TITLE: It's a Damn Goat, Sam!

AUTHOR: Obi the Kid

RATING: PG

SUMMARY: (Season 7) Dean POV. Sam hits a goat (okay, I couldn't think of a better summary.)

DISCLAIMER: The characters of Sam and Dean Winchester and the world of Supernatural do not belong to me, nor do I make any profit from this story. Any typos/errors are all mine!

NOTE: No idea where this came from, it just sort of happened one evening when I was bored.

I love my brother. I do. It's the only thing that keeps me from killing him during times like this. All he had to do was drive from Point Friggin' A to Point Friggin' B without incident. My baby, she's not a tough car to drive. Sure, she's the size of an Army tank and eats gas like candy, but come on! He couldn't figure out how to dodge a damn goat? A goat? Seriously? What the hell is a goat doing in the middle of a highway anyway?

"What the hell, Sam? I mean…what the hell? Really. Was the goat the size of a rat? Did you not see it? It's a damn goat for crying out loud! One would tend to notice something as out of ordinary as a goat just roaming along the streets, right? And what they hell was the goat doing on the highway?"

My extra large brother walked away from me and over to the front bumper, running his hands over the dented metal.

"Dean, I told you, it wasn't on the highway, it was on that stupid back country road you told me to take. 'Don't take her on the highway, Sam, she's not used to rush hour lunatics.' It's what you told me, Dean. And I did what you said. Apparently, she's not used to back country road goats either."

"A goat, Sam. How could you not see a goat? It's a goat!"

"I wasn't expecting a goat. When's the last time you ever heard of a goat accident, Dean? How about oh, I don't know, never? Not my fault, man."

I examined the damage. The headlight was popped, the bumper was dented and the paint had more scratches in it than a damn cat scratching post. I glared at my brother.

"One thing, Sam, I gave you this one thing and you almost got my baby killed."

"The car is fine, Dean. The thing weighs a ton; no way that a single goat could have totaled it. Oh and I'm fine by the way. Thanks for being concerned."

"You hit a damn goat, Sam, not the Titanic."

"See? Exactly my point. You can't have it both ways, Dean."

"Shut up, gimme the keys. You ain't drivin' her again, not ever. Even if I die…again…I'm taking her with me this time."

One heavy sigh and exasperated eye roll later, Sam left the argument for the hotel room. I followed once I'd done a pat down on the car and to make sure there was no other damage. Inside, my brother was quickly elbows deep on the laptop, fingers flying over the keyboard, before he turned the screen and shoved it in my face.

"Here, Dean. Happy? It's a ghost goat."

A wha…

"What?"

"It's a ghost goat."

"Goats don't have ghosts."

"And you know that how?"

"Because we've never seen one before and, it's a damn goat, Sam!"

"Well, this goat has one…is one. Whatever. There have been sightings around here for years. Cars hit – rammed in some cases – and even a few people chased down by the thing. So, there. See? Not my fault."

I snatched the laptop from him and scanned the article. A ghost goat. Okay. Now I'd seen just about everything. And…I figured I owed Sam an apology.

"Fine. You're off the hook this time." My eyes roamed the article one more time to make sure I wasn't imagining this. Nope. It was true. All of it. "So, not only do we have to save the friggin' planet every other year, but now we have to worry about the ghosts of various livestock trying to take chunks of metal out of my car."

Sam shrugged at me and made his 'it is what it is' face.

"Don't give that look. You can't accept this anymore than I can. It's a damn goat, Sam. A goat!"

"Goats are known for their intelligence, Dean. It's not that out of the realm of possibility that this one…"

I slammed the computer shut and ended his train of thought. "Do not tell me that a friggin' goat could figure out how to come back and haunt the town that slaughtered him, just don't go there."

"He wasn't slaughtered, Dean. At least that didn't kill him. He was hit by a car and then his owners ate him."

"They ate him? Seriously?"

"It's at the end of the article. Apparently, they made goat burgers, goat bacon and goat sausage out of the flesh and dog chew bones out of the hooves and horns. And the local seamstress made scarves and gloves from the fur. I'd probably be ticked off too after that."

Yeah, I was done. The ghost goat getting revenge on humans because they'd sliced him up into little pieces and had him for a variety of dinners and…whatever. This was stupid. All we'd been through these last years and we get detoured by the ghost of a damned goat. I had officially seen it all now.

Sam popped two beers out of the fridge and slid one to me. "Look, man, I'm sorry about the damage to the car. I am. But look on the bright side, at least we know the Impala can withstand a goat attack if this ever happens again, right?" He smirked at me. I scowled at him.

"Shut up, Sam. We are out of this town tomorrow morning. And we are not hunting the ghost goat, so don't even go there. Thing probably has friends anyway. Horses and pigs and cows and chickens. Ghost chickens. Wouldn't that be the kicker? Huh. Hey, can ghost chickens lay eggs?"

"Dean."

"What? You're here yakkin' about ghost goats, why can't I wonder which came first, the ghost chicken or the ghost egg?"

"Because you're an idiot, that's why."

"Yeah, well, at least I didn't get run off the road by a ghost goat."

We made it out of town clean the next day. No sign of a single goat - living or ghost.

The end.