Detours on the Road so Far,

Or -

Why Sam and Dean Need Adult Supervision

1. Salt and Burn

(set some time in season 2)

"They're abominations, Sam! How can you stand there and tell me to chill out, how can you sit there and be so friggin' calm when these things exist?!"

Sam sighs as Dean's tone rises dramatically. "Dude, seriously? For all that we traveled in the nineties, I swear sometimes you just...dug yourself a hole and shoved your head down as far as you could. These aren't new. Not even close."

Dean sneers down at the nearest object of his contempt, gesturing in disgust. "I just...how does this even happen, Sammy? Who could be this cruel?"

"It's hardly-"

"Don't try to rationalize this to me, Sam!" Dean is clearly beyond reasoning at this point, and Sam comes to the sudden realization that his main job tonight will be minimizing the damage and getting Dean out of town as quickly as possible.

"No, no, you're right," he tries, knowing in his heart that nothing he says right now can reach Dean when he's this deep in a fit of outrage. But he has to try, right?

"I get what you're saying. It's wrong, it's completely wrong, and it should never have been allowed. But you can't just salt and burn them, Dean. They aren't possessed, and, as wrong as they may seem, they aren't evil. You can't just-"

But Dean is already striding back to the Impala and unlocking the trunk. Sam groans internally when his brother emerges with a half-full gas can and a container of salt.

"If we leave them standing, Sam, it's the same as saying it's okay for them to exist. And this-" he gestures expansively around them, "This is not ever okay. You understand?"

"But, Dean, this is a felony. The security cameras-"

But his older brother is already moving toward his first of his targets, salt canister open and ready.

"We commit more felonies in a week than you have fashion disasters of shirts. I mean, c'mon, Sammy, half the time you look like somebody's grandfather, and half the time you look like a twelve-year-old geek that asks his blind grandmother to pick out all his clothes. What even is that? Are they flowers? Is it wallpaper? Are you wearing it inside out?"

Sam glances down at his shirt, opening his mouth to defend his favorite button-up, but Dean's deep in his rant and far past reasoning.

"Look, if you're so worried about the damned cameras, hack 'em or break in and erase the footage. Let 'em see me coming, Sam. They're gonna know this shit ain't okay anymore."

Dean pauses to take a breath, contempt written clearly in every line on his face as he glares down at the current target of his ire. The younger Winchester has one shining moment of hope where he thinks maybe, just maybe, Dean is about to come to his sense.

But then Dean speaks again, and Same knows there's no reaching him.

"I should have paid better attention, Sam. Years...decades, even, and I just...I tried to tell myself when I saw them that they were something else, that they couldn't possibly be what they said I let it go on too long, and I know this job seems impossible, but we have to start somewhere. And here's as good as anywhere else."

Sam nods heavily; it's not as if Dean is technically wrong. But it's still too much to simply let him loose and hope for the best.

"Do you have to burn all of them?" Sam asks quietly, sweeping an arm out to indicate the whole lot. "Please, Dean, just...I mean, they aren't all like this. Some of them are completely different, they don't...just because these are wrong doesn't mean they all are. There are some older ones that are still okay. Can you are least try to leave them out of it?"

Dean's voice was heavy with regret and exhaustion as he sent a volley of salt crystals flying. "I can't make any promises, Sammy, but you're right. I'll try."

…

"Quit messing with the music, Sam! I've told you, driver-"

Sam swats Dean's hand away from the radio knobs as he turns the dial, searching for something on the local AM radio stations. It was a long night, and it's going to be an even longer day on the road. He plans on napping long and hard, but not before he finds some news on their nocturnal activities.

"I know, I know, Dean! Just gimme a minute, alright? I'm trying to find some local news."

"I don't see why you're still so worried, man," Dean growls, his fingers tightening on the wheel as they speed down the interstate. "They've got insurance, they're covered."

"Dude, shut up, I found something!" Sam turns the volume up, listening intently. Dean heaves a monumental sigh but settles back and, for once, keeps his mouth shut.

"- was found ablaze the early hours of this morning. Police report some twelve vehicles were completely destroyed, while more than fifty others received varying degrees of fire and smoke damage. Surprisingly, this seems to be a case of targeted arson, as the perpetrator or perpetrators surrounded each of the targeted vehicles with what has been determined to be table salt. What is perhaps most bizarre is that every circled car in the Cheney Chevrolet lot was an Impala model, all produced after 1993. The owners of the dealership, when questioned, reported that it was only their newer models that seem to have been targeted, while the older models from 1985 and earlier on the other side of the lot were left undamaged. Whether this is mere oversight or deliberate, police have yet to determine. Due to the extent of the damage and the theft of the security footage, police have ruled out the possibility of a prank gone wrong and are asking for anyone with information about-"

"See?" Dean cuts in, and Sam just barely holds back a sigh at the sheer smugness in his brother's voice. "You took care of the cameras, they got nothing on us. We're gold."

Dean's eyes drop from the road for only a moment, sliding lovingly over the sleek dash before looking up again.

"Don't worry, Baby. We got a lot of road to cover, but we'll get every single one of those ugly sons of bitches before we're done. I won't rest til we wipe every last one of those damned abominations off the planet."