Sam Winchester stared hard at his fingers gripping the worn duffel bag. The thing'd been with him everywhere, since he was twelve. Bobby'd shoved it at John when he decided Sam was too old to be fitting his clothes into Dean's stuff. John, begrudingly, had then handed it to Sam (even though Sam hadn't pocessed much of anything in the first place.) Since then it'd been his. Dragged from town to town. School to school. Hunt to hunt. He'd taken it with him to college, and it'd been the first thing he grabbed after Dean showed up again. Holed and worn. Jess had wanted to get him a new one. He'd chucked it into a closet assuming he'd never see it again. Yet here he was, lugging it with him down the highway. And just like the family business, it won't go away.
Bitterly, he picked up his gaze, continuing down the road. He'd only gotten a couple miles from the hotel, but the longer he walked the more deserted his surroundings seemed to get. Luckily the motel happened to be on the edge of town, and if he could catch a ride with someone he'd easily be able to get to the next town over and grab a bus down to the closest airport. The sun, now high in the sky, beat down on him. He kept moving.
His thoughts drifted to the night he told John about getting accepted into Stanford. Their shouting match was the worst one that'd ever exploded between the Winchester men. Which was saying something, considering since Sam had formed critical thought him and his father had been constantly at each other's throats.
That day he'd left the motel room a free man, no more expectations staring down his neck. He could go to college. Be a lawyer. Help people in his own way. That's what he'd wanted to do. Help people in his own way. If John'd just understand. If he'd hear Sam. Stop for a moment and just listen, maybe he'd come to accept what Sam wanted. Maybe. Not that Sam had high hopes for that.
He thought about Dean. He could've sworn Dean'd wanted to be pissed at him that night, but he couldn't do it. The more he thought about the fact that Sam (the fucking geek he is) got excepted into Stanford, the less he was able to stop the proud look from glinting his eyes. That'd been one of the few times in his life that Dean had stood up to John Winchester. If it wasn't for Dean, Sam doubted he'd have made it out the door.
Dean had been annoyed. More so about Sam keeping it from him. "Dad is Dad. I get that." He'd said, "But me?" Dean had been happy for him, Sam knew that; but Dean also wasn't the best at hiding things from Sam. He probably couldn't think of anything worse than Sam taking off, the kid who he practically raised. He probably never thought the day would come...or at least hoped it wouldn't. It didn't matter that night. It was likely Dean probably kicked himself later for letting Sam get on the bus. Drunk himself unconscious, possibly. Though, at that second, he just focused on holding back tears which didn't fall in front of his brother. He'd made a stupid joke and said goodbye in a way that made it seem like he'd see Sam tomorrow; even though they wouldn't talk for another four years. Then Sam'd left.
Adam. Sam thought about Adam. Jesus, what was wrong with John Winchester? Just thinking about the kid reloaded all his previous anger, which had washed away a mile ago, like a deadly gun. His puffy red eyes when he'd exited the bathroom. His face when he'd shot up from his nightmare. Looking up at Sam, confused, as he grabbed his duffel bag and ditched the motel room. Sam knew Dean'd take good care of him. How couldn't he? It'd been hardwired into his brain since age four. But for a second he considered going back. Taking Adam with him. Maybe that wasn't such a good idea. What John was up to was dangerous.
But what if Dean just left him at Bobby's like he said he would? What would happen to Adam then? Sam doubted Dean would tell him about hunting. Adam would think Dean'd left him with a psycho hoarder, Satan worshiper. He'd call the Child Services lady who'd given him her phone number, scared out of his wits. Maybe he'd actually run into a monster, being John Winchester's kid, and have no idea how to defend himself. Sam hadn't thought about springing anything on the kid so soon, but now that he layed it out in his head...
