RTC
RTC – Road Traffic Collision,
formerly referred to as Road Traffic Accident.
But 'accident' implies it's no one's fault…
Author's Foreword
Motivation: written last autumn but thought it too crap to release. Then tonight, as I sat here with a bad bout of writers block I thought of something Nick Harper once said on the BBC sitcom My Family:
"we're all going to screw up anyway,
so why not screw up on the side of
Hey! Why the hell not!"
So if you like it then please tell me and I may continue, if not then also please tell me and I'll stop torturing Sam with Health Care Professionals.
(I merely mention that on the principle that I have to work with the buggers so why shouldn't he suffer too!)
Locations: completely fabricated within the corridors of my rather sick mind along with the dreadful plot
Charactersnot mine in any way shape or form, apart from the emergency team.
And unlike most emergency teams I've been acquainted with over the years, I have written this one to be highly trained, non-sadistic, and appear to make a good impression of people that actually know that they're doing.
Synopsis: Dean is badly beaten. And it's Sam to the rescue!
But on responding to Dean's call for help, Sam learns the hard way that 4X4s don't respond well to over steer.
Set after Season 2
Introducing a Supernatural fan fiction…
Chapter 1
"Sammy"...a slurred voice rang out on Sam's cell phone.
"Dean? What the fuck did you think you were doing?" Sam struggled to maintain his grip on the wheel as anger washed through him closely followed by relief.
There was some more shouting on Sam's part before the relief was short lived.
Dean let out a small gasp. It sounded like he was in pain.
"Dean! You ok man?"
"Not so good" there was a scuffling sound. "I think my...my drink ...was spiked..." this was followed by a long groan. "H..hurts to b-breathe…"
"Dean where are you?"
"...a...an' then they beat the shit out of me..." he groaned again. "…..couldn't fight back….."
There was the sound of Dean sliding down a wall, a thud as his backside hit the ground, some brief swearing, and what sounded like mumbled directions.
"I repeat. Where the hell are you?" The frustration in Sam's voice was rapidly being outdone by concern when Dean made a second attempt at telling his brother what planet he was currently occupying. The reaction was certainly interesting to behold, but not quite what Dean was expecting:
Sam nearly hit the roof. "That's nearly into the next state! Dude, that's hours away!"
"Just p- please come get m..." followed by another thud as he tipped sideways and his head hit the ground.
"Dean? Hey Dean!" Sam felt a moment of panic until he heard a groan down the phone "Just take it easy and don't move. I'll be there as soon as I can."
Dean replied sounding drunk "You the man..."
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Hoursearlier
"Bobby? When Sam wakes up tell him I'll be back later." Dean swiped his car keys off the work top.
Bobby Singer, long time friend to the Winchester family, nodded giving Dean a slow appraising stare. He put down the piston he'd been cleaning and reached for an oily rag.
"And if he asks...?"
Dean grinned at the older hunter "I've gone to seek a close encounter of the female kind."
Bobby raised an amused eyebrow. "So you'll be gone most of the night then." The appraising look returned. "You and Sam had a rough time last night. That Banshee was no picnic." He gestured to the bruises and cuts on Dean's face. "May be you should take a leaf outa Sam's book and get some rest."
Dean shook his head. "Not tired. And besides, I'm feeling lucky. May be I'll hustle some poker, make some quick cash."
Sam and Dean had been staying at Bobby Singer's for a while. Ever since the gates to hell had been opened, they'd needed Bobby's support and friendship. The shock of seeing their father and the ordeal of defeating the yellow-eyed demon had taken its toll on all of them. Dean was becoming more and more reckless and Sam was freaking out about it. The younger Winchester brother spent hours reading books, trawling the internet for any scrap of information about deals with the cross-road demon and in particular how said deals could be broken, but to no avail. He barely slept or ate between hunts; if he wasn't sleeping because of research, then it was usually down to Dean's cavalier attitude during the hunts that had Sam constantly on edge, watching his older brother, making sure he didn't throw his life away needlessly before the year was up.
