Flirting With Disaster

~ I'm travelin' down the road and I'm flirtin' with disaster
I've got the pedal to the floor and my life is running faster ~

Chapter One: Pedal to the Floor

"Dad's gonna kill you."

Dean Winchester ignored his brother, a grin firmly in place. He should care, he reflected. He really should, considering how pissed his father would get. But at that moment – leaning against his car, anticipation of the race to come coursing through him – the annoyance of his pessimistic little brother and the wrath of John Winchester were not enough to get him worried.

Yet.

A loud bout of cursing and whooping a few yards to Dean's right caught his attention. His grin grew, if possible, even wider as he took in the manly carefree nature of those around him. These were his people. And Sam, still a lanky teen with what Dean thought to be an unnaturally greater interest in school than girls, couldn't see the appeal.

The men who'd caused the nearby commotion were leaning against a souped up monster truck, it's hood propped up as the owner – a leather clad and bandana-wearing man – showed off its engine. The noise had come, judging from the furious look on the owner's face and reputation of the drag racing pool, from a sneering insult to the car.

And, Dean thought as he patted the roof of his own Impala, no one insulted a man's car.

He heard Sam's snort behind him, along with a muttered comment that sounded suspiciously like "Neanderthals."

Then, raising his voice, Sam said, "Dean, I'm serious. Dad is going to kill you."

"Shut up, Sammy," Dean said easily, scanning the scattered groups of people in case someone noticed the unfamiliar black Chevy among their ranks. Dean didn't see anything wrong with a little manly banter about his baby. After all, she was going to kick all these other muscle car's ass. Bumper. Whatever.

Drag racing, Dean thought with a feeling that could only be described as pure glee. Hell yes.

Sam perched on the hood of the Impala and Dean ran his hands over his car one last time, eyes alight with the excitement and adrenaline of the race to come. Sam had to admit it was rare to see his brother so happy about something, the closest feeling Dean'd had to it any time was probably when Dad took him on hunts. And damn if Sam didn't have some thoughts on that twisted logic.

But watching his brother right now, seeming at home with his car that had been his pride and joy for the last year – Dean's euphoria at John's gift had actually brought a smile to the old man's face – and getting ready to kick some ass – supernatural or not – and Sam couldn't help but smirk right along with him.

"Check it out, Dean," Sam said, nodding towards the car a few yards away from them that they would be racing. It was the same car that had caused a commotion before, except the people surrounding it now looked a helluva lot more intimidating. Nothing compared to his big brother, Sam thought with some pride, but mean all the same.

Dean scoffed. "Piece of junk," he said breezily, not caring if anyone heard, because that was Dean. Sam was still grateful that the engines and whoops of the crows were so loud though.

"Ready, Sammy?" Dean asked, patting the roof one more time with a grin and sliding into the car through the window, his more lean than muscular frame fitting in easily.

Sam wanted to try it of course, but he figured with his lanky limbs and damned clumsiness of puberty he'd probably just end up embarrassing himself. He settled for the door.

"Bring it," he said as he sat down.

Dean glanced at him for a second, eyes suddenly uncertain. Sam knew without asking that it was because big brother instincts were kicking in through the high and saying 'why the hell are you letting Sammy do this?'

Sam squashed the doubt immediately. "I'm coming, man, I'm serious. I'm covering your ass for Dad, aren't I?" Dean hesitated a moment, and Sam continued, "No way you're leaving me behind, Dean. It's a freaking drag race, dude!"

Dean's mouth twitched, eyes facing front again as he nodded heartily. "Hell yeah, Sammy," he agreed. "Just...don't go flying through the windshield or anything, alright princess?"

"If you got seat belts in this thing I wouldn't," Sam countered, leaning his arm on the open window, trying to look like he actually belonged.

"Seat belts are for losers," Dean said immediately. "Besides, I'm an awesome driver."

Sam smiled a little. "Yeah, I know."

A loud chorus of 'good-luck' and 'kick the kid's ass' alerted the brothers to the starting of the race, and a smaller man with two flags took his position front and center to the two vehicles. Dean looked over to his opponent, the bandana-clad man studying him at the same time. Dean smirked and tilted his head up in acknowledgment. Bandana-guy just put up a finger.

Sam snorted and Dean leaned back and clenched the gear shift and steering wheel, eyes intent on the track ahead of him.

The flags flew through the air and the two cars were off.

It was clear that Bandana-guy was underestimating this barely-adult that he was racing against. Dean would get ahead for a few seconds, before the monster truck choked loudly and zoomed ahead once more, puffing from its gas-guzzling characteristic.

Dean scowled at the back of the truck. "We can beat that uglyass piece of shit, girl," Dean said determinedly, pressing down harder on the accelerator.

