Hands, Eyes, Hearts - A Collection of Supernatural Drabbles

12 // Sam

[Caution: Wincest, non-graphic. Also regrettable angsty schmoop. You probably shouldn't read this. I place the blame squarely in that dedication slot up there. O_O]

Sam doesn't know how Dean drives as much as he does. He enjoys it. Dean is at home on the road--four wheels kissing asphalt, and nothing above him but sky.

Whereas Sam pretty much only drives when he has to. To some extent, he understands what Dean loves about the car. There's power under her sleek, black hood. Sam can wrap his knuckles around the worn steering wheel and feel the hum that races through her when she's idling, just itching to race off to somewhere new. He can tense his thighs against the leather seat and know he's not alone, that not just Dean passed out in the passenger seat but Baby herself is with him.

But he doesn't get a rush out of driving over 100 mph. (Frankly, it's nerve-wracking.)

He doesn't feel awed driving at night, when the strips of glaring white fold away beneath them like he's got to drive faster or they'll tip backward right off the edge of the world. Sam hates driving at night. He can't see properly--his night vision has never been as acute as Dean's--and when the road lines disappear, even for a second, he gets hit with a gut-clenching terror that maybe this time he'll miss the lane entirely and run off the road.

Sam doesn't mind driving when Dean's hungover, though.

It's so bright outside, too hot to leave the windows rolled up, and the radio is already at a decent volume over the rushing wind when Sam hears those grunting snores that signify Dean is out cold. Sam could stick a whole pack of Jelly Beans up his brother's nose, and Dean would never notice. That means that when Boys of Summer comes on, Sam can indulge in a guilty pleasure.

He never sings when Dean can hear him. He never sings loud enough to wake Dean up. There would be no end to the ribbing if he were caught, and Sam has been so careful this whole time to never let on: he can actually, kind of... sing.

"I feel it in the air, the summer's out of reach," Sam murmurs. "Empty lake, empty streets... the sun goes down alone." 

He glances at Dean. "I'm drivin' by your house, though I know you're not home."

Sam refuses to sing the chorus, it's too high, but he taps idle fingers on his thigh to the beat. He's relaxed, driving with his left hand in his lap. The song is lending both nostalgia and timelessness to the drive--not to mention the deja vu that comes from criss-crossing the same country over the course of his entire life, so far. It's an awkward, cozy blend of sensory input.

"Remember how I made you crazy? Remember how I made you scream."

His knuckles whiten slightly on the steering wheel.

Objectively, Sam knows that the past is in the past for multiple reasons, not the least of which would be the slow, inexorable march of time. He knows that his memories are made rosy by the fallibility of human memory, and that if he remembered as clearly as he was able, he'd remember all the bitter arguments that came along with his particular sick brand of happiness. 

But he misses Dean.

He misses what they had.

If that makes him wrong, well.

Sam swallows with a dry throat. He resists glancing to his right again. Dean is still making those soft snoring noises, and Sam can just hear them over the music. It's reminding him all over again. Green eyes, so much behind them, fluttering closed with a turn of Dean's head away. Tears welling in them, unshed. Anger. Fear.

Especially the last two, especially recently.

It's not like he can run from his past, or forget it any kind of completely. He drives around with it stuffed in his back pocket. Sleeps in the bed beside it every single night. But he can squash that part of it down inside himself until it's just a twinge during lines in a song.

"Out on the road today, I saw a Deadhead sticker on a Cadillac. A little voice inside my head said, 'Don't look back. You can never look back'. 

"I thought I knew what love was... what did I know? Those days are gone forever; I should just let them go, but--"

"I can see you," Sam sings.

He thinks, and that's got to be enough.