Bobby watched both the boys with a good deal of concern. It seemed to him that if Sam couldn't find a way to save his sibling, then it would kill him anyway, making the deal seem pointless. May be he would just fade away, dissolved in his grief, or perhaps he would adopt Dean's carefree outlook and get himself killed on a hunt. Bobby almost hoped for the latter option; it would be too much to bear to see Sam die slowly and painfully, hollowed out and destroyed.
"If you boys need cash…." Bobby called out, but stopped when Dean turned back to stare at him with that all too familiar stubborn Winchester expression.
"You do enough for us as it is. We pay our way." Dean's face softened a little. "Just keep an eye on Sam for me ok? The guy keeps following me around, waiting for me to drop. I just want him to take better care of himself once in a while." He shook his head a little and glanced back at Bobby. "Make sure he eats something? Please?" He added softly.
"I'll see what I can do, but the minute that boy realises you've gone he'll wanna go after ya."
Dean shrugged. "Just keep him occupied with a few geeky research books and he'll be fine." He picked up his leather coat, gave a small salute and went out the door. Bobby heard the rumble as the Impala sprang to life, and turned back to the engine block on the work bench.
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Dean hummed along to Aerosmith's Something's Gotta Give. He felt happier than he had in ages. It was like a huge weight had been lifted and he was flying.
Ok may be not flying, he corrected himself, remembering the last time he'd been on board a plane. It wasn't an experience he wished to repeat, especially as flying scared the living crap outa him, but there was no way he was letting his little brother on board a doomed flight by himself. As it was it had taken the two of them to perform the exorcism on the sonofabitch-phantom traveller, and whilst Dean still had nightmares about seeing the ground rushing up to meet him, Sam hadn't gotten off so lightly either. The demon-possessed pilot had spoken of Sam's dead girlfriend Jess, and that had set off the guilt trips.
Demons lie, but sometimes they tell the truth just to mess with your head…..
Sam was certainly prone to the guilts, Dean reflected. But now he had something completely different to feel guilty about. Dean pushed that thought to the back of his mind; if he could have gone back in time he'd do it all over again, make the same deal. Anything to bring Sam back from the dead. And whether Sam liked it or not he was going to have to live with it.
Dean had hoped to get the full ten years but considering how much he'd pissed off the cross-road demon the first time they'd met, he supposed that was asking a bit much. So he was stuck with one year left on this mortal plane. One more year before his descent into hell.
"One more year of beer, junk food, hunting….and a lot of sex!" He muttered to himself happily.
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After a satisfyingly long drive, Dean pulled up to the first bar he came to and jumped out, locking the car. He strode across the parking lot, took a brief look at the name on the sign over the door, smirked and went inside.
There was this to be said about the The Red Pig Roadhouse; it certainly lived up to its name. It was red, for a start. Every wall, even the ceiling was painted in a bright red, so startling that it hurt the eyes. Lastly, the place was a pig, or rather the kind of place you'd expect to find pigs, and if the bar staff and clientele were anything to go by Old MacDonald had given up the farming business years ago and moved on. These people weren't pigs as such, more like wart hogs but not necessarily as intelligent, judging from the grunts and snorts that obviously passed as conversation round here. That was the only reason Dean didn't walk out there and then.
The floor was mostly covered in what Dean fervently hoped was mud – the alternative was just too much to contemplate, though the smell wasn't allowing him a lot of room to manoeuvre on that point. Where there wasn't mud there was straw, and the music came from an old cassette player in the corner that had definitely seen better times. Something, or quite possibly someone was warbling out "Blue Velvet" and might have once sounded halfway decent, but either the tape had become so warped or the player itself was on its last legs that it sounded to Dean as though something was being slowly strangled, possibly at the bottom of the ocean.
He shrugged to himself and wandered over to the bar. It took some time for the bartender to put down his newspaper and haul himself over to the new customer standing patiently at the counter. His beer gut was an impressive sight, Dean realised, if you liked that kind of thing, and this guy's could have been a world record holder.
"What can I get ya?" Rumbled Beer Gut. He seemed friendly enough so Dean ordered a Bud and waited for about another ten minutes as he struggled to bend down and get one out of the cooler. Then, on realising that the bottle opener was on the other side of the bar, waddled over to retrieve it. This took another five minutes, and by the time Dean had the beer in front of him he was so parched that he nearly downed the whole damn bottle in one swallow. He figured that if he wanted another drink he'd better order it now.