Sam had one hand steadying himself against the dashboard, the other fisted at his side. They were going goddamn fast, he thought with some shock. He was almost afraid to look at the speedometer, but he didn't have to in order to recognize Dean burning the rubber on his tires and the incredible air pressure flying past his ears and catching his breath.

Exhilarating, Sam thought. Not to mention terrifying.

Dean, however, didn't seem to notice the dangerous scenarios running through his brother's head almost as fast as the car was going. Sam knew about steering wheels locking on drivers, brakes malfunctioning...had Dean remembered to check the brakes? Christ, at the rate they were going then, Sam wasn't sure if Dean was still aware that the Impala had brakes.

Dean, ever in-tune with his brother, spared Sam a grinning look before moving one hand to flex on the gearshift.

"Dude, calm down. And watch this," he said wickedly, eyes flashing in the headlight's shadows.

With a swift movement and slamming pressure on the accelerator, Dean gripped the steering wheel tightly with both hands and jerked it to the left just before the two cars reached the final right turn. Zooming fast around the outside of the monster truck, Dean looped around the other car and, by the time the turn was complete, the classic black Chevy was in the lead.

"Whoa," was all Sam was able to manage as he held on for dear life, even as he shouted when the finishing flags were spotted several yards away.

Dean pushed the gas pedal, if possible, even harder, and the Impala crossed the finish line in first.

Dean swept the Impala in a half-circle, laughing and swearing right along with Sam as the adrenaline pulsed through them. The monster truck pulled up next to them a second later, twice the size of the little car and looking pretty intimidating for the losing ride.

Bandana-guy didn't look happy at all, Sam thought, his grin wavering just slightly at the furious look on the guy's face. But Dean's triumphant laughter sounded next to him and Sam told himself to stop being such a timid girl.

"Hey kid," the driver said, "one more lap. Whadaya say?" He twirled a finger around in the air to encompass the track.

Dean grinned, leaning across Sammy slightly to raise his eyebrows at the older man. "I say that the first ass-kicking wasn't just my luck."

Bandana-guy gave a humorless smirk, narrowing his eyes slightly. He flicked his cigarette butt to the ground, gunned his engine, gave Dean the finger, and stepped on the gas. The crowd of bikers and punks watching clapped with approval. Dean may have won, but he was still the newbie.

Dean pulled back immediately and hastened to press down hard on the pedal, the Impala roaring to respond underneath him and speeding to catch up. Sam didn't grip the dashboard this time, feeling the same adrenaline Dean had had this whole time and a laugh fell from his mouth and caught in the air flying past them through the window. Dean concentrated on the road even as he grinned, confidence oozing out of him as the Impala tailed the truck.

Dean twisted the wheel to the right in an opposite direction but still repeat move of before, grip deathly tight as he controlled the steering wheel. Sam had his eyes on any strategic routes Dean could take, while the elder Winchester brother relied purely on instinct.

That instinct was what caused his eyes to widen and feet to shift pedals at the speed of light so slam on the brakes as the truck suddenly slowed down and Dean nearly rear-ended it hard. Just as suddenly though, the truck switched gears and plowed forward again. As soon as Dean got close the second time, the driver did the same thing, Dean reacting with a split-second to spare.

"The hell is he doing?" Dean growled, eyes narrowed and one hand remaining on the gear shift as his whole body stayed tense. Sam glanced from his brother to the vehicle in front of them, slightly uncertain.

"Go to his left," Sam suggested, glancing over to where there was a fence now barring the road.

"Are you nuts?" Dean snapped. "I'll be trapped by the fence!"

Sam flushed slightly, but defended himself, "You can't go any other way, Dean!"

The elder brother hesitated, face set in concentration as he tried to maneuver around the large truck, but every time he tried the driver would pull the same stopping trick and Dean swore loudly as his other hand flew to help grip the steering wheel in place. Dean glanced to the left, where there was enough room between the truck and the fence that, if he went fast enough, the car could squeeze ahead.

Making the decision, Dean slowed down slightly and turned the steering wheel carefully, not wanting to tip of Bandana-guy just yet. Then, he switched a gear and pushed his car forward quickly, positioning himself between the truck and the fence but slightly ahead of Bandana-guy's ride. Grinning, Dean reached for the gearshift again, and Sam looked over to match his brother's smile. It froze on his face suddenly as he took in the sight of the massive monster truck bearing down on them sideways.

"DEAN!" Sam was barely able to shout before a blinding pain shot through his head where it had smacked against the door and headrest.

He heard his brother's swearing echoing through his pounding head, could feel the panic coming off of Dean like it was a wave. Then, while his vision was still blurry, Sam made out Dean's wide-eyed face as he grappled with the out-of control steering just as the monster truck rammed into the significantly smaller Chevy a second, much more forcible time.

