Author Note: Been trying to come up with a tag for 12.22 from Sam's POV for a while now. I think this might finally be the last tag I write for this ep. :P

Follow the Leader

There are still columns of smoke and flame in the rearview mirror as Sam twists his wrist to glance at his watch, to confirm with a chilling flush of fear and dread that the agreed-upon checkpoint had passed nearly an hour ago. He handles the steering wheel with one white-knuckled fist and digs his cell phone from his pocket. Across the cab of the truck, a silent Jody watches him with wide eyes, the right colored by a hell of a shiner, and Sam holds his breath as he waits to hear Dean on the other end.

Three insufferably long rings, then, "Sammy? You good?"

The palpable, overwhelming relief in his brother's voice tugs at Sam's weary heart, and he sags in the seat, relaxes his fingers from their death-grip on the wheel. "Yeah, man, I'm good. It's done."

"Thank God. Jody with you?"

"Yeah, she made it." He swallows, fingers tensing once more around the unfamiliar steering wheel. "What about Mