EIGHTEEN
As Bobby's van rumbled over the rough road back to the main drag, its familiar scent surrounded Sam. The smell of Bobby's cars, a mixture of oil and the comforting scent of sun-warmed flannel, instantly transported Sam back to his childhood. How many times had he driven around with Bobby while his dad was out on a case? A lot of the time Dean and his dad worked together, leaving Sam alone. It had created a distance between Sam and his father and brother. But Bobby had always been there. He had a way of making Sam feel at home.
They hit Highway 80 and drove west. Passing through Emigrant Gap, Sam watched the now-familiar edifices of smooth grey granite on both sides of the highway. In cracks in the granite, pine trees grew. Sam flipped the sun visor down as the afternoon wore on. The canyon of the Yuba River soon yawned before them, carving deep trenches in the granite. Fire scars marked the forest here and there, creating a swath of bare trees, many scorched black.
They descended, entering the foothills. Pine trees covered rounded slopes and the sun streamed through the branches. Soon the foothills leveled out, and they entered the Central Valley. In the distance, Sam could see the outline of Sacramento's downtown cluster of buildings. The wide, flat plain of the American River stretched before them.
They drove past the skyscrapers and over the river. The sun dipped lower and Sam shifted in his seat, worried about Dean. He didn't like leaving him out there. He knew that joining Bobby would make assembling the weapon go a hell of a lot faster, but he was still uneasy. Dean hadn't been the same since Sam got his soul back. Sam had watched his brother wandering around only partly engaged. Disillusionment and weariness kept creeping closer to Dean.
"Bobby," Sam said, squinting in the sun to face him. "I'm worried about Dean."
Bobby regarded him out of the corner of his eye. "And he's worried about you. Some things never change. You two spend more time worrying about each other than you do breathing in and out."
"I'm serious. This feels different."
Bobby sighed. "All right, how does it feel different?"
"It feels like Dean wants to give up."
"Yeah, I've noticed that, too," Bobby conceded reluctantly. "Not a safe way to be in this game. The last thing a hunter needs is to be distracted."
"Or disillusioned."
"Yeah."
"Can you talk to him?"
"I will."
As they drove across the Yolo Wildlife Area, Sam stared out at the birds gathering in the wetlands just off the highway. He thought about his brother, about the strange distance that had arisen between them. He remembered a time, not so long ago, when they had an almost telepathic understanding of each other. Back then they shared an unquestioning trust when it came to hunting together. But he didn't feel that now.
Sam knew he'd been distracted, too, fighting off images of Lucifer and flashbacks of agony from his time spent in the cage. Sometimes it felt like his head was tearing in two, with one part back in that terrible place, and the other part here, fighting monsters just like he'd always done. With each day he felt those two parts separate more, and constantly had to remind himself that he was out of the cage. That was no longer his existence, no matter how much his hallucinations of Lucifer wanted to convince him otherwise. The scar in his hand where Dean had stabbed him served as a reminder of how real this world was. It still ached and Sam was glad for it. He drove his thumb into the scar any time his mind doubted the reality of this world.
He missed Dean. He missed himself, his old self. Sometimes he thought of his time at Stanford before he resumed the life of a hunter. Life had seemed full of hope then. He had been starting a future with Jess and attending college like he'd always wanted. Then everything had changed that night Dean showed up and told him their dad had gone missing. Sam had rejoined the hunt and his life had never been the same again. Maybe it never had the chance of being normal. He was a Winchester, after all.
