glaring at them from the tracks just prior to each individual's untimely death. All eyes watching as an invisible hand seemed to hoist its victims high in the air, dangle them momentarily above the concrete, and then flung them into the rusty subway tracks.
Dean sighed, and pushed on. That son of a bitch had to be here somewhere. He stuck the EMF meter further out in front of him, eyes gazing around the muggy darkness. They just needed to find it, corner it, and then destroy it, thus eliminating the ugly ghoul from hurting anyone else. Dean wasn't too happy with this plan; somehow it gave him concern that they had to chant and place rocks in the hexagon, hoping that the ghost stayed put while they did it. Since they had never done this type of vanquishing, they weren't too sure what would happen. But Bobby said, it would work, and they believed him. Not wanting to disrupt the work during the day, the hunter's had made their usual midnight trek to hunt for the ghost. It was now after 1:00 a.m., and they hadn't seen or heard a thing.
"Maybe this is a bust." Dean muttered as he kicked a rock across the dirty cement ground and shuffled further into the darkness.
Sam eyed his brother's motions, but kept on walking. His mind assaulted him with memories as he eased along slowly, right behind Dean. It had been a long time since he had been to San Mateo, California. His memories were vivid. It seemed like yesterday. He had come here with Jess. He recalled. Four months before she died, a Mexican Restaurant that everyone in Palo Alto had talked about. Now, they weren't twenty minutes from Stanford, his old life, and Jessica's grave. The thought made him sad, and he quickly forced it from his mind. He didn't know what he'd been thinking, but obviously he hadn't been. He hadn't even looked at the map, just picked the hunt and told Dean to get them there. Now, he wished he had taken a little more care with his selection. It was hard for him to be here.
Dean's eyes widened as the EMF meter sputtered than sprung to life, gauge darting all the way to the right, beep ringing loudly from his fingers. Sam shuffled up beside him, eyes darting down to the meter, then up around the building.
The loud screeching noise came from the left and both men turned on hasty heels, flashlights flickering in the darkness. The apparition floated lightly just above their heads, hideous sneer decorating its face.
Dean's finger twitched across the trigger of his salt gun and fired at the ghost. It squealed in anger and quickly whizzed above them into the rafters.
"Hurry Sam, put down the rocks."
Dean could hear his little brother slamming rocks against the concrete as he kept his eyes peeled against the darkness, waiting for the ghost of Steven Moore to make another appearance.
Sam's mind raced as he focused on grabbing the rocks in his pockets, then thrusting them to the ground in the outline of the hexagon. Remembering exactly how Bobby had instructed him to place them. He was to rock number six when he heard the howling of the spirit as it ripped its way back into the area, feral eyes staring down intently at both brothers. Both hunters raised their eyes to stare. Dean raised his rifle to shoot again, hoping to give Sam time to finish up the rock formation, but the spirit had other ideas.
In one flash of a second, the gun flew from Dean's fingers and he was tossed across the large room to the wall behind them, the gun thudding to the floor next to him. He slumped and slid down the rough wood, as unconsciousness attempted to claim him. He blinked hastily, as he struggled to pull his senses back on line and push himself back up. Have to help Sammy. He heard the seventh rock banging to the concrete floor as he finally made it back to his feet.
Shaky words poured from Sam's lips, "Jam tibi impero et præcipio maligne spiritus"
He pushed all thoughts of what was going on with his brother from his mind, John's voice echoing in his head. Take care of the entity first, eliminate it, and then, take care of the wounded.
Dean reached his trembling fingers back to his rifle and gripped it tightly in his hand as he pushed off the splintered wall, swaying lightly on his feet. He heard rustling in front of him and he grabbed the flashlight off the floor as he spun it up in the air. He could see the apparition floating lightly in front of Sam, who was standing just inside the hexagon, last rock perched in his fingers, and Latin words tumbled from his little brother's lips as he dropped the stone into position. "Ut confestim allata et circulo discedas, absque omni strepito, terrore, clamore et foetore"
The spirit lunged at Sam inside the hexagon with a loud moan. Sam's fingers fumbled hastily to rest on his throat, clawing for air. His neck and body arching harshly as the icy tendrils clutched tightly around his throat; his feet no longer touching against the ground.
Dean watched with sheer terror on his face. Chant; say the chant, save Sammy. He struggled to remember where Sammy was in the verse. Remember Latin. Then, abruptly he started over, spouting the spell in English. "Now I command and charge you, O evil spirit! That you immediately depart from the circle, abstaining from all noise, terror, tumult, and stench, and if you refuse I will damn you both in body and soul. And abstain from harming any creature or thing, and depart immediately to the place which justice has appointed for you. Depart from my sight and flee from here."
Dean's eyes were fixated on the apparition as it hoisted Sammy higher and higher in the air. The hurried words tumbled from his lips. He saw Sam's eyes wide with fear and it made his chest hurt. He watched as his brother flailed his arms around in an attempt to grab onto anything around him. The ghost let out one last screeching moan as it released Sam. The poltergeist then wavered and whined out the window into the dark night air.
"Go back to hell." Dean yelled.
Sam felt the tight fingers clutching around his throat, cutting off his oxygen, and he panicked. Dean, help me. Dean…. He felt his feet dangling in the air and he struggled to pull in some air. The words of the vanishing spell gone from his mind as black dots danced in front of his face. He strained to see the red glowing eyes of the ghoul that was now shoving him high in the rafters. He grasped at the invisible hands that held him firmly, then, flounder his hands around as his eyes tried to focus on anything he could grab a hold of. He felt a sudden jerk, and saw the floor coming up to meet him at a high rate of speed. He wind milled his arms in an attempt to stop his fall, but with nothing to hang on to, it was inevitable, he was hitting hard.