Fic: Battle Cry (Supernatural) Chapter 5/10
This is chapter 5 of Battle Cry. If you're looking for the Masterpost, it's over here. Chapter 1 is here.
Title: Battle Cry
Fandom: Supernatural
Character(s): Sam, Dean, John Bobby
Pairing(s): Gen
Prompt: Loss of Voice
Chapter Word Count: 2856
Rating: PG-13 for some cussing and a wee bit of violence
Disclaimer: Not mine. If you recognize it, I had no hand in making it. I do not own any piece of the Supernatural awesomeness. It all belongs to Kripke et. al. I’m just borrowing for a minute.
Warnings: None
Summary: It’s supposed to be a witch. It’s supposed to be easy. Sam and Dean shouldn’t have to do more than help burn the body. But, when they are faced with an unknown monster, the consequences will be life altering for all the Winchesters. Will they be able to fix the problem, or will Sam have to learn to adapt to the newest challenge in his life?
Chapter 5: The Run
Sam sat in the backseat with a book, pretending to read as the Impala shuddered under him. They were moving on and Sam was trying his very best not to look back over his shoulder at the retreating town. This would mean the third town this school year. He was going to start over. Again.
Sam brought the book closer to his face. He never did get to take his math test. Or take Sarah Hartman out for ice cream like they had planned. Not that it mattered much now. He very much doubted whether that would be a fun date for either of them at this point.
In the front seat, Dean and John were discussing their next move. John was convinced they should go to Kansas for some reason Sam could not fathom. It's not like there was anything there and his father had yet to offer any solid logic for his enthusiasm. Dean on the other hand was pushing for a trip to South Dakota to meet up with Bobby and take some time to research. John seemed against this idea, but again, Sam was unsure why.
He rarely understood all of John’s reasoning, but it was a little out of character for him to not offer an explanation of some kind. When asked, all John would say was, "Bobby will call when he finds something. We are more use on the road.”
To which Dean had responded, “How exactly?” Sam winced at the tone. If he had spoken that way, he’d be the lucky recipient of another John Winchester style lecture on respect. Fortunately for him, Dean seemed to be exempt from these lectures. As he was asking the very question Sam wanted an answer to, he was not ready to point out the disparity.
“The last number he has for us was the motel,” Dean continued. “Wouldn’t it make more sense to stick in one place until we know what’s going on? Or better yet, head there so we can help with the research?”
But John had frown tightly and said, “We’re leaving and that’s final.”
Despite his certain tone, John seemed rather aimless. There was no hunt on the horizon and no real reason they were now hurtling down the highway instead of waking up as comfortably as they ever did in the motel they had camped out in. Sam could count on one hand the number of times he had done that. John was not one prone to wanderlust. His moves were driven out of a firm necessity to pursue the job.
Usually his good reason for abandoning a town early involved cops and an unhealthy interest in their home life or an investigation into the questionable things that so often happened around John Winchester. Really it was a miracle his father hadn’t been arrested more often.
In the end, Dean had won one argument, convincing John to visit Bobby. For Sam’s sake. Sam was still mad about that comment, but at least they were going somewhere. Sam had his doubts as to whether or not that would be the salvage yard, but he knew they would get close, relatively speaking, and Dean would be on the phone with Bobby the first chance he got wherever they stopped for the night. He had been for the last three nights, not that anything had turned up yet.
Still, Sam was not about to complain about not sticking around Alpha. He was angry that he hadn’t had time to get his school records or notes from his teachers. He’d have to start over at the next school unless he could convince Forest Park High School to fax something over wherever he ended up. Sam had been totally unprepared the night of the hunt. Typically they had at least a day or so of down time after a hunt and given the fact that it was getting late in the school semester, it made sense that they would stick around for another month or so. John did his best to keep them settled for decent stretches of time, if for no other reason at this point than to not have to listen to Sam bitch about constantly having to move.
Normally, Sam would have made himself a folder before he left. He’d have pulled together a collection of his latest work and any relevant records from the school to take with him. That way at least his teachers would know where he stood when he finally landed back in a new school. None of them had anticipated such a disruption to their routine.
Sam didn’t really want to think about the work that was waiting for him wherever he ended up. Instead, he refocused on his book, realizing he had accidentally stolen it from the school library. He had been in the process of writing an English paper and hadn’t even thought about it in the rush to get packed that morning. He supposed it wasn’t like they could really do anything to him now. Maybe if he got the chance, he’d mail it back from the next town they settled in.
