Back to Stanford

Sam nodded, heading for the room. He knew Dean would come to, so he didn't bother asking for the keys. Suddenly his cell phone went off in his pocket so he took it out and looked at the caller ID. Typical. His friends from college had been trying to contact him and ask if he was okay about what happened, offering their sympathy and apologies.

He flicked through the texts, miss calls and emails briefly before turning it off. He really didn't want that right now, and he'd call them later.

Dean walked with Sam to the room, fidgeting with the keys in his hand. He could see Sam on his phone in the corner of his eye, flicking through messages, and then putting it away. Should he say something? Break the silence? Probably not, not till they were somewhere a little less public then this corridor anyway.

As they took a turning, their room came into view. He walked towards it and opened the door, walking through and then turning round to Sam, waiting for him to close the door behind him.

Sam trailed inside after Dean, shutting the door behind him and then leaning on the door frame. Dean would probably say something to him... whatever he did he knew Dean would say or do something... He was probably wondering what the hell he was meant to do now, since Sam was being like this...

"I'm gunna take a shower." he muttered, going into the bathroom. At least then he could be alone, and Dean wouldn't have to suffer the horrible silence.

Dean nodded, a shower was a good idea. He could still smell the bitter scent of smoke clinging to Sam, and probably himself as well, a constant reminder of what had happened.

"I'll go to the car, get us some clean clothes," Dean said, before Sam went in. That would give him something to do, instead of just standing out in the motel room, waiting for Sam. He hoped that he would be able to find some more clothes for Sam. After all, he had probably only packed enough for the trip to Forks, looking for dad. The rest of his clothes had likely burnt down in the fire, so they would have to sort that out at some point.

Sam didn't wait for Dean to leave before he entered the bathroom and shut the door behind him. For a moment he just stood there, staring at the back of the door and then the titled bathroom floor. A motel. He should be in a motel... he should have been back at the dorm... with Jess...

He leaned his back against the door and then sunk down, running a hand through his hair, pulling it back, then resting his head on the door, glancing up at the ceiling and the harsh lighting. Tears glistened in his eyes, when he knew he would never be able to get that image out of his head.

Dean didn't move for a second, staring at the closed bathroom door. After a few seconds he turned his back on it, and walked out of the motel room, closing the door softly behind him. After Sam was done with the bathroom he would probably take a shower himself.

He walked down the corridors, and it was not long till he was outside in the car park. The impala was parked discreetly, and he felt himself oddly warmed by her comforting presence. The car really was the one constant in his life, never changing, always there. He opened the trunk, fingers lingering on the cold metal before rifling through, looking for clothes.

Finding some for himself was easy enough. He grabbed a clean pair of boxers, jeans and a t shirt, Led Zeppelin scrawled across its front. He looked through the contents, not finding anything of Sam's. But then he wouldn't, would he? Everything of Sam's had been burned, destroyed in the fire.

Dean looked through his own clothes carefully, getting out some jeans that were several sizes too big for him, boxers and a t shirt that was quite big on him. This would be a lot easier if Sam wasn't so big.

Sam got up after a few minutes and turned on the shower, making sure it was set on cold because Dean would be mad if he used the hot water without even using it. He leant on the sink, tearing up silently. If he had been there for Jess... he could have saved her.

It was hard to think that now all he had was the clothes he stood in and his cell phone. That was it. That was everything he owned... Everything was gone in the fire.

Dean slammed the trunk shut, clothes bundled under one of his arms as he started the walk back to the motel room. The icy bite of the nights air hastened his stride, and added to that the thought of Sam alone in there.

He was almost surprised that the old protectiveness of Sam that he had installed in him since he was a child was still there, but if he was truthful it had never really left him. It was like second nature to him, even after two years of having no contact whatsoever with his brother. He had always been there to look out for and comfort Sam since they were little. Judging by the way Sam now seemed to act around him, after so long apart, it was no longer wanted. Though that did not mean he was going to stop.

Dean was almost at the room now. As he got to it he opened the door, and then locked it behind him. He could hear the sound of the shower running in the bathroom, so Sam wasn't out just yet. Dean crossed over to the bathroom door, and knocked on it a couple of times.

