Fish out of Water (A Sequel to Flightless Bird, SPN FanFic)

A Fucking Post it Note (5)

We drove fast in the red truck Sam had stolen. We drove so fast in fact that I found myself gripping the seat so hard my knuckles turned white. I didn't want to say anything to him... I was afraid to. Afraid to say anything that was on my mind. Afraid to say  'Slow Down.' or 'Can we stop and talk about this?' or 'If Dean really is a demon, what are we going to do with him once we find him?'.

"Scar, you're doing it again," he said suddenly and I turned to him.

"What?" I beg him to clarify.

"Getting lost in your mind, in your thoughts," he told me. "what is it? What's up?"

"Nothing," I lied. "I'm just thinking." But Sam knew me better, and the look he gave me was one so unconvinced I felt horrible about lying. The only thing keeping me from telling the truth was the fear of distracting him from our main goal, however dangerous it was: Dean.

"Tell me what you're thinking Scar," he pleads. "this silence is killing me." I look at him and heave a sigh.

"Well, you're going frighteningly fast," I say and he smirks lightly, giving a nod and easing off the gas.

"Sorry," he tells me and I smile lightly, finally able to relax my grip without being thrown about the truck. "what else are you thinking about?" I inhale deeply, trying to find the right words.

"Do you really think it's Dean?" I wondered. He nodded. "And you're positive he's a demon," he nodded again. "sweet mother above," I mutter under my breath, shaking my head.

"We'll figure something out Scar," he tells me.

"Well then let's do it. Talk to me, tell me what you're thinking."

"Well," he pauses. "The mark has him demented in some sort of way, I can't really tell you how messed up he is, but I can guarantee it's on a whole other level compared to our usual impossible situations."

"Right," I nod and he continues.

"I mean, he died Scar, that does things to a person. You know it, I know it, Dean surely knows it. But dying and coming back a demon? The closest experience we have to that is-"

"Me. The closest experience we have is me." I finished for him and we sat in silence for a few moments. "And that didn't go over well."

"No," he agrees. "it didn't, but we know things now. Things we didn't know before. We're older, wiser, we can do it this time."

"Sam, you can't be so sure."

"But I am, I feel it. We just need to talk to him, let him see us and hear and be face to face and he's going to have to believe we can help him."

"Do you believe?"

"That I can help him?" he clarifies to which I nod. "Of course. In some way or another I know I can." Another crack of silence fell across us in the stolen truck and I thought over everything he was saying until finally, I spoke up.

"Okay, let's do it then." I agree and smile. He looks to me briefly, flashing a tired smile and takes my hand, squeezing it gently. "With that said, it's definitely time to pull over for the night. You look dog-tired," I tell him and he nods.

We pull into the next motel and get a room for the remainder of the night. While Sam runs to a convenience store, I try to settle myself into the motel room for the night, but without clothes to change into and nothing to really wash up with, I was left unable to relax. That and the fact that all of our weapons were gone too. If ambushed, I didn't know how I was to protect myself.

After struggling to calm down, I end up giving up and pacing the motel room. I turned the TV up as loud as it would go in an attempt to distract myself but I still found my anxiety getting the better of me. I walked to the window, then to the bed, then to the washroom, then to the mini fridge, and then I repeated until Sam got back. He pushed the door open and stepped inside with a couple of bags.