While he typically avoided petty theft, he was glad to have something to distract him. He had been trying to read and forget the thing hanging in the heavy atmosphere of the Impala. Even when Dean and John bickered in the front seat over something inane, he could feel it looming between them.
In the front seat Dean was making sniping comments about…Lead Zeppelin? Sam had long since lost track of the argument, having no way to contribute and no real interest in the debate. He watched them interact, John snorting and the easy, back and forth banter between them. Sam felt like he was sitting in his own little island. He tucked his feet up under him in an effort to settle more comfortably and pushed his nose closer to the page, picking up where he had left off;
The young man and his companion often went apart and appeared to weep. I saw no cause for their unhappiness, but I was deeply affected by it. If such lovely creatures were miserable, it was less strange that I, an imperfect and solitary being, should be wretched…
Sam frowned. That was a little close for comfort to his own predicament. He glanced up at Dean and John trying to ignore the gulf he felt stretching between them. He fought down the feeling and went back to his book, skipping over a page and hoping to find something a little less relevant to his current situation.
By degrees I made a discovery of still greater moment. I found that these people possessed a method of communicating their experience and feelings to one another by articulate sounds. I perceived that the words they spoke sometimes produced pleasure or pain, smiles or sadness, in the minds and countenances of the hearers. This was indeed a godlike science, and I ardently desired to become acquainted with it. But I was baffled in every attempt I made for this purpose…
Sam grimaced and snapped the book shut. He stared at the cover. Snow had collected over the stones of a ruined, medieval building. The sepia tones of the image made the picture seem even more barren, like a desert, even with all the snow. He frowned at it and shoved it into the bag at his feet. He rummaged for a moment, looking to see if he had anything else to distract himself with, but he had packed the rest of his reading books into the duffle in the trunk. He came up with only a half filled notebook and slim volume on werewolves.
He wasn’t in the mood for werewolves today. They were altogether too violent and too sad a figure. He couldn’t help but sympathize with them, at least a little. He had a hard time imagining what it must be like to go to sleep one night and wake up a monster, full of murderous instincts and a thirst for blood. Werewolves always bothered him. Underneath it all it was still a person who was normal twenty-seven days of the month.
He had long since decided that the worst part was killing a monster and burying a man.
Sam let his bag drop back to the floor and leaned back against the leather seat. He let his eyes droop closed and the sound of Dean and his father arguing to wash over him, underscored by the steady thumping of rock that perpetually filled the silence in the car.
He vaguely wondered exactly what would happen next. Would he have to hunt? What happened when they needed to communicate? Although, on a hunt that was usually silent communication, but even just in general it was a valid concern. What if he had to yell for help? What if John decided he was a liability?
Something bounced off his nose and he jumped, coming back into reality.
“Earth to Sammy!” Dean was yelling.
Sam glared at him. He channeled as much angry irritation as he could through his gaze. It didn’t seem to do any good. Dean was leaning over the back of seat, a small scrap of paper balled up and ready to flick at Sam.
“There you are. I was beginning to think you were actually asleep.”
Sam’s glare turned into a scowl, and he turned to look out the window. Even if he had been asleep, Dean would have pestered him until he woke up.
The ball of paper smacked the tip of his ear. Sam ignored the first one. And the second.
On the third, his already fraying temper finally snapped. He turned, not sure what he was going to do, just in time for a fourth pea sized ball to smack him square between the eyes. He felt heat creeping up his neck as he launched himself at an unprepared Dean, who was still leaning over the back of his seat.
Sam grabbed Dean’s wrist, pulling his arm at an uncomfortable angle. He reached over, trying to grab the sheet Dean had been demolishing in his quest to piss Sam off, but Dean held it out of reach. Instead, Sam altered his tactics, knowing he’d never get his hands on the paper from his position. He put pressure on Dean’s wrist, bending it backwards and making sure his narrowed eyes met Dean’s measure for measure.
Dean tried to twist out of his grasp, but Sam had a firm hold and yanked so that Dean was pulled hard against the seat.
“Boys!” John shouted. Sam dropped Dean’s arm out of surprise at the tone. Even Dean jumped back so that he was sitting sideways in his seat, back against the door and looking at John.
It had been ages since John yelled like that.
Sam was sitting behind his father, so he could only gauge John’s mood by what he could see in the rearview mirror. It wasn’t encouraging.
The car pulled over to the side of the road, jerking to a halt just off the shoulder of the highway. It was only then that Sam noticed the grey day had turned from overcast to drizzly, adding a light sheen of water to the road.