Sam knew no more as his body seemed to fly in the air for a second, having a sickening impact and slumping against the overturned Impala's side.

Dean, having fought until the last millisecond to gain control back over his car, remained conscious yet trapped under the wreckage and feeling like absolute shit. His body jarred with every movement, and he could do nothing but lie there for several agonizing seconds before the one thought that could snap out of anything filtered through the pain.

Sam's hurt. Sam's hurt, oh god Sam.

"Sammy," Dean tried, but it came out as a hoarse croak, and there was no answer either. The shocked voices of people surrounding the accident reached Dean's ears, and spurred him into moving. Sam was his number one priority, get Sam safe. Safe.

"Sam!" Dean managed to shout, fighting his way out from under the broken door of his precious car.

He tumbled out onto the asphalt of the track, only a few feet away from the nearest spectator. No one made a move to help him as he dragged himself to a standing position against his overturned car, squinting around desperately for his brother.

Dean didn't the sight he saw would ever leave him.

A strangled, choking sound escaped his mouth, and he forgot about his physical pain for a minute as he practically dove over to where Sammy was slumped, bleeding and bruised and torn up.

"Sam," Dean forced out, scanning his brother with desperate hands and horrified eyes at the sight of Sam so broken and limp. Dean forced himself to press two fingers to the kid's neck, feeling grateful, so so grateful when he felt a pulse and saw Sam's shallow, strained breathing.

Dean felt the blood pooling against his side, and he looked down to see the injury clearly. Bile rose in his throat as Dean took in the sight of the ripped, shredded skin through Sam's tattered shirt. It was flowing blood, and as Dean glanced up he saw pieces of Sam's shirt hanging off broken chain links of the barbed fence.

Impaled in the fence. Dean thought he might be sick. It was a miracle Sam was even alive and God what had he been thinking?

"Sammy," Dean said again, could only think to say his brother's name in the past few minutes. "Sammy, come on bro, you gotta wake up."

There was no answer as Dean all but tore off his outer shirt, ignoring the flare of pain in his shoulder and pressing down hard on the wound in Sam's side.

His brother's face didn't even twitch.

Infection, there's going to be infection, and shit I can't even move him. Concussion, bad concussion, shitshitshit...

He did this.

The thought hit the nineteen-year-old with a staggering force of fury.

Dean stood up and his hand went inside jacket in a movement so smooth the people closest to him almost backed up in surprise. But the Winchester had his sight set on the monster truck several yards away, it's engine still running and driver still inside. As Dean watched, the vehicle vroom-ed a few times, then sped away, the sound of the engine and smell of burning rubber and feel of his brother's blood making his vision blur and start to tint red.

It was only the sound of sirens in the distance that urged him not to follow and commit murder when good samaritans were headed his way. Someone had called 911, and on that realization practically the whole lot of people scrambled to leave the area. As if Dean needed another blow to his stomach for why he shouldn't have brought Sammy here. Stupidstupidstupid...

One person stepped towards the brother – probably who called the ambulance, being one of the only people there that didn't have a fear of the cops - but the heated glare, the raw fury at the truck owner and this place and himself reflected in the look, and the guy backed up quickly to get the hell out of Dodge.

And Dean crouched there beside his brother in the shadowed moonlight, supporting his head once more and pressing his hand against the would in Sam's side. The only sound in the deserted lot came from the fast-nearing wails of sirens. Dean was barely aware of himself saying aloud as the deafening noise was almost upon them, "Come on, Sammy. I gotcha, just wake up, bro...wake up."

A/N:- Well, hey! *blinks innocently* What cliffy? No idea what you mean, really.

*grins* Drag-racing, guys! Isn't that so cool? Dangerous as hell, but still! Deano just kicks ass. But back to the story. This'll only be about three or four chapters, I'm thinking, depending on how bad off I wanna make Sammy's injuries *nods* Poor baby. And also on how much of an asshole John wants to be... But yeah, so, I'm calling upon the guilty-conscience-of-mine to pester me to finish this. Also agent iz hyper's poking (iz- yes, yes I know the drag racing wasn't going to be in this story...heh, explaining to do, much?), your guys' absolutely wonderful and extremely appreciated reviews, and a helluva lot of gummy worms.

Because this is my first SPN chapter fic so I'm worried about myself. But it's the big three-oh in stories for me! Whoot *throws mini-party for self cuz I'm cool*

On an unrelated note, it is late as shit and I'm never gonna wake up for school tomorrow but that's okay. Because I finished this. And that makes falling asleep in math worth it. Right? Right.

Review, pleeeease :3

See ya soon.~
Dodo.