"Hey man, can I get another?" Dean asked, putting on his best-buddy grin. Beer Gut returned it, and after another significant wait another beer was placed on the bar. Dean thanked him, then after a brief glance around the room, leaned over to the barman conspiratorially and asked "So whadda people do round here for fun?"
Beer Gut looked at him, as if trying to process what Dean was asking him. After a while he spoke "mostly thems folks" he nodded to a group of what appeared to be humans over in the corner of the bar "they plays cards. Poker mainly." That seemed to be all he had to say on the matter because he slouched off back to his seat and newspaper.
Dean picked up his beer and casually strolled over to the card players. They were indeed playing poker. For money.
"Howdy", Dean grimaced inside as he said it. That phrase had always come off as a bit cheesy to him, but the players didn't seem to care one way or the other.
One of them glanced up, his hair a mess of tangles, and his facial features were altogether a little too, well, piggy-like for Dean's comfort.
"What you want boy?" he growled.
Dean tried the friendly approach again; it seemed to work on the bartender. "I was wondering if you boys had room for another. I'm just takin' a break, been on the road for ever."
The so-called men glanced at each other, nodded, and without another word shifted over to make room for Dean. One of them even pulled up a chair for him.
Not the most talkative bunch he'd ever come across. And certainly not overly endowed in the IQ department, Dean thought to himself, mentally rubbing his hands with glee.
The cards were dealt.
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Sam awoke with a jolt, sweat pouring off him. He'd been having the same nightmares every night for a while now.
….. the year was up, the cross-road demon had come for his brother, and with a sad smile Dean fell down dead, not a scratch on him, his bright green eyes dull and lifeless. The demon laughed.
Jess, pinned to the ceiling with flames consuming her…
Why Sam?
Wiping a hand over his face, Sam sighed, wondering how much more of this he could stomach. Noting that it was getting dark out, he turned his attention to the laptop and switched it on, preparing for another endless night of research. He didn't care how long it took him, or what he had to do to save his older brother, so long as he did it before the end of the year.
After an hour or so of frustration, Sam went in search of some fruit juice. Stumbling bleary-eyed into the kitchen he raided the fridge until he found what he was looking for, grabbed a glass from the cupboard above the sink and poured. He could hear the sound of someone working in the yard; there was the metallic clanking noise as an engine was being refitted. Placing the juice back in the fridge, Sam wandered outside into the deepening gloom and searched in the half light for Bobby and Dean. Unable to make anything out, he moved around the side of the building and into the glow of the flood-lights that shone across the yard. There he found Bobby working on the engine of an old Ford Mustang.
But Dean was nowhere in sight.
Sam quickened his pace "Bobby? Where's Dean?" There was a sharp edge of worry in Sam's voice that Bobby couldn't fail to notice.
Bobby stood up and moved towards the younger Winchester, noting not for the first time the dark shadows under Sam's eyes. "Now you just hold your horses there young Sam. Dean's gone out for a while, that's all."
He didn't think it was worth mentioning that he might be gone all night. No sense in agitating Sam any further.
"Did he say where?" Sam asked sharply.
"Sam, it's ok. Let's go inside and I'll fix us something to eat" Bobby tried putting a comforting hand on Sam's shoulder, but it was shrugged off.
"I need to borrow a car." Sam stood arms folded, unmoving and as solid as a rock, the look on his face an exact replica of the one worn by his older brother earlier on in the day. Bobby inwardly groaned, knowing that when either one of them adopted that expression there would be no dissuading them from whatever course of action they'd chosen to take. He made a last ditch attempt anyway, just for the look of it.
"Dean's fine. He just needs some time alone, to think. There's no need to worry 'bout him." But Sam remained determined. The only thing that would likely work would be to drug the boy somehow, and Bobby didn't think that would be appreciated. And besides, he knew he couldn't betray Sam like that. Truth be told, he wasn't happy with Dean being on his own out there either. At least when Sam was with him he had someone to watch his back. Bobby sighed, went into the workshop and picked up a set of keys. He hesitated for a second before throwing them to Sam, who caught them with agility and grace.
