Thanks, R.

The Impossible Takes a Little Longer
K Hanna Korossy

It was after they eased his car from the wreckage of Constance Welch's house, and Dean decided he wouldn't have to kill his little brother, this time. After they checked Sam's chest in the beam of the flashlight, and Dean apparently looked so guilty at the deep bruises that Sam made a joke to lighten the load. After they gazed once more at the now-unhaunted house, and both of them dragged in a deep breath at a job well-done. They got in the car, Dean heading toward the highway, when Sam turned to him and asked.

"So, how did you get to the house so fast?"

Right, because they'd been on the phone when Dean had heard Sam gasp and the squeal of the Impala's brakes. He'd called his brother's name with rising fear, but got no response. Nothing but, a moment later, a ghostly whisper in the background: Take me home. And he knew immediately what had happened.

Sam was still looking at him, waiting for an answer.

Dean's mouth curled at the windshield. "Professional secret."

"Try again—I was in the same profession, remember?"

He never forgot, especially the past tense. Dean's smirk didn't waver. "Maybe I just ran."

"Right." The sarcasm was thick in Sam's tone. "It had to be, what, a couple of miles from town to the Welch place?"

"Probably less, straight as the crow flies."

"Which might work if you were a crow. C'mon, Dean, even I can run faster than you."

"Just 'cause you've got those freaky long legs. Besides," he glanced sideways with a grin, "how do you know I haven't been practicing?" He didn't think he'd changed all that much in the last three-plus years, but Sam sure had. Every glance at the adult face of his baby brother still gave Dean a silent pang.

"Dean…"

"Fine, okay." A pause. "Astral projection."

A huff. "If you don't want to tell me—"

"Iam telling you, dude—there was this guy, somebody Dad knew, in, uh, Memphis. He taught me some stuff."

"Astral projection." Even after close to four years, though, Dean could picture Sam's expression as clearly as if he were looking over at him. He'd be wearing that same look as when he was six and Dean had tried to convince him the Easter Bunny was as real as the other supernaturals they'd known, albeit not one to be hunted. Even then Sam had been too serious for his own good.

"Yeah, why not?"

"Because, you don't have a physical body when you have an OBE, let alone a gun, and anyway, it takes a lot more patience and calm than you'd ever have."

Trust Sam to deflate a perfectly good joke. "Did you make that up, or have you been memorizing the Encyclopedia of the Unexplainedagain?" Dean asked with narrowed eyes. Adding belatedly, "Hey, I'm patient! Just not always…you know, right away."

He could practically feel Sam's eyebrows climb in exasperation. Maybe they weren't as out-of-sync as Dean had thought.

"Okay, okay," he relented, gave it a beat. "I carjacked a Volvo."

That whipped his brother's head around, and fast.

"Business dude was driving it, three-piece suit and everything—I figure he's got insurance clear up to his fancy haircut, right? He'll be all right."

"Dean…" Sam sounded unexpectedly choked. "Tell me you didn't."

That actually made him frown, and he glanced to his right with an uneasy creep up his spine. "Of course, I didn't. What do you think, I go around assaulting innocents now?" The flicker of doubt in his brother's eyes left a bitter taste in his mouth. "I haven't changed that much, Sam," he said wearily.

"I didn't mean…" Sam drew a hand over his face, rubbed at his chest. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I just know, if you thought I was in trouble…" He didn't finish.

He didn't need to. The tightness in Dean's chest loosened. Sam still knew his standing in his brother's list of priorities. That hadn't changed in four years, either, and he wasn't ashamed of it. Dean slowly nodded. "I would. Doesn't mean I'd jump straight there. I actually sometimes go whole hours now without doing something illegal."

A laugh. "Good to know."

The silence got a little easier every time, and Dean wondered if and how long it would take to get back to the way it was, before Stanford had been a gleam in Sam's eye. Or if he'd ever get the chance to find out.

"So…" Sam broke the quiet softly. "You're not going to tell me."

Dean canted his head. "There was this black dog—"

"Dean."

"…thunderbird…"

Sam crossed his arms.

"…portal?"

"Portal? You are such a jerk! Why don't you just say you won't tell me?"

He grinned, showing teeth. "'Cause it's a lot more fun this way." The duh! was implied.

Sam groaned.

Dean smiled one more time, then nodded at the journal lying between them. "So, you wanna look up the coordinates? See what Dad left us?" Him, really, but some part of Dean he'd thought dead had come back to life those past few days, and he hoped… Well, he hoped.

Sam looked at him, shaking his head, but amusement and fondness sparked behind the exasperation. Without comment, he dug out a map and started flipping through the journal.

Dean watched him work, keeping one eye on the road, his fingers drumming automatically to the music on the radio.

His thoughts wandered.

"I don't understand." Even over the phone, Sam had sounded frustrated, and he wasn't the one freshly escaped from police custody. "I mean, what could be so important that Dad would just skip out in the middle of a job. Dean, what the hell is going on?"

A sucked-in breath. The screech of the Impala stopping. Then, Take me home.

Dean had dropped the phone and ran.

He knew where this would end; thank God they'd looked up the location of the Welch house. But it was too far to get there in time on foot. Sam had the car, and Dean's options were slim.

That was when he'd seen the Volvo coming down the street.

He still didn't know why she'd stopped, especially when he saw the lined, grey-haired face behind the wheel. But he wasn't above taking any advantage of any breaks he could.

Dean circled the car, and she rolled her window down. He leaned down to meet her eye-to-eye. "Please, ma'am, my little brother's in trouble and I need to get to him fast. I know this is asking a lot, but could I borrow your car? I swear, it'll be fine."

He didn't know why she didn't just keep driving.

"Please," he begged with every drop of sincerity in his body. "It's a matter of life and death."

He didn't know why she believed him, could barely hear her tentative, "All right," over the thud of his heart. He had no idea why she got out, because he wouldn't have. Or what had compelled him to pull out his wallet and shove the few bills he had into her hand.

"It'll be at the Welch place outside town. There's enough for a cab."

He didn't stay to see if she changed her mind.

Dean broke a few more laws getting out there, and couldn't even remember if he turned the engine off before he'd jumped out. All he could think of by then was the Impala idling in front of the house, and the two figures struggling inside. And how he hadn't gotten Sam back just to lose him.

"Okay, here's where Dad went," Sam spoke up.

Dean shook off the memory, turned to look at the map his brother was tracing a line down.

It probably wouldn't last, but for a few days, Dean had believed in miracles again.

The End