John took a deep breath, hands tight on the steering wheel.
When he finally turned around, it was with a look of restrained anger. The lines were tight in his face.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
He got no response. Even if he had been able to talk, Sam was pretty sure that was a rhetorical question.
“You know better than to do crap like that when I am driving. On a slick road with traffic no less. Both of you do. So I want an explanation. What. The hell. Were you doing?”
Sam had gone still, unused to John’s wrath at this level. He had gotten unintentionally good at provoking his father’s ire lately, but this was something beyond that. Sam got the impression that John wasn’t just angry. They had scared him.
And what was worse was they did know better than to pull such a stupid stunt in a moving car. Across the driver’s seat no less. It would have been a little different if they had both been in the back seat and tussling. That they had done hundreds of times.
Sam looked down at his lap, heat rising in his cheeks again, not in anger this time.
“Well?” John demanded. “I’m waiting.”
Neither of them spoke.
“I expect an answer. Now!”
Sam had started into an explanation at the sharp tone, but caught himself as the first few words escaped him in a breathy gasp. It was too late of course. John’s already reddening face drained of some of its color at his slip. He closed his eyes, fingers going to the bridge of his nose.
“Dad…” Dean started to say, sensing that John was nearing a breaking point. “Look, we’re -”
“Save it, Dean,” John said. Without looking up, he added, “Out. Both of you.”
“But,” Dean said.
“Now.” John gritted out. “Start running. If you’ve got the energy to wrestle in the car, you can put in a couple of miles.”
“Dad….” Dean was worried about John, Sam could tell. His brother’s uncertainty stemmed from a deep seated desire to take care of Sam and John both. He knew something was wrong between them but wasn’t sure how to fix it. Sam was not nearly so selfless as that. It was October in Michigan. It was misting. Sam had no desire to be out in that.
“Out.” John said again, this time sounding tired and dangerous.
Sam was the first one out of the car for once. He recognized an unwinnable argument when faced with one. They had been in the wrong this time. It was time to take their punishment. It was better for everyone if John had time to cool off.
Dean emerged slowly to stand next to Sam, and they began running together. The road was plenty flat, if crowded in by trees on the side.
Sam was soaked through at two minutes.
About five minutes in, he heard the Impala start up. Gravel crunched as the car started to follow them, inching behind them just enough to keep them in sight.
Even Dean was grumbling after ten.
About twenty minutes in, Sam hit his stride. He was sufficiently warmed up that the rain was feeling refreshing rather than icy, and stretching his muscles felt good. He focused on the rhythm of running and even began to outpace Dean. The lead didn’t last long as Dean hurried to match stride with Sam.
The physicality of running was glorious. Here was something that he could just do. He didn’t have to think about anything. He let his body take over and concentrated on the feel of propelling himself down the highway.
At some point he fell into a sprint. Dean asked him a question, but he ignored it.
He didn’t stop until he heard the horn honk once, signaling for them to slow down and cool off. He still felt like he was bursting with energy and he wanted to feel his stride eat up the broken pavement until everything was far behind him.
But Dean was looking miserable with the damp in his hair and his t-shirt sticking to him and Sam realized he was in no better shape.
When they finally stumbled to a halt, the Impala had pulled up behind them, waiting. Dean opened the front door, and was met with a towel flung in his face.
“Dry off,” John said. “You’re not getting in this car when you’re that wet.” Dean sheepishly began to towel off, handing over a second towel for Sam to use. Sam glanced in the back seat and saw a pile of clothes waiting for him. Dean had one too.
Carefully wrapping the towel around him, he peeled off his shirt. A passing car honked. Dean grinned and flexed his arms, in a similar state of undress. Sam blushed, ducking his head. He scooted closer to the car so that he was mostly blocked by sleek metal. Quickly as he could he shed his wet clothes and changed into the dry ones. He slid back into his seat and shoved the wad of wet clothes and towels into the foot of the car, adding Dean’s to the pile when he flung them at Sam’s face.
“Feel better?” John asked. He sounded much calmer.
“Yes, sir.” Dean said quickly, obviously not keen on being put back out into the rain.
Sam nodded when John looked at him, but didn’t meet his father’s eye.
He didn’t know what he felt at just that moment. Like he could run another hour or two and still not be rid of the nervous energy that was sitting just under his skin. Like he wanted his father to be able to look at him without going pale and tired around the edges.