"I don't know exactly where he was headed, but he turned south out of the yard. He planned to play some poker, make some money." Among other things, Bobby silently added. "Take the red SUV out back. Be careful out there." He had no idea why he said that, only that he felt it was necessary.
Sam nodded. "Thanks Bobby." He turned to go, then whispered "I appreciate this." He headed out into the now full blown night.
There was no moon but there were plenty of stars out to see by. Sam rounded the back of the workshop and grimaced at the sight of the vehicle he was about journey out in. It was indeed a red 4X4, but it was also old. So old in fact that Sam wondered if it was older than him.
He shrugged and climbed up into the driver's side and slid in behind the wheel. Any port in a storm. One way or another he was finding his brother tonight, even if he had to do it on foot.
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Dean was feeling decidedly smug. He had been right about the other people seated at the poker game, and had managed to "win" about a hundred and fifty bucks. On top of that he'd easily discovered what they were up to, and had beaten them at their own game, so to speak. The men were looking at him with daggers in their eyes, as he scooped the last of the notes up and stuffed them into his jean pocket. Well, Dean reflected, no cheater likes to be cheated.
Feeling that this was perhaps the right moment to beat a hasty retreat, he got up from his seat. "Well gentlemen, it's been a pleasure doing business. Now if you'll excuse me…." Dean turned away and made his way out of the bar. The night was cool and fresh after the questionable smells he'd just escaped from, and he glanced up at the night sky.
Which started slowly spinning.
Whoa! I only had three beers, Dean thought to himself as he leaned against the wall of the building. Waiting for the world to right itself, he took a few deep breaths and glanced across the parking lot. The Impala was heavily hidden in the shadows but he could just make out the slight gleam of his beloved car among the trees.
As he straightened up he felt his stomach lurch and he fell back against the wall.
Ok, this isn't normal. What the hell is happening to me for Christ sake?
Then the spinning world decided that taking pity on him wouldn't be much fun, and picked up speed. Dean felt as though he were about to pass out, when a large hairy fist connected with his stomach, nearly causing it to empty right then and there. Somehow he managed to hold onto his dignity and ducked the next blow that came his way. Suddenly he found himself picked up and slammed into the wall, pinned by one of the poker players. He didn't know the bastard's name because none of them had been too forthcoming with that information.
"You cheated us boy. You gonna pay." Came a hoarse voice in his ear, the bad breath making Dean's stomach do another barrel roll. Another two or three faces appeared beside the unnecessarily ugly one right in front of him. To Dean's dismay, the faces blurred for a second, then he realised he was seeing double.
He tried to speak but couldn't muster any coherent words.
The pig-like men leered at him.
Oh shit.
And then the beating started. Fists rained blows on his face, splitting his lip, and were driven into his body, bruising ribs and kidneys alike. Fortunately, he couldn't feel too much pain,
which he thought was downright weird, but didn't really get too much time to think about it before one last blow to the side of his head sent him into oblivion.
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Sam's concern and frustration was growing in equal amounts. He'd been trying to reach his brother's cell phone for what seemed like ages, but all he got was voice mail.
"Damnit Dean" he muttered out loud "why dya do this to me huh?"
He constantly worried about his older brother. Supposing the cross-road demon came to collect early? Sam couldn't bear the thought of losing Dean, not now after everything they'd been through. He had to find a way to break that deal. There was just no way Sam would cope if he couldn't. He wished Dean would help him, but he flatly refused.
He heard his cell phone chirping away to itself.
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Dean gradually came to feeling distinctly nauseous and on sitting up promptly vomited all over the ground. With a heavy sigh he leaned his head back against the wall and rested for a moment.
The memories of the last few hours came storming back with a vengeance, and he winced. Clutching a hand to his bruised ribs he managed to haul himself onto his feet using the wall for support, swaying dangerously in the process.
"Sonofabitch!" he slurred angrily, as he felt in his jean pocket for the money and found it gone. How in hell had this happened? "Bastards must've drugged me with something."
But when? He hadn't left his drink unguarded, not even once.
An unbidden memory came to mind: one of the players had distracted his attention for a moment by knocking a beer mat onto the floor. He'd thought it strange at the time that the pig-like man had bothered picking it up. After all, what was one beer mat on a whole floor of crap? But because he was winning he hadn't questioned it. Dean had just wanted to collect and go.