"There's clothes by the door, for when you're done in there," he shouted over the sound of the shower, before depositing the clothes on the floor, and walking over to sit on the bed. He'd get into his own after he had a shower as well.

Sam barely heard Dean, but he did hear him. So he would have to wear Dean's clothes for now... they would probably be too small, but at least they wouldn't smell like smoke. They'd probably have AC/DC on the front, knowing Dean.

He finally got in the shower and was in there about two minutes, deciding the the best way to keep his emotions at bay was to keep busy. It would work, wouldn't it?

Dean continued waiting for Sam to get out of the shower, humming Stairway to Heaven under his breath. Sam should be out of there soon. He was pretty sure he could make out the sound of movement from the bathroom, so Sam was definitely still in there, and probably hadn't done something stupid.

Was Sam going to want to talk about it when he came out? Or were they both just going to try and forget about it, bury what had happened deep, hoping that it would not resurface. The former would probably be healthier, and was what Sam would usually go with, whereas Dean would usually stick with the latter if it was about him.

Sam eventually got out the shower. There really were clothes outside the door like Dean said, so he opened it slightly and grabbed them before shutting the door again. They were a little too small but they would do. He made a mental note to go get some tomorrow. Probably on the road... if that's where they were going, anyway. Would they be going back to Forks now?

Dean seemed to have forgotten than they hadn't eaten all day apart from the pie Dean had got, and the sandwich Sam had got. He wasn't really hungry anyway.

He came out the bathroom. Expression: depressed.

"You got any beer?" At least he could have a drink or something...

Dean looked up when Sam got out of the shower to get his clothes, and ceased humming. Hopefully they wouldn't be too small on him, but really they were the best Dean could do. They would probably have to do some emergency shopping before they hit the road the next day, and get down to a laundrette to wash Sam's clothes from today. Until then they would have to make do.

When Sam emerged from the room Dean noticed the change in expression with a feeling of dread. It looked like Sam was no longer attempting to hide how he was feeling, he looked miserable, depressed.

"You got any beer?"

Dean did have a six pack of beer in the car, though he had a feeling that letting Sam near it would end badly. Though he could hardly deny Sam it when he could just as easily go out to a bar drinking instead. At least here he could make sure it didn't end too badly. After all, he was legal, and after today's events Dean could hardly blame him for wanting to get drunk. That was usually Dean's reflex reaction when something that disturbed him happened.

"Yeah, there's some in the trunk," Dean said, throwing his car keys at Sam, "You can get it. I'm having a shower."

It didn't take Sam long to get back to the car. Just like Dean had said, there was a six pack in the trunk. He eyed the bottom which contained all the weaponry underneath, hidden from any passers by - not that there was any.

He grabbed it, tearing his eyes away from the hidden weapons and headed back to the motel room.

Dean took his time in the shower, using the complementary shampoo to get the smell of smoke out of his short hair. The hot water felt good against his body, he was surprised any was left over after Sam's shower. Turning it off after about fifteen minutes, he got out of the shower and got into his clean change of clothes.

He opened the bathroom door cautiously. He didn't know if Sam was in there, the sound of the water pounding down from the shower would have blocked out the sound of the door opening. Hopefully he had decided to come back, and not stayed out drinking outside.

Sam was sitting at the end of his bed, can in hand. At first he thought maybe he could drink enough to make himself pass out or something, but he knew what it would be like in the morning, and that certainly wouldn't be great. Dean would get pissed at him, too, because it wasn't even his beer to drink.

He finished the can and placed it on the floor, sighing and putting his head in his hands. Dean would worry about him so... and he didn't want him to worry. When Dean came out the bathroom, he didn't look up, knowing that he would only want to try and say something meaningful or something.

Dean emerged from the bathroom, hair still damp from the shower. The first thing he noticed was that Sam was here, so he had come back. He looked to the floor, and only one can was there, empty, the other five were on the bed, unopened, and Sam had his head in his hands. Dean hesitated, before crossing over to him, sitting down next to him on the bed.

"Are you okay?" Dean asked, keeping his voice quiet, his hand going to Sam's wrist, to pull it away from his face.