He wasn’t sure if he would ever feel better.
<< Masterpost Chapter 6>>>
Title: Battle Cry
Fandom: Supernatural
Character(s): Sam, Dean, John Bobby
Pairing(s): Gen
Prompt: Loss of Voice
Chapter Word Count: 2856
Rating: PG-13 for some cussing and a wee bit of violence
Disclaimer: Not mine. If you recognize it, I had no hand in making it. I do not own any piece of the Supernatural awesomeness. It all belongs to Kripke et. al. I’m just borrowing for a minute.
Warnings: None
Summary: It’s supposed to be a witch. It’s supposed to be easy. Sam and Dean shouldn’t have to do more than help burn the body. But, when they are faced with an unknown monster, the consequences will be life altering for all the Winchesters. Will they be able to fix the problem, or will Sam have to learn to adapt to the newest challenge in his life?
Chapter 5: The Run
Sam sat in the backseat with a book, pretending to read as the Impala shuddered under him. They were moving on and Sam was trying his very best not to look back over his shoulder at the retreating town. This would mean the third town this school year. He was going to start over. Again.
Sam brought the book closer to his face. He never did get to take his math test. Or take Sarah Hartman out for ice cream like they had planned. Not that it mattered much now. He very much doubted whether that would be a fun date for either of them at this point.
In the front seat, Dean and John were discussing their next move. John was convinced they should go to Kansas for some reason Sam could not fathom. It's not like there was anything there and his father had yet to offer any solid logic for his enthusiasm. Dean on the other hand was pushing for a trip to South Dakota to meet up with Bobby and take some time to research. John seemed against this idea, but again, Sam was unsure why.
He rarely understood all of John’s reasoning, but it was a little out of character for him to not offer an explanation of some kind. When asked, all John would say was, "Bobby will call when he finds something. We are more use on the road.”
To which Dean had responded, “How exactly?” Sam winced at the tone. If he had spoken that way, he’d be the lucky recipient of another John Winchester style lecture on respect. Fortunately for him, Dean seemed to be exempt from these lectures. As he was asking the very question Sam wanted an answer to, he was not ready to point out the disparity.
“The last number he has for us was the motel,” Dean continued. “Wouldn’t it make more sense to stick in one place until we know what’s going on? Or better yet, head there so we can help with the research?”
But John had frown tightly and said, “We’re leaving and that’s final.”
Despite his certain tone, John seemed rather aimless. There was no hunt on the horizon and no real reason they were now hurtling down the highway instead of waking up as comfortably as they ever did in the motel they had camped out in. Sam could count on one hand the number of times he had done that. John was not one prone to wanderlust. His moves were driven out of a firm necessity to pursue the job.
Usually his good reason for abandoning a town early involved cops and an unhealthy interest in their home life or an investigation into the questionable things that so often happened around John Winchester. Really it was a miracle his father hadn’t been arrested more often.
In the end, Dean had won one argument, convincing John to visit Bobby. For Sam’s sake. Sam was still mad about that comment, but at least they were going somewhere. Sam had his doubts as to whether or not that would be the salvage yard, but he knew they would get close, relatively speaking, and Dean would be on the phone with Bobby the first chance he got wherever they stopped for the night. He had been for the last three nights, not that anything had turned up yet.
Still, Sam was not about to complain about not sticking around Alpha. He was angry that he hadn’t had time to get his school records or notes from his teachers. He’d have to start over at the next school unless he could convince Forest Park High School to fax something over wherever he ended up. Sam had been totally unprepared the night of the hunt. Typically they had at least a day or so of down time after a hunt and given the fact that it was getting late in the school semester, it made sense that they would stick around for another month or so. John did his best to keep them settled for decent stretches of time, if for no other reason at this point than to not have to listen to Sam bitch about constantly having to move.
Normally, Sam would have made himself a folder before he left. He’d have pulled together a collection of his latest work and any relevant records from the school to take with him. That way at least his teachers would know where he stood when he finally landed back in a new school. None of them had anticipated such a disruption to their routine.
Sam didn’t really want to think about the work that was waiting for him wherever he ended up. Instead, he refocused on his book, realizing he had accidentally stolen it from the school library. He had been in the process of writing an English paper and hadn’t even thought about it in the rush to get packed that morning. He supposed it wasn’t like they could really do anything to him now. Maybe if he got the chance, he’d mail it back from the next town they settled in.