He felt the growing bruise at the side of his head and groaned, realising what he was going to have to do. There was no way he could drive himself back in this state.
Pulling his cell phone out of his pocket, he glared dazedly at it as though it had personally offended him.
He was going to have to call what may well turn out to be one very angry little brother.
Oddly enough, Dean turned out to be one hundred percent correct.
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Sam read the caller ID and answered immediately.
After the shouting had died down:
"….I'll be there as soon as I can."
Dean replied sounding drunk "You the man..."
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Now…..
Sam disconnected the call and put his foot down. He had no idea how badly he was hurt but the pain in his brother's voice had been almost too much to bear.
If anything happens to Dean….
But it's already happened, hasn't it? Sam thumped the steering wheel angrily, and it's my goddamned fault! I should've been watching out for him, after all Dean's spent all his life protecting my sorry ass, even trading his life for mine.
He was so distracted by his guilt and anger that he didn't notice the slight mist creeping in across the lonely road. In fact Sam didn't notice it until it reached almost fog-like thickness and he reluctantly slowed the SUV a little.
"What the hell?..." He was forced to slow even further when visibility quickly became almost zero. Sam refused to stop altogether; he was bound and determined to get to his brother.
Which was why it came as a bit of shock to suddenly come upon the rear end of a coach on his side of the road. Sam jammed on the breaks and the 4x4 came to an abrupt stop about an inch away from it.
He peered through the windshield at the large vehicle in front. It was a sight-seeing tour coach. There was no movement or sign of life from within; in fact he couldn't even hear the engine.
Throwing the car into reverse, Sam backed up a little, and then pulled forward until he was alongside the coach. The driver's window was open and someone was slumped over the steering wheel.
"Hey" Sam called out. "You ok up there?" As much as he needed to get to his brother, Sam couldn't bring himself to leave someone abandoned on the side of the road, especially if there was the possibility that person could be in need of medical attention. He couldn't see any signs of an accident, but may be the driver was ill. "Are you sick? Is there someone you need me to call for you?"
There was no response, and Sam was starting to get the feeling that something wasn't right here. He was just reaching for the door handle when there was movement from the driver.
"You ok?" Sam called again.
The driver abruptly sat up in his seat, then slowly turned his head to stare at Sam. The coach driver's eye sockets were empty of life, empty of eye sockets in fact. His grin mocking and evil, pale features an eerie grey-blue colour, which matched the glow that now surrounded the coach. Sam noticed to his horror that the skin was peeling away from the guys skull.
It was then that Sam realised the bus wasn't empty. Staring out the windows at him were several forlorn looking faces, equally devoid of life. He also noticed that the wheels of the coach weren't quite touching the ground, though they were covered in mud which suggested that whatever this apparition was, it was solid. Sam's eyes widened.
Oh fuck.
The coach driver's evil smile widened to match. "Hop on board, there's plenty of room for more."
Suddenly the coach roared and shot backwards along the road. It halted about twenty feet from where Sam's SUV sat idling.
Sam glanced back at the coach in time to see its ghostly driver waving a beckoning hand to him, before it came hurtling forward, aiming for the rear of Sam's car.
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Dean raised his head off the ground, feeling a little less groggy than before.
Guess I passed out again, he thought mournfully.
In truth he was feeling rather sorry for himself. His ribs ached, his back hurt as did his head, and he was also painfully (hah!) aware of the total balling out he was going to get from his brother when he arrived.
Speaking of which, he checked his watch and frowned. Sam should've been here by now.
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Major fuck.
Sam slammed the SUV into gear and pressed his foot hard on the throttle just as the coach came barrelling towards him with an unearthly screech.
For an old car the 4X4 did well on acceleration, but rather failed to maintain it for long before it protested with a heavy growl. It was enough to keep the coach at arm's length for a while and that's all that Sam cared about.
Its top speed should have been enough to evade a tour bus, but as Sam had already figured out, this was no ordinary tour bus.
This was a ghostly monster with a heart of pure evil, and it was tearing after Sam with a ferocity that astonished him.
Sam didn't dare look in the review mirror for fear of what he might see. He'd learned on too many occasions that whilst being chased by some demonic creature that was trying to chew his ass off, it was often best not to look back.
