A Car's Tires on a Road

Losing only teaches you to not take things for granted

Sometimes when I sit still for a moment and there's nothing else to do while I'm driving my car down the highway, my brain goes into that weird state where it tries to get order into my chaotic mind. I think and think and think and I debate with myself, I try to find explanations, excuses, truths. But in the end, even with all that soul-searching, I never really come to any conclusions.

I was in that state right now. Sam sat shotgun and he was awfully quiet, which could only mean that he knew I was too pissed to speak to. He was watching the scenery of Kansas flying by, every once in a while his eyes would drop to his lap, and I wondered if he found any conclusions where I didn't. Any solution to this latest lie towering between us like the great wall of brotherly betrayal.

I don't even remember how often that saying made sense in our life, the road to Hell is paved with good intentions. I was sure that that's what this was about, good intentions. I needed to believe that Sam really didn't want to see Cas hurt, that it was all Carly in his head, or that he'd done what he'd thought would cause the least damage, and maybe he was right. But being right doesn't forgive doing wrong.

Hours went by in silence, I didn't even feel like listening to music, and the air between us seemed to get thicker and thicker. That's what it always does, after all. He was probably looking for ways to apologize and defend his actions, while I was just looking for ways to keep myself from punching him in the face.

At some point, somewhere near the border to Minnesota, I couldn't do it anymore. I was stewing in the bitter taste of my own anger and disappointment and I just needed an out for it. I needed an explanation. I needed a fight.

So I stopped the Impala on the side of the road and turned to Sam.

He raised his brows, looked like he was debating on whether to flee or to look as innocent as possible, all the while with a big fat question mark in his face that wanted me to start exploding or leave it be altogether.

"You gotta look at me, man," I started, fairly civil and almost calm. "You look me in the eye and tell me you didn't let this happen out of your own thinking."

"Dean, I— I honestly can't tell," was the only answer I got.

I honestly couldn't tell either. Apart from the fact that Sam wasn't normally the type to run after a girl like that, or even any girl at all, for that matter, I hadn't seen any changes in his behavior while under Carly's influence. Though, he sure seemed to always end up with monsters. It was almost hilarious at this point, ironic maybe, a theme throughout his life that was almost too predictable to be funny. Not at all funny, though, was his sympathies for monsters. Maybe it was because of how he'd felt like a monster himself, like he didn't belong with something so dark and evil inside him as demon blood and his destiny to be the meat suit of Satan himself. But no matter how conflicted inside, how desperate to prove himself, I saw it, but I never comprehended his will to defend monsters.

I nodded to myself, disappointed with what I got, because I'd hoped at least he would know. I'd hoped it hadn't been my brother who'd thrown Cas to some bitch without even thinking about what she'd do to him and then lied to me and kept me in the belief that she'd screwed with both of us, and not just with me.

"So then it was just you making another stupid decision," I stated more than asked.

I didn't wait for his answer, if he even had one, just started the car again and drove off, satisfied with the thought of having hurt him with those words. Transfer a little of that hurting just so I wasn't the only miserable idiot around. But it didn't even matter right now. I needed to stow away my anger at him, focus on the task of getting Cas back and swallow all that crap for a while until I had the time and mind for a conflict with my brother. We could have this fight later.