While he typically avoided petty theft, he was glad to have something to distract him. He had been trying to read and forget the thing hanging in the heavy atmosphere of the Impala. Even when Dean and John bickered in the front seat over something inane, he could feel it looming between them.
In the front seat Dean was making sniping comments about…Lead Zeppelin? Sam had long since lost track of the argument, having no way to contribute and no real interest in the debate. He watched them interact, John snorting and the easy, back and forth banter between them. Sam felt like he was sitting in his own little island. He tucked his feet up under him in an effort to settle more comfortably and pushed his nose closer to the page, picking up where he had left off;
The young man and his companion often went apart and appeared to weep. I saw no cause for their unhappiness, but I was deeply affected by it. If such lovely creatures were miserable, it was less strange that I, an imperfect and solitary being, should be wretched…
Sam frowned. That was a little close for comfort to his own predicament. He glanced up at Dean and John trying to ignore the gulf he felt stretching between them. He fought down the feeling and went back to his book, skipping over a page and hoping to find something a little less relevant to his current situation.
By degrees I made a discovery of still greater moment. I found that these people possessed a method of communicating their experience and feelings to one another by articulate sounds. I perceived that the words they spoke sometimes produced pleasure or pain, smiles or sadness, in the minds and countenances of the hearers. This was indeed a godlike science, and I ardently desired to become acquainted with it. But I was baffled in every attempt I made for this purpose…
Sam grimaced and snapped the book shut. He stared at the cover. Snow had collected over the stones of a ruined, medieval building. The sepia tones of the image made the picture seem even more barren, like a desert, even with all the snow. He frowned at it and shoved it into the bag at his feet. He rummaged for a moment, looking to see if he had anything else to distract himself with, but he had packed the rest of his reading books into the duffle in the trunk. He came up with only a half filled notebook and slim volume on werewolves.
He wasn’t in the mood for werewolves today. They were altogether too violent and too sad a figure. He couldn’t help but sympathize with them, at least a little. He had a hard time imagining what it must be like to go to sleep one night and wake up a monster, full of murderous instincts and a thirst for blood. Werewolves always bothered him. Underneath it all it was still a person who was normal twenty-seven days of the month.
He had long since decided that the worst part was killing a monster and burying a man.
Sam let his bag drop back to the floor and leaned back against the leather seat. He let his eyes droop closed and the sound of Dean and his father arguing to wash over him, underscored by the steady thumping of rock that perpetually filled the silence in the car.
He vaguely wondered exactly what would happen next. Would he have to hunt? What happened when they needed to communicate? Although, on a hunt that was usually silent communication, but even just in general it was a valid concern. What if he had to yell for help? What if John decided he was a liability?
Something bounced off his nose and he jumped, coming back into reality.
“Earth to Sammy!” Dean was yelling.
Sam glared at him. He channeled as much angry irritation as he could through his gaze. It didn’t seem to do any good. Dean was leaning over the back of seat, a small scrap of paper balled up and ready to flick at Sam.
“There you are. I was beginning to think you were actually asleep.”
Sam’s glare turned into a scowl, and he turned to look out the window. Even if he had been asleep, Dean would have pestered him until he woke up.
The ball of paper smacked the tip of his ear. Sam ignored the first one. And the second.
On the third, his already fraying temper finally snapped. He turned, not sure what he was going to do, just in time for a fourth pea sized ball to smack him square between the eyes. He felt heat creeping up his neck as he launched himself at an unprepared Dean, who was still leaning over the back of his seat.
Sam grabbed Dean’s wrist, pulling his arm at an uncomfortable angle. He reached over, trying to grab the sheet Dean had been demolishing in his quest to piss Sam off, but Dean held it out of reach. Instead, Sam altered his tactics, knowing he’d never get his hands on the paper from his position. He put pressure on Dean’s wrist, bending it backwards and making sure his narrowed eyes met Dean’s measure for measure.
Dean tried to twist out of his grasp, but Sam had a firm hold and yanked so that Dean was pulled hard against the seat.
“Boys!” John shouted. Sam dropped Dean’s arm out of surprise at the tone. Even Dean jumped back so that he was sitting sideways in his seat, back against the door and looking at John.
It had been ages since John yelled like that.
Sam was sitting behind his father, so he could only gauge John’s mood by what he could see in the rearview mirror. It wasn’t encouraging.
The car pulled over to the side of the road, jerking to a halt just off the shoulder of the highway. It was only then that Sam noticed the grey day had turned from overcast to drizzly, adding a light sheen of water to the road.