How long would it take for him to find Dad? Sam knew the man well enough, but he was an expert at covering his tracks. Maybe-
"Hey." Sam was ripped out of his internal monologue by a pretty girl sitting on a suitcase. She had short cut bleached blonde hair, the type that you get because your Dad told you not to. Her eyes were a cold sort of dark brown that glinted knowingly up at him in a I know something you don't, sort of way. She tugged an earbud out of her ear with the faintest reflection of a smirk on her face.
In a different world, sitting at a bar next to a girl like this, Sam might of been enthralled into pleasant conversation. (While Dean grinned wildly on the other side of the resturaunt pretending he hadn't been looking.) But she was sitting on the side of the road, and this wasn't a different world.
Despite himself, Sam questioned slowly, "Are you alright?"
The girl laughed, seemingly amused. She stood in a gracefully movement and shoved the iPod into her leather jacket. With a once-over of Sam she responded, "I should be asking you that. You're the one wandering down the side of the road like the world's about to end."
Sam returned a bit of a grin, "I didn't think I looked that bad."
The girl shrugged effortlessly, still showing the ghost of a smile. Sam felt the previous overload of thoughts fade into background noise. He wasn't going to let them get in his way. He'd catch a ride, get on a bus to California, and find Dad. One step at a time. And thinking that kind of felt good. With a rock of weight lifted off his shoulders, Sam began, "So, where are you headed?"
He felt okay, for a start.
"Whoa, what the hell are you doing?!" Dean questioned, annoyance seeping into his voice too easily.
Adam glanced up at him, eyes flashing a nervousness you only got when you were scared of a person. Though the look was quickly buried into anger at Dean for getting upset at him again. He spoke in a defiant tone, eyes a bit too fiery, "You told me to push the gas, I'm pushing the gas!"
"No, no!" Dean groaned, shoving Adam back into the passengers seat, "Stop, you'll break the pedal."
Adam's head shoved itself back against the leather seat, arms crossed tightly as he glared daggers at the scene in front of him. Dean himself was fuming just thinking about the wires that might've snapped from Adam's foot slamming into them that hard. He swiftly examined the space under the steering wheel like he was fussing over an injured kid. "I told you to push the gas," Dean continued in a low growl, "Not floor it."
Adam muttered something under his breath that was too quiet for Dean to hear. He could only guess what was said, most likely out of distaste for himself. He decided it'd be best not to ask.
Concluding the pedal undamaged, Dean got into the driver's seat and pressed it himself. Adam's eyes were trained on him, waiting to see what reaction they'd get. There was a churning sound, following by a slight rev of the engine. Dean felt a smirk make its way across his lips as his baby began to purr. "That's-"
He didn't get a chance to finish the thought before his engine burst into smoke. Adam looked a little too smug, like he had predicted that would happen. But in whatever morsal of intimidation he'd developed from Dean, fought back his humorous expression and wisely held his tongue. Dean sighed loudly getting out of the car.
He was pissed at Sam. He was pissed at Dad. They both wanted this retribution for their lost loves and Dean was just the Winchester standing in their way. Hey Dean, me and Sammy are about to gank that son of a bitch who killed Mom and Jess. You can't be here right now, but make sure to watch my other child Adam. By the way, sorry I didn't tell you about that sooner. Right. Sure, Dad. Whatever you need.
Didn't they know he wanted this too? Didn't they realize he had just as much passion to kill this thing as they did? Of course he would. It had been his mother. The anger still flared in his stomach thinking about the son of a bitch, recalling the night he'd carried Sam out of the fire.
But even as he thought it in his head, convincing himself his priorities were the same, something didn't sit right in the pit of his stomach. If he really wanted to kill this thing that badly, why hadn't he followed Sam out the door to finally find Dad? That's why they were on the road in the first place. What had stopped him?
He knew the answer, obviously. Dad has given him an order. Sammy had always been too stubborn for his own good. He might has well walked out the second Dad had called them, because no matter what the man said over the phone there was no way Sam wouldn't attempt to reject it. Dean truly just wanted to keep him and Dad from tearing each other to peices. He just wanted to keep the family together.
