Chapter Text
SNEAK PEEK (aka this is what I've got so far - enjoy)!
"Boys!" John barks, appearing suddenly in the doorway of the tiny room Sam and Dean have shared for the last two and a half weeks while their dad was busy eliminating a family of ghouls. Sam sighs and hefts his freshly packed duffel onto his shoulder, knowing Dad is standing there to intimidate him and his brother into hurrying up so they can leave for their next case, some witch in rural middle Georgia. Sam's so excited for this one. Really.
He glances up at Dean, who is collecting his toothbrush and deodorant from the adjoining bathroom of the cheap shack John rented for his sons to stay in, and notices that the bruises on his brother's face are finally almost gone. Dean helped Dad on his last case two states back and came out worse for wear after he was thrown around by the pissed-off ghost of some murderer from the '50s; he wasn't allowed to work with Dad to take out the ghouls - his two fractured ribs and broken left wrist decided that one. Sam knows how frustrated his brother has been, how much he's hated sitting on his ass and missing out on all the action. Now his bones are almost mended; once this new case is settled Dad's going to let him back on the job. Sam's not pleased about that, but he understands that Dean's happier when he's hunting - and God knows he lives to see his brother happy.
Five minutes later they're on the road, Sam still musing quietly with his head resting against the cool glass of the back right window.
Sam loves Dean, probably more than normal kids love their big brothers, but he's sure that's just a product of the life they live. He loves his brother's smile - not the cocky smirk Dean gets when he sees a pretty girl or wears the Fed suit Dad got him for his twentieth birthday this year, but the genuine grin that only two things in the world can coax out of him: Sam and hunting. The problem is, Dean's happiness is never complete with just Sam anymore, hasn't been for a long time. Hunting has become such an integral part of his brother's life in the last few years that Sam feels almost unimportant. He's not sure exactly how he wants things to be, but any other universe in which Dean wouldn't have to throw himself headfirst into danger just to feel like he has a purpose would do. As it is, Sam is forced to sit down and shut up when it comes to his disapproval of his brother hunting, because the few times he's bothered opening his mouth, both Dad and Dean have jumped his shit for it.
He's knocked out of his reverie when John turns the Impala sharply onto a gravelly road a few hours later. Several minutes pass with no interesting scenery - it's all grass, trees, cows, and enough squirrels in a one-mile stretch to feed an entire redneck army - and at some point the rocks make way to a dirt road. Sam hears his dad mutter a curse as the Impala kicks up enough dust to recolor the sleek black car a murky tan. Serves him right for dragging Sam and Dean out here in the middle of nowhere, in Sam's humble opinion. They'll have to drive a solid ten minutes at least to get to the nearest high school, a good ten more to reach actual civilization with stores and human life and no fucking cows.
"Welcome to Rentz, Georgia, boys," Dad says with mock enthusiasm as he pulls into the dirt-packed driveway of a crappy trailer home. He parks and Dean and Sam exit the car sullenly, picking their way through the overgrown yard to file into their home for who knows how long this time.
The inside of the trailer is actually pretty nice, Sam concedes later that night as he curls up in a ratty recliner with his favorite history textbook. It's clean for the most part, and though it's small it's not an uncomfortable size for three. And with John gone working on his case a lot of the time Sam thinks it'll be even better. He still isn't pleased about the location, but he supposes he can get used to cicadas being the only sound piercing the night.
The next morning John leaves before the boys wake. With the house to themselves Sam and Dean are in high spirits, horsing around and debating whether Teletubbies should be ganked (Dean votes yes) most of the morning. Around noon Sam is sitting in the recliner he's claimed as his own, browsing through the newest edition of Norton Anthology - he finished the history textbook before bed last night - with one ear tuned into Dean clattering around the kitchen. Soon enough Dean enters the living room, proudly displaying the ham and cheese sandwiches he's whipped up for lunch. He hands Sam his two and immediately digs into his own.
"I put some of that leafy shit that you like on there, Sammy," Dean says between mouthfuls. Sam takes a bite and is greeted with pleasant green flavors mixed with the sandwich basics of meat, cheese, and mayo. Content, he shoots a bright smile at his brother, who, despite being the biggest pain in Sam's ass, can be ridiculously thoughtful sometimes. Dean looks over and meets Sam's grin with one of his own.
They sit and chew in silence for a while, smiles eventually fading from their faces but eyes still locked. Sam breaks the contact first, looking away when the intensity of Dean's stare reaches that weird level that should make Sam uncomfortable but...doesn't, makes him feel other things instead. It's been happening more and more recently; Sam has been attributing it to puberty and all that shit. He refuses to think any deeper into the matter.