So he looked forward instead. Forward to seeing his brother and garrotting him for tonight's activities.
The fog had started to clear a little, as the old car pounded down the straight wheezing like a chain-smoking asthmatic, but it was still pretty murky.
Which was why Sam didn't see the bend in the road until the very last minute.
Now this is where things really started to go wrong for the youngest Winchester.
For a start, the bend was actually the start of a chicane.
For another thing, Sam forgot that he wasn't driving a 1967 Impala with a monster engine and all the trimmings that generally came with it.
Sam managed the first bend with all the finesse of a sumo wrestler-turned-ballet dancer, but it did at least get round, and he mentally congratulated his driving skills.
However, he wasn't quite so fortunate with the next one.
At this point he did glance in the review mirror, and seeing the coach take the bend so easily scared Sam into making a very silly mistake.
He floored it.
By over-stepping the mark, Sam expected the car to take the second bend nicely; the rear-end slightly fish-tailing out as he powered up with just the right amount of over steer, the whole car going into a beautifully controlled power slide round the curve.
And so he gave it the works.
Then he remembered what he was actually driving, which was in fact a clapped out lemon with all the style and grace of Dean Winchester simultaneously snorting tequila and greasy burger, and very soon came to a nasty realisation.
4X4s, as a general rule, don't do power slides, beautifully controlled or not.
What they actually tend to do is roll.
Which is exactly what Sam's SUV did.
A lot.
Realising his mistake, Sam attempted to correct it by slamming his foot down on the brakes and wrenching the wheel hard over, but all he succeeded in doing was leaving a layer of rubber on the road.
With an astonishing amount of speed the car flipped over, as the rules regarding power to weight ratio shrugged their shoulders and gave up. After the first roll the momentum carried it on into the next, and the next, and so on, until the car righted itself.
On the edge of a rather daunting slope.
Sam looked around him feeling dazed, confused, and it had to be said more than a little pissed off. He was in particular trying to work out how he'd managed to slide round in his seat so that he was wedged between the side of the steering wheel and the driver's door. Trying to move back round, he grunted in pain as the steering column dug further into his chest and abdomen. On top of that, his left arm appeared to be stuck under the dash board, and he couldn't move his legs. He was well and truly trapped.
With a presence of mind, and a pain threshold that surprised himself given the circumstances, Sam managed somehow to switch off the engine and take the keys out, just in case the gas tank had been ruptured, the movement leaving him gasping for breath from the pain.
His head hurt like hell. But that wasn't surprising given that it had been repeatedly banged against the driver's window whilst the car took the spin cycle.
Gotta get it together, Sam thought to himself. Gotta find a way out of this mess.
So he made another sweeping examination of the car. The windshield had spider-webbed but held and he couldn't see out of it, ditto for the rear. All side windows were completely gone so far as he could judge. The seats were buckled, and he imagined that the doors were too.
He only had one option. Just as he reached for his cell phone with his free hand, he heard the familiar and terrible scream of the ghost coach, then the car was flooded with the eerie blue light.
Sam stared out of the passenger window from his position trapped against the driver's door, watching as the apparition bore down on his car at speed. He winced and shut his eyes as he prepared for the impact.
Which didn't come, at least not in the way Sam was expecting.
The coach nudged the tail end of the SUV with enough force to send it into a nose to end roll down the slope at a treacherous rate, accompanied by the horrendous sound of twisting and tearing metal.
"Noooooo!" Sam heard himself yell, the uncontrolled movement of the car causing untold agony. Just before the lights went out in his world, he heard the evil laughing of the coach driver fading.
The car eventually hit an outcrop, turning it into another long, sideways roll, before coming to rest with its belly up against a tree, driver's side down.
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So Sam's in trouble.
For anyone out there that appreciates majorly trapped, helpless, Hurt Sam and injured, desperate Protective Dean, then the next chapter should be right up your alley. So if you want me to continue then please tell me.
Kind regards,
ST.xxx.
P.S. Apologies if this story doesn't flow well and bold/italics appear at odd places. I don't think the fan fic web site can cope with Windows Vista Microsoft Word – it just seems to do what it wants regardless of what I tell it after uploading the story. Any suggestions?
