Chapter Text
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Flagstaff, Arizona 1996
49… 50 …. 51…. 52… 53…
He waited in the rundown motel room, counting every rattle of the ancient storage heater in the corner of the room which had drove Sam nuts. But his brother wasn’t here now. He hadn’t seen him in five days.
Sam had disappeared on Sunday night. Dean had hoped against hope that he would be able to find him quickly but when all his efforts ended up fruitless, he knew he had to call his father.
The cell phone was still grasped in his clammy shaking hand. It had took him all day to pluck up the courage to call John and he’d been so nervous that he was sure he was going to throw up before he even dared to utter a single syllable. After Dean had managed to spew out the gabbled words “Sammy’sgonemissing” his father surprisingly hadn’t said much, which made alarm bells ring in the 17 year old's head. After a 10 second pause which seemed to drag on for an eternity he’d told Dean in a low monotone voice that he would be back in 4 hours, and that he wasn’t to leave the motel room till he returned. Dean had choked out a feeble "Yes Sir" more out of a conditioned reflex than anything else.
He was up to 164 rattles from the storage heater when John Winchester finally walked into the room.
Dean leapt to his feet, anxiety and dread crashing around him like waves. Without sparing a single glance towards the only son who was present, his father simply walked to the table and deposited his duffle bag down onto its scratched mahogany surface, like he always did when he returned from a hunt. However this time he stayed perfectly still for a moment. Dean could feel the anger radiating off him even from the other side of the room. John was grasping the edge of the table, his knuckles going white, with his head bowed. He was shaking ever so slightly…
Then it happened.
John was suddenly in front of him and Dean was slammed against the nearest wall with such force that the breath he didn’t know he was holding flew out of him. His father’s forearm was pressed against his chest and there was a rage in his eyes that he hadn’t caught a glimpse of since Fort Douglas.
“When did you last see him?” John snarled.
“S-S-Sunday n-night sir- must have s-snuck out whilst I w-was asleep...” Dean wheezed in reply.
“SUNDAY NIGHT?” Hands grasped his collar and shook him like a doll, “THAT WAS FIVE. FUCKING. DAYS AGO!”
Dean tried in vain to pull away from his father, “I know I-I thought I could track him down before you came back I’m sorr-”
His apologies died in his mouth as John threw Dean away from him in disgust. He landed on top of the already unstable coffee table, which shattered beneath him. Raising his head faintly he saw John heading for him again and was ashamed to put his hands out protectively to shield himself from his own father. John easily grabbed the front of his shirt and dragged him to his feet again.
“Asleep!?” He shouted into his eldest's face, “You slept through Sam... Sam!? leaving the room?"
John looked down and swore under his breath. After a few moments he returned his resentful glare back onto Dean, his voice now a low furious whisper, "Why the hell did I ever think that you could turn out to be a half decent hunter? You can’t even stop your much smaller- and younger!- 13 year-old brother from running away! Fucking useless… I should have known, ever since you got yourself arrested last year... hell, ever since that Shriga...”
“Dad please, we have to find him…” Dean pleaded, cutting across the older hunter’s bitter words.
“You’re not going anywhere,” Replied John in a seething tone, “I’ll find Sam. If he’s not dead already.”
This time Dean saw red. He pushed John away from him with such force that his father nearly tripped over the debris of the broken coffee table.
“Don’t you dare say that!” He spat at John venomously.
Before Dean even realized what he had done he felt the impact of fist on jaw and went sprawling backwards. However this time John caught him before he could fall to the ground and instead used the momentum to pummel Dean’s stomach, in addition to throwing two more punches into his face just for good measure. Dean’s vision was clouding and a steady stream of crimson was leaking from his nose, the familiar taste of copper burnt his throat. John grabbed his son’s drooping head and Dean was forced to look into the fear and fury of his eyes.
“If he is,” John breathed, “I’ll know who to blame.”
The cold silence in the Impala chilled Sam to the bone. He glanced at his brother and couldn’t help but look down at his chest to where the amulet usually lay. Its absence made Dean look incomplete, like he was missing a limb. Right now the necklace was lying in a trash can in that lifeless generic motel room and it had taken every last shred of ebbing strength that Sam had left to not breakdown at the sight of his brother throwing it away with sick resignation, like it had never been anything but a dead weight around his neck.
Maybe the next guest would spot a glint of gold in between the scrunched up paper, candy wrappers and Dean's discount beer cans, and fish out the almost twenty year old amulet (well, twenty years since had given it to Dean... he had no clue how old it really was). Surprisingly this scenario wasn't very comforting to Sam, the thought of any other person besides Dean wearing the charm created a burning sensation somewhere in his chest. Nevertheless, imagining a stranger rescuing the amulet was still a hell of a lot better than the very probable reality that some maid would come along and carelessly empty the trash can into the dumpsters out back. Perhaps it had already happened.
In the end Dean knew how much leaving the amulet hurt Sam, just like Sam knew how much his 'heaven’ had hurt Dean.
But that wasn't his heaven, not if he had any say in it, and he needed Dean to know that. What Sam also needed to know, maybe even more than correcting Dean's assumptions about his so-called-paradise, was exactly what his brother was going to say after “...when dad got home…”. He’s not entirely sure he wants to, except he can’t get the image of Dean’s traumatized face out of his head.
