Disclaimer – Supernatural doesn't belong to me so don't sue!
Author Notes – Short little one-shot that takes place sometime during season 3.
There's no other love like the love for a brother.
There's no other love like the love from a brother.
The sun was standing high in the sky as the black Chevy Impala roared down the road leaving mile after mile in its wake. It had no clear destination, no clear goal but to put as much distance behind it as possible.
Inside it two men were sitting in an unusual silence. For once there were no music blasting from the speakers or happy conversation between the two, just the muffled sound of the engines roar and the wheels thundering along the asphalt. For them the silence was deafening.
One of the men, the driver, looked like he was nearing his thirties and had lived a life full of lemons. He looked ragged and tired with heavy bags under his eyes and a few scars showing where clothes could not cover. His shoulders were tense, his fingers were clutching the wheel so tight that his knuckles had turned white and his eyes flickered uncertainly between the open road and the man sitting beside him. And for all that the man looked hard – like a man that had been in thousands of fights and always come out on top – there was a softness in his eyes every time that he looked at his companion, as if he was the single most important person to the man and someone he would gladly sacrifice his own life to save.
The other man looked far younger then the driver even tough the way he had folded his legs to try and fit inside the cramped space of the car clearly showed that he surpassed the driver in height. His head was resting against the cool glass of the side window and his long hair blocked out the view of his eyes. His chest was rising and falling with every soft, even breath that he took but the slow tapping of his left foot showed that he was still awake.
"You could be happy."
The words were not loud – were almost a whisper – but in the cars heavy silence they were loud and clear and the driver squirmed in his seat as if he had not really meant for the words to spill across his lips. His companion tensed, his breath hitching for a fragment of a second and his foot stopped tapping.
"I mean," the driver rushed on," you wouldn't have to do this anymore. You could go back to school, get a real job, what ever you want."
Silence took over again as the words slowly died from his lips and ran out in the sand. He cast an uncertain look at his companion, looked like he wanted to say something else, but in the end turned back to the road with a soft yet heavy sigh. His fingers drummed silently at the wheel for a few minutes before slowly tensing in to their white-knuckled grip again.
Mile after mile passed outside the windows as the car speed down the road. The view of open fields were soon replaced by an old forest, full of tall trees that blocked out the suns rays, before open fields once again took over the landscape.
"Do you really believe that?"
The words were rough as if there was so much emotion in them that words were not really necessary, as if the rawness of the tone was enough to express what it needed. And perhaps it did because the driver flinched as if struck before his hands gripped the wheel impossibly tighter.
"Do you?" his companion prompted quietly, his head still resting against the window and his hair covering his eyes.
"Sam . . ."
"No!" his companion yelled, his head rising like a snake ready to strike and for the first time his eyes became visible. They were sparkling with so much raw fury – so much pain and sadness and grief – and yet there was emptiness in them as black as the deepest pit. They were the eyes of someone who had lost everything and were on the brink of losing himself.
"No, don't you dare 'Sam' me!" he yelled. "Don't you fucking dare! Just tell me, is that really what you believe?"
The driver's lips had thinned in to a nearly invisible line as he carefully slowed down and stopped the car on the side of the road. His fingers never lost their grip on the wheel and his eyes stared ahead blankly at the empty road. "You never wanted this life."
Silence filled the car again as the companion's, Sam's, eyes flashed with a thousand emotions and his hands clenched in his lap.
"Are you really that stupid, Dean?" he said at last, his words blank as if there was no emotion strong enough to fill them. "Do you really think I could go back to a normal life now? That I don't care about all the fucking demons who escaped from hell? Do you really think I could just turn my back on it and go play Mr. Normal?" Anger was slowly seeping back in to his voice, word by word, as his temper rebelled against the walls keeping it in place. "Do you really think so little of me?"
The driver, Dean, had closed his eyes during Sam's rant, every spiteful word making him flinch and shoulders to slump further. He took a deep breath now and slowly let it out again before opening his eyes and turning towards Sam. His eyes were bloodshot and misty and as their eyes met a lonely tears escaped to roll silently down his cheek. "No," he whispered, his voice breaking, "No, but can you blame me for wishing?"
The two stared at each other for what could have been eternities as the world slowly moved on around them. All the tension had left the car and all that remained was a sense of loss and grief.
"How could you do it, Dean?" Sam whispered, eyes wide and heart hurting. "How could you ever agree to leave me here alone?"
Dean drew in a ragged breath, his hands coming up to rub roughly at his face before once again resuming their grip on the wheel. "Because I thought you wanted normal. Because I thought you could go back to the life you had before when I wasn't here dragging you along," he admitted before closing his eyes. "Because I knew I couldn't live in your place and I was selfish."
Sam's hand slowly came up to reach towards Dean, only to stop short inches away. "Dean . . ." he started, his hand trembling in the wide space between them before it once again clenched together and fell back in to his lap.
Maybe all that needed to be said had been let out in to the open. Maybe all the emotions needing to be vented had been burned. And maybe, just maybe, for awhile things that were far from alright could at least be ok.
In either case the sun was still shining down on the black Chevy Impala as it went on down the road, music blaring loudly from its speakers.