He cleared his head, pulling open Baby's front hood. A cloud of hot engine smoke blasted his face, causing an accidental inhale as Dean coughed over his shoulder.
He was twenty-six. He should be at a bar right now with a couple childhood friends he never had but always wanted. Scouting out chicks for the night and laughing at each others drunkeness.
Not that he was pitying himself. Dean wasn't one for that. He knew why Dad had raised him like he did. He liked saving people. If not, he'd just be...well, another useless civilian, high school drop out. No. But a beer didn't sound bad. Getting out of the cold night...
Adam stepped out of the car with his arms pressed tightly to his chest. It looked like he'd gotten rid of the amused expression for a graver one. He quietly stared at the damage while Dean ran his eyes across it in examination. He had the type of face that seemed to assume Dean didn't realize Adam was looking, even though he knew he was.
Dean frowned deeply. The Impala hadn't broken down like this since...well, since Dean could remember, never. Not unless the girl had taken a hit, which maybe happened once or twice; but with Bobby's help she'd been fixed up brand new.
"How are we going to get to...uh.." Adam surprised Dean with the initiation of a conversation, but seemed to have to think about the name for a moment, "Bobby's."
Dean didn't take his eyes off the damage, attempting to figure a main source. John had taught him all he knew about cars. By ten he could re-essemble an engine out of Bobby's spare parts. There was no way he couldn't fix this. "The car."
Adam made a face, "You do realize that-"
"I think I know we're not going anywhere right now." Dean cut him off, ripping his eyes away to glare at the boy. Adam's blonde hair was messy and uncombed. He wore his only other set of clothes, old jeans and a black Led Zepplin Fallen Angel t-shirt. "Why don't you wait in the car. It shouldn't take more than a couple hours."
Reaching for his toolbox which Dean had already pulled out earlier, he sifted through the bolts and screwdrivers in search of his needed tool. Meanwhile Adam (unsurprisingly) only seemed to hear Dean's last statement. "A couple hours?" He questioned.
Dean rolled his eyes, "Yeah, so what?" He reached for a small wrench and leaned into the engine, "Sleep in the car." He could hear Adam's deep scowl, "Ah, not the five star hotel you were expecting?" The quip seemed to hit Adam harder than he'd intended it to, as he turned to see Adam's eyes had hardened a bit.
"I wasn't expecting anything." He grounded back.
Dean, unsure of how to respond, returned to his work. The sooner he got this finished the sooner they'd be at Bobby's. All's well that ends well. He expected Adam to head back into the car himself, but instead he continued a couple minutes later, "We should've gone with Sam." He paused, "To get Dad, I mean."
Dean felt his lips tug downward, more than annoyed with the mention of Sam. "You don't even know what you're talking about."
"Seriously," Adam urged, "He didn't show up to get me because of some stupid business trip. I'm told you guys are supposed to be taking me to him, but apparently neither of you even know where he is. Until Sam finds out and is off to meet him and we don't even go?"
Dean shoves the wrench down, standing up straighter as he glowered at Adam. He made a note to keep his voice down in the future. Adam obviously paid more attention than he'd previously suspected. His voice was laced in a warning when he replied, "You seriously don't know what you're talking about."
"Well, maybe if either of you would tell me anything, I would." Adam argued back, fists clenching.
Snorting, which caused Adam's face to reddin a bit, he continued on the car. "Just get back in the car, Adam."
He didn't see Adam turn around the storm into the woods, but he certainly heard the exaggerated foots steps on the gravel. Once again his eyes lifted and he felt a groan escape his mouth, "Where the hell are you going?" He questioned exasperated, as he watched the boy's back advance on the trees.
"I have to piss!" He shouted back, turning around wildly, "Can I do that, or are you going to pass me an empty beer can?"