John took a deep breath, hands tight on the steering wheel.
When he finally turned around, it was with a look of restrained anger. The lines were tight in his face.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
He got no response. Even if he had been able to talk, Sam was pretty sure that was a rhetorical question.
“You know better than to do crap like that when I am driving. On a slick road with traffic no less. Both of you do. So I want an explanation. What. The hell. Were you doing?”
Sam had gone still, unused to John’s wrath at this level. He had gotten unintentionally good at provoking his father’s ire lately, but this was something beyond that. Sam got the impression that John wasn’t just angry. They had scared him.
And what was worse was they did know better than to pull such a stupid stunt in a moving car. Across the driver’s seat no less. It would have been a little different if they had both been in the back seat and tussling. That they had done hundreds of times.
Sam looked down at his lap, heat rising in his cheeks again, not in anger this time.
“Well?” John demanded. “I’m waiting.”
Neither of them spoke.
“I expect an answer. Now!”
Sam had started into an explanation at the sharp tone, but caught himself as the first few words escaped him in a breathy gasp. It was too late of course. John’s already reddening face drained of some of its color at his slip. He closed his eyes, fingers going to the bridge of his nose.
“Dad…” Dean started to say, sensing that John was nearing a breaking point. “Look, we’re -”
“Save it, Dean,” John said. Without looking up, he added, “Out. Both of you.”
“But,” Dean said.
“Now.” John gritted out. “Start running. If you’ve got the energy to wrestle in the car, you can put in a couple of miles.”
“Dad….” Dean was worried about John, Sam could tell. His brother’s uncertainty stemmed from a deep seated desire to take care of Sam and John both. He knew something was wrong between them but wasn’t sure how to fix it. Sam was not nearly so selfless as that. It was October in Michigan. It was misting. Sam had no desire to be out in that.
“Out.” John said again, this time sounding tired and dangerous.
Sam was the first one out of the car for once. He recognized an unwinnable argument when faced with one. They had been in the wrong this time. It was time to take their punishment. It was better for everyone if John had time to cool off.
Dean emerged slowly to stand next to Sam, and they began running together. The road was plenty flat, if crowded in by trees on the side.
Sam was soaked through at two minutes.
About five minutes in, he heard the Impala start up. Gravel crunched as the car started to follow them, inching behind them just enough to keep them in sight.
Even Dean was grumbling after ten.
About twenty minutes in, Sam hit his stride. He was sufficiently warmed up that the rain was feeling refreshing rather than icy, and stretching his muscles felt good. He focused on the rhythm of running and even began to outpace Dean. The lead didn’t last long as Dean hurried to match stride with Sam.
The physicality of running was glorious. Here was something that he could just do. He didn’t have to think about anything. He let his body take over and concentrated on the feel of propelling himself down the highway.
At some point he fell into a sprint. Dean asked him a question, but he ignored it.
He didn’t stop until he heard the horn honk once, signaling for them to slow down and cool off. He still felt like he was bursting with energy and he wanted to feel his stride eat up the broken pavement until everything was far behind him.
But Dean was looking miserable with the damp in his hair and his t-shirt sticking to him and Sam realized he was in no better shape.
When they finally stumbled to a halt, the Impala had pulled up behind them, waiting. Dean opened the front door, and was met with a towel flung in his face.
“Dry off,” John said. “You’re not getting in this car when you’re that wet.” Dean sheepishly began to towel off, handing over a second towel for Sam to use. Sam glanced in the back seat and saw a pile of clothes waiting for him. Dean had one too.
Carefully wrapping the towel around him, he peeled off his shirt. A passing car honked. Dean grinned and flexed his arms, in a similar state of undress. Sam blushed, ducking his head. He scooted closer to the car so that he was mostly blocked by sleek metal. Quickly as he could he shed his wet clothes and changed into the dry ones. He slid back into his seat and shoved the wad of wet clothes and towels into the foot of the car, adding Dean’s to the pile when he flung them at Sam’s face.
“Feel better?” John asked. He sounded much calmer.
“Yes, sir.” Dean said quickly, obviously not keen on being put back out into the rain.
Sam nodded when John looked at him, but didn’t meet his father’s eye.
He didn’t know what he felt at just that moment. Like he could run another hour or two and still not be rid of the nervous energy that was sitting just under his skin. Like he wanted his father to be able to look at him without going pale and tired around the edges.
He wasn’t sure if he would ever feel better.
<< Masterpost Chapter 6>>>