"Sammy, come with me."

Sam smiled that fake smile that had taken 16 years to perfect, "Can't, Dean. Someone's got to stay and watch after Dad. But you need to do this. An opportunity like this … it doesn't come around twice."

Dean shook his head. "Not leaving you behind, geek boy. Either you come with, or I stay here."

Sam snorted. "I'm a big boy, Dean. Can look after myself. Me and Dad, we'll be fine. You go. Do this. See how it turns out. You know, you can always come home again."

It was Dean's turn to snort. "You sure about that? Once Dad finds out …"

Sam shrugged. "He'll be hurt. He'll get over it. One son in the family business is plenty. You love to drive, Dean. It's like someone's paying you to breathe."

Dean grinned, his excitement humming like an electric current through the cheap motel room. "Like paying me WELL to breathe." He added. "I still can't believe it." He sank down on the edge of the damp bed, shaking his head. "Of all the things I'd never thought could ever happen to me, getting discovered in Shitwater, Tennessee wasn't one of them."

Sam grinned. "Guess all that tinkering with go-karts finally paid off."

Dean stared at Sam with all the possibilities of life shining in his eyes, "They think I can make pro, Sammy. We're talking NASCAR, here. What the hell? Me?"

"Why not you? You have a gift, Dean."

"I'm old though. Some of those guys, they've been racing since they could walk."

"And you haven't? Dean, I remember you peeling away from that rawhead hunt when you were, what? Nine? You couldn't even see over the dash, but Dad was hurt and couldn't do anything more than moan on the backseat. You got him to the hospital in minutes. Most grown men would have had trouble on those old backroads."

Dean suddenly looked severe. "That thing was coming for you, Sammy. Bastard was heading straight for the car with it's eyes glued to you. That night wasn't to get Dad to a hospital so much as it was to put as many miles as possible between you and that evil sonofabitch."

Sam felt touched. He'd never heard that version of the story.

He was going to miss his brother.

He stood, pasting what he hoped was a realistic smile on his face, as he moved to stand over the boy who'd looked after him all his life. He placed a hand on Dean's shoulder. "Just don't get yourself killed, okay? And you better call. I think at least twice a day is acceptable."

Dean suddenly looked haunted. "I don't wanna leave you behind."

"You can come back and get me once you've made your millions. We'll swim in your Olympic-sized pool filled with champagne, and you can introduce me to Yasmine Bleeth."

Dean's jaw dropped. "Dude! You WERE paying attention."

Sam snorted, "Kind of hard not to, Dean, considering Baywatch has been your go-to choice of television for the last three years."

"Religion, Sammy. Baywatch is a religion." Dean said, closing his eyes and smiling, "Such tiny bikinis. So many big …"

"Dean."

"What? I was going to say "beaches."

Sam shook his head, stepping into his sneakers. "Yeah you were. Anyway, Dad said to meet him at the diner in two hours. It's time."

Dean stood, nodding. He glanced over at his brother. "So … I got your blessing on this? For real? You won't hate me if I leave?"

Sam looked up, surprise evident in his face. "You'll always have my blessing, Dean. You know that. Go. Drive. Make money and score beautiful girls." He smiled, reaching for his jacket.

"But what about you?"

Sam grinned, shoving Dean ahead of him out the door. "I plan to live vicariously through the exploits of my big brother. So you better make it interesting, jerk."