Dean found himself quickly reminded why he was so annoyed. Though he still felt inclined to make sure Adam didn't go to far. He looked down at his watch. "Fine, just don't-" Adam had already disappeared behind the foliage.
Sighing, Dean went back to work.
Adam trudged through the muddy grass, trees closing in. He could already feel the wet dirt seeping into his sneakers.
It had been more than a couple hours since Sam had left, and the sky had darkened considerably. About a minute after he'd walked out of the motel room Dean had ordered Adam to grab his stuff. After that they were gone.
This time the ride wasn't as quiet as past ones. Adam himself had no complaint when Dean cranked the radio. It left less room for talking, and more for staring out the window in thought. Though he still had the sinking feeling Sam had left him with.
His last interaction with Sam verged on an argument, and still his heart sunk when the motel door had closed behind him. He inwardly wished Sam would've considered taking him. He wondered why neither him or Dean weren't going to find Dad. Not that he cared much what Dean happened to think. The asshole had his taste in music, and seemingly that was it.
Adam felt the sudden urge to run away now. Perhaps catch his own bus. Or...the number in his pocket. He could always call Ms. Flat Face of the CPS. They had only shoved him onto his brothers because his brothers were the ones who showed up. If he went back, and they got into contact with Dad..
It seemed like a better option then staying here with Dean, who outwardly showed no interest in getting to Dad. Only the motivation of his friend Bobby, who Adam suspected was the only one of them with an actual house.
Then again, did he really want to go back to Windom? Or the chance of a foster family?
He felt like he was in the dark about everything. Where his Dad was, where Sam was, where he was going, what Dean was trying to accomplish. As if he'd entered in the theater in the middle of a movie and no one would rewind. Whatever was going on, he was sick of being left out of it. Sick of being left to mull things over himself. Overly sick of missing his mom.
Adam stopped walking. He'd gone further than intended, not that it mattered much. Dean had said a couple hours.
Closing in on a tree, he unzipped his jeans. What, you thought he'd been lying about having to pee? Seriously, the last time they'd stopped was at a drive through.
Doing his business, Adam watched a slug crawl up a piece of bark lazily. He vaguely wondered where the slug's family was, doubting it ever felt as unsure as Adam. The train of thought was stupid.
Re-zipping his pants, he prepared himself for the walk back to the highway...when he heard a rustling sound in the deeper forrest behind him. His heart picked up a bit.
Turning around, he prepared to see a squirrel burst out of the bushes. It didn't happen. In fact, nothing happened. The air seemed to get colder.
In an attempt to feel unfazed, he shoved his hands into his pockets and began the way he had came. Maybe his shoes walked a little quicker than his mind could register, but he wasn't fond of dark woods at night. Especially after...well, the never caught his mother's killer.
Adam felt a shiver run down his spin. The hell was he thinking about? He was freaking himself out for no reason. They'd already driven miles away. Besides, it was just a rustling of the wind. And what would a serial killer want with a scrawny blonde haired teen?
This did not calm him down. In fact, the thoughts seemed to make his heart beat taster. He imagined his mom the night she died. He remembered his dream. Then, he wished he hadn't. He had a hard time clearing his head of the image.
His pace was just below running. The back of his head twitched. He could've sworn he caught sight of the Impala's car, when a voice caused him to freeze in his tracks.
It was melodic and soothing, yet somehow so utterly chilling. Familiar. Beautiful. Laced with a tinge of melancholy that could only be found from one person. It was the voice from his dream. The voice he grew up hearing every morning. The voice he so desperately missed.
The voice of his mother, and she said, "Adam?" Just as she had in his imagination.
A/N: Thanks for all the support and reviews. Hope you all enjoyed the update. Sorry about the cliffy, we shall meet again with Chapter Six in less than a few weeks. (Pinky swear.)
Anyways, who else is ready for a shit load of Adam and Dean bonding? Also, Meg. So, say hi while she's around. Remember to review and follow if you haven't for updates. Love to read them.