Sam let Dean pull his wrist away, not bothering to put up a fight. What was the point anyway? It wasn't like it was going to hurt. He turned his head so he was facing his brother's worried gaze, knowing him too well not to know what was going through his mind right now.

"Never better." Sam replied, he voice breaking slightly, which would probably not go unnoticed by Dean, no matter how quiet he was.

At hearing Sam's voice break Dean's face fell. He should have drove quicker, or something, and stopped this from happening. His grip on his brothers hand tightened unintentionally, not letting go. He should have stopped this from happening, or better he should never have let Sam go to college. He had been sure that it was a bad idea from the get go, as had their dad. If he had stayed with them then this would never had happened. Not that they could have foreseen something like this happening. He sighed, dropping Sam's wrist.

"It'll be okay," Dean told him, looking for the right words and struggling. He was really out of his comfort zone here. "We'll hunt that thing down and kill it," maybe not the best choices for reassuring Sam. Revenge was hardly going to make her come back, but then nothing was.

Sam sighed. Of course, Dean probably couldn't think of anything better to say - well, what could he say that would make him feel any better? Sam couldn't think of anything... "Yeah." he mumbled.

He stood up, pacing over to the top of the bed. "I... I think I'll just go to bed."

Dean nodded, fair enough. Going to bed was probably a good idea, though he would be surprised if Sam got any sleep. He hoped that Sam wouldn't have anymore nightmares if he did. The previous nights had been bad enough, though without doubt tonight's would be worse if he did get any sleep.

Dean grabbed hold of what remained of the six pack of beer, depositing it on the floor. He doubted he would sleep much tonight either. If Sam did have a nightmare then he was going to make sure he was awake to get him out of it. What else could he do?

"Night, Sammy," he said, getting up and moving to the other bed. He wasn't feeling sleepy, it was too early and his nerves were frazzled anyway. He lay down on his side, facing towards Sam, but only watching him out of the corner of his eye. He didn't want to put Sam off sleeping if that was what he wanted to do.

Sam slid into bed. He didn't bother correcting his brother at the name Sammy. Dean was the only person allowed to call him that and well... he didn't mind it that much. He faced away from Dean, wondering how long it would take for his brother to go to sleep - that is, if he planned to at all.

He listened to the silence of the room for a long time, thinking over that it wasn't supposed to be like this. What happened to being normal? What happened to going to school and living away from the supernatural?

He felt the hard lump in his throat and tried to swallow it back. But no, he couldn't do it. He was sobbing. Oh how Dean would love this.

Dean was beginning to drift off, despite his earlier intention of staying awake. He jolted out of it when the heard a sound coming from Sam's bed.

"Sammy, are you-?" he didn't finish the sentence, trailing off. Dean pushed himself out of bed, going over to Sam's. He sat down next to his brother, scooting up to him and putting his arms around him, pulling him close. Sam would probably start objecting soon, but he was hardly going to take any notice. If Sam was crying then he was hardly going to just sit there and ignore it.

Sam certainly wasn't used to this, but he couldn't help but feel a little glad that he wasn't on his own after Jess' death. At least his brother was there, and even though he was crying right now, he knew that Dean wouldn't come back with this and make him remember or torment him with the memory because of what happened no so long ago.

He didn't object to the hug, but he knew Dean wasn't happy about it... "I'm sorry." he apologised.

"You've got nothing to say sorry for," Dean murmured back to him, tightening his hold on his brother. He still remembered the countless times in their childhood they had been like this, for the first few years after their Mom had died. It went on till he was about seven or eight, him and Sammy sharing a bed. It had been comforting for the both of them, especially with the death of their mother in the not so distant past. It had kept the nightmares at bay, anyway.

The hug didn't bother Dean, though didn't know how Sam was feeling about it. He brought one of his hands up to Sam's neck, rubbing circles against it's base.

"Dean..." Sam said, ready to start talking about it now. He'd wanted to bury it, but that had never been his style... it was always Dean that did that. Sam always talked about it. Then maybe things would be okay. A tear slid down the corner of his eye on the pillow. Dean wouldn't have seen it, though.

"She asked me to come back... but I was too late. She didn't have anything to do with it - why'd she have to die?"