AU tag to 5.04. Spoilers for episodes 5.01 to 5.04.

Disclaimer: If we owned them, we'd never let them out to play!!

This story is a collaboration between four crazy Sam girls – a round robin, if you'd prefer: Geminigrl1, Trasan, Phx and carocali. We hope you enjoy. Let us know what you think.

Crazy Train is completed and will be posted in five parts.

Crazy Train

There was nothing more to say, and for once, it was a good thing. Sam asked Dean if he should follow him and Dean said yeah, and that was it.

The Impala led the way down the dirt road toward the county route that crossed the highway. It had to have a motel on it somewhere. A hundred bucks a night or a by-the-hour: at this point, Dean didn't care. All he knew was by God, this time, he'd better get more than four hours of sleep. And from the looks of him, Sam wouldn't suffer from a full night's worth of shut-eye, either.

For the first time in…too long…Dean slipped a tape in the deck and cranked it. Ozzy, Crazy Train: both a classic and the freaking truth. Although, considering everything that had happened the past few weeks, life was a lot less crazy—actually made sense—now that he and Sam were together.

And nothing—not angels or demons or even Lucifer and the freaking Apocalypse—were going to tear them apart again. Bad things happened when they weren't together. Dean saw that now, more clearly than ever. No matter what Zachariah's plan had been, Dean's lesson from his little Back to the Future adventure was that, come high water and Hell, what mattered was family.

Winchesters 'til the end. Zachariah and Michael and anyone else who tried to get in the way again could pretty much suck it.

Grinning to himself, feeling in control like he hadn't since the night in Cold Oak when he'd held Sam's dead body in his arms, Dean tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, singing along. I've listened to dropouts who make their own rules.

He flicked a glance toward the rearview mirror somewhere around the third chorus, making sure Sam and his god awful pimpmobile were keeping up. They were definitely ditching it as soon as they found a safe spot. It was an embarrassment, seriously.

Not to mention that Sam…Sam's place was in the Impala. Regardless of what Dean told Castiel about having more fun, without his brother, than he'd had in years, the truth was no one belonged shotgun but Sam. Anything else was just plain wrong.

Even more wrong than Sam's taste in stolen cars.

Although, come to think of it, Dean had no idea if Sam had stolen it or not. A question to ask, once they were sitting down somewhere quiet; one of many. And this time, he was going to listen. Not judge.

Dean glanced back again just in time to see the Continental swerve a little. He frowned. The road was clear and straight, and he'd had no issues navigating it. What was Sam's deal?

He watched a little closer for a moment or two, but nothing else unusual happened. Whatever had thrown Sam off course, it was behind them now. Which was a pretty good metaphor, if anyone wanted to know.

Goodbye to Romance slid to Dee and Suicide Solution, and then it was time to flip the tape, so it took Dean a few miles to realize Sam had slowed down, at first a little and then considerably. He braked hard, hand in his pocket and reaching for his cell when he saw the gold car drift across the yellow line. Abandoning the phone, he threw the Impala in Park, shouting for his brother as the Lincoln kept drifting, drifting.

He shoved his door open and sprinted across the road just as Sam disappeared over the lip of a deep ditch. There was the sound of grinding metal and breaking glass and the smell of burning antifreeze and Dean was running for Sam's life, for his own.

"Sammy!"

There was no answer.

"Shit, Shit, Shit!" Dean's side burned as he ran. The little love scratch that Croatoan bitch-child had given him five years in the future—and man, how the Hell could he hurt from something that hadn't even happened yet?—rubbed against the material of his shirt, but he didn't care. The pounding fear that ripped through him at not knowing what was wrong with his brother, what had happened to make Sam swerve off the road, was the more mortal wound.

Side-trotting down the ditch, Dean slipped once but caught his balance, his eyes glued on the car which was nose down in the dirt, engine still running. The front end was badly damaged, crumpled in with smoke rising from the mangled hood and the windshield shattered.

"Sam!" he yelled as he saw the dark shape of his brother through the cracked glass of side window. It didn't look like the kid was moving.

"Sammy!" he bellowed again, stumbling the last few feet through wet muck towards the car. He grabbed the door and tried to wrench it open—but it was stuck.

Peering in through the window, Dean saw Sam slumped forward against the steering wheel; his face, turned towards Dean, was badly cut and bloodied. Hopefully only unconscious —don'tbedeadpleasedon'tbedead— the kid was a mess and wasn't going to be any help.

Yanking on the door again, Dean growled low in his throat. The front end of the yellow monstrosity was not only crumpled but had been pushed back towards the body of the vehicle, effectively trapping his brother inside.

"Damnit!" he cursed loudly. He had to get the car turned off! The last thing they needed was for it to explode. His brother would be roasted alive!

The smell of leaking fluids amplified his fear…

"Sammy? Crap! Crap! Hang on, buddy, just hang on!" Recklessly throwing himself at the back door, he almost fell on his ass when, with only a loud squeal, it wrenched open. "Yes!" Dean shouted diving inside and flinging himself over the front seat, careful not to jostle Sam as he reached for the keys and yanked them out of the ignition. The engine died but smoke continued to plume.

An explosion was still a real threat.

"No one's burning today," Dean grunted as he twisted into a better position on the front seat. Pressing shaking fingers against his brother's throat, he begged. "C'mon, c'mon." Tears burned his eyes as he realized just how long it had been since he'd touched his brother for any reason other than triage. Shoulda given the kid a damn hug when I had the chance…

Hurried thrumming beneath his touch had Dean exhaling in relief. "That's my boy," he whispered then patted Sam's shoulder lightly. His brother was alive but in big trouble.

"Okay, kiddo," he murmured as he glanced around. "Let's see about getting you out of here." The only way he could think of would involve man-handling the injured man over the front seat. Dean grimaced. Not exactly his first choice, especially when he had no idea how badly Sam was hurt.

Something crackled under the hood and Dean panicked. 9-1-1 was out of the question. There was no time!

Fighting panic with practicality, Dean almost slapped himself for not thinking about this sooner. Castiel! Friggin' angel had to be good for something, right? Well, other than the obvious countless times he'd saved their asses, including only a couple of hours before…

Fumbling out his cell phone and keeping his free hand on Sam's neck, Dean hastily put in the call.

Castiel didn't even get a chance to say more than, "Dean," before Dean was rambling off a quick proximity of their location and telling him they were in deep shit.

The angel was in the backseat before the anxious hunter even told him what the trouble was. Moments later, Sam was out of the car and lying safely on his side on the backseat of the Impala, Dean a second behind him.

"Dean," Castiel's voice held a cautious warning when the hunter started to reach for his brother.

Dean looked at him in question and then followed the angel's gaze. All the blood drained from his face when Dean saw what had stricken his friend.

Buried to the hilt, low in Sam's side, was Ruby's knife.

"Oh, shit," he whispered.

Castiel nodded. "Indeed."

And then the yellow car exploded behind them.

TBC