“We need gas.” Dean cut through the silence so abruptly that Sam almost jumped out of his skin.
“I think I saw a sign for a gas station in a couple of miles.” Replied Sam, quickly regaining his composure.
“We need it now- Or baby’s not going to last much longer.” Dean said as he tapped the fuel gage to prove his point, the pointer was nearly at 0.
Sam’s composure went out the window.
“What the hell Dean? You never let the gas get this low! You barely let it go under half a tank!”
“Well I had a lot on my mind I guess.” Muttered Dean.
“Great, just fucking great. We’re going to get stranded out here, I haven’t seen another pair of headlights in half an hour so-“
“God, would you calm down? I’ve got fuel in the trunk for emergencies.” Dean violently pulled over to the side of the road and when they came to a stop he made a point of turning his head to the passenger seat in order to glare at Sam, “I’m not completely useless you know.” He deadpanned, but hurt and annoyance still bled through.
Sam dragged a weary hand across his face in response, “Dean that’s not...”
But Sam’s reassurance was never heard as his brother promptly got out of the car and slammed the door on him.
The droplets that had steadily littered the windshield were starting to get heavier and faster, a downpour was imminent. Sam sighed heavily and climbed out of the Impala to follow Dean.
The trunk was already open and Dean was rummaging through it like a madman. Sam stood out of eye-shot, waiting for the towel to be thrown in. Sure enough though, his brother wasn’t admitting defeat.
“It was here,” Dean murmured to himself, he was a little startled when Sam moved into his line of sight.
“Dean I can’t remember there being a fuel canister in there in years...” Said Sam tentatively.
“No it was definitely there.” He replied coldly, shutting the trunk.
“Well maybe you got rid of it.” Retorted Sam as Dean started to walk towards the door, “You’ve been doing that a lot lately.”
As soon as he said it he regretted it. The look on the older hunter’s face was awful, guilt and sadness were written all over it. However it was gone in a second and replaced with a sardonic smirk.
“Wow, that’s bitchy even for you.”
Dean retreated back into the car and Sam did the same.
“I didn’t…”
“Cut the crap Sam, we both know what you meant.” Said Dean with a hint of underlining shame, “Let’s just try and find a gas station, okay?”
He turned the ignition but instead of the familiar roar of life that the gas guzzler usually gave out, there came a splutter.
After several tries one thing became apparent. The car wasn't going to start.
“Well they say things come in three’s don’t they?" Despaired Dean as he buried his face into the steering wheel. "It just keeps getting worse and worse...”
“It’ll be fine, we’ll just stay here for the night till it gets light out and stops raining, then we’ll try to get someone to pull over.” Sam reassured him, trying to be positive for once, maybe to make up for his harsh remark.
Dean just let out a groan and lifted his head. Sam only just noticed how exhausted he looked... And it was not the kind of tired that sleeping could fix.
He sighed heavily. Well, at least he had his brother cornered. Now was the time to straighten things out and above all else, get the truth.
“Dean we need to talk.”
“Oh great, why do you have to turn everything into a friggin’ heart to heart?” Whined his brother in return.
“Because normal people talk things out, you can’t keep everything bottled up Dean. It’s not healthy.” Said Sam exasperatedly.
“Bet you planned this, bet it was you who got rid of the extra fuel so we could get stranded somewhere and sit around painting our nails and braiding your hair while we talk about our feelings.” Grumbled Dean as he turned his head to glare moodily out of his rain-drop encrusted window.
“Quit messing around," Why does everything need to be a joke with you? His brother's whole emotional-defection spiel was starting to wear really thin on Sam. "Look, I know what our trip to heaven did to you, and what Joseph said really affected you- badly.”
“Shut up Sam.” Dean was still looking out of the window, his eyes following the occasional tracks of rain.
“No I won’t, ‘cause you need to hear it- you need to hear it from me...”
“Hear what?” Dean spat back harshly as he finally turned to face his younger brother.
Sam looked down to avoid Dean's angry gaze and continued.
“That wasn’t my heaven. Okay I’ll admit that to me some of them were good memories- maybe for the wrong reasons, but Dean… Couldn’t you see? The angel’s were manipulating it. I think Zachariah or whoever controlled it- only showed memories that they knew would hurt you to, I don’t know… Turn you against me or something. And I think it’s working,”
“Sammy…” His natural instinct of consoling Sam rebooted and Dean's face softened.
“No listen Dean, it wouldn’t be my heaven without you in it. And that’s the truth.” Sam kept his eyes on his knees, not wanting to look at his brother as he thought that stealing a glance would prevent him from asking what he needed to ask. “Anyway that’s beside the point, I just wanted to get that straight.”
“Why, you got a few more home truths up your sleeve?”
“Dean…" Sam sighed out with his usual fond exasperation that was reserved for his brother. He finally looked up into green eyes that despite their shimmering bravado, couldn't hide the pain and fear inside. "What happened?” He asked in a small voice.
The older hunter looked confused, "What do you mean what happened?"
"I mean Flagstaff. What happened when Dad came home?"
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