Keeping up with the Joneses

Part Eight

It was nighttime. The boys and Sara had just finished up with their case, all of them nursing mild injuries from the fight. They had just found where the coordinates in John's journal led to, but Sam said that he wasn't going. Sara was a bit saddened by this, but was as supportive as she could be. Dean, on the other hand, was a little more outwardly upset.

Either way, the three of them drove back to his place at Stanford and dropped him off. They watched him walk off, and once he reached the building, Sara looked at Dean expectantly.

"Dean?"

"Hold on, I got a bad feeling." Sara's heart sank, feeling the same thing but not allowing herself to think of what could be going on. Just then, the room they knew belonged to Sammy glowed a bright orange. Sara gasped, flinging her door open and running up to the building. She heard Dean calling her name, but didn't stop to turn and wait. Instead, she sprinted up and flung Sam's door open, seeing him lying on his bed with a horrified expression on his face.

"Sammy!" She screamed, running into the room without hesitation. She grabbed his arm, unable to pull him away from his girlfriend. Dean arrived, grabbing Sam around the waist and the two of them pulled Sam from the room as he screamed for Jess. Thankfully, they got him out before the whole room filled with flames.

Sam was barely able to walk it seemed, and Sara held on to his arm as they walked out of the building. The fire department eventually showed, and Dean separated from Sam and Sara to watch.

Sam went about rummaging through the Impala's trunk and checking weapons, tears silently streaming down his face. Sara hadn't left his side as he did, and she looked between Sam and the weapons with tears in her own eyes.

"Sam," she took a step closer to him, a tear falling slowly from one of her eyes. He looked down at her, his face shining with his own. Her expression was pained, looking her best friend up and down. She pulled him into a silent hug, which he didn't return at first. She felt his body shake with silent sobs as he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, stuffing his face in the crook of her neck. "I'm so sorry," she whispered, reaching her hand to rub his back. They stayed like that until Dean walked over, eyeing the two sadly.

Sam pulled away, wiping his face and sniffling. Sara wiped her own tears as well, making sure that neither boy saw. Sam grabbed a rifle from the back, looking at Dean with a calculated expression on his face.

"We've got work to do."

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Some classic rock song or another was playing on the radio as Sam slept in the passenger side, Dean drove, and Sara picked at her cuticles in the back. She was emotionally exhausted from the last night, having gotten no sleep and aching horribly for her best friend. She wanted nothing more than to take his pain away, hating to see him so torn up. Dean eyed her from his rearview mirror, pausing to make sure that Sam was really asleep when he spoke.

"Sara?" She looked up from her fingers, pressing down as one of them began to bleed.

"What's up?"

"Are you okay?" He looked intently at her in the mirror, eyes every once and awhile returning to the road.

Sara's eyebrows furrowed, looking back at him questioningly. "What? Dean, I'm fine. Why?"

"Well," he said with a sigh. "For one thing, you seemed to have absolutely no problem running into that fire for Sam."

If possible, her brows grew closer together. She looked around the car's interior, eyes resting on Sammy's head for a moment.

"Dean, why would I have a problem with that? It's Sam. You trying to tell me you wouldn't have done the same? Because, believe it or not, you did the exact same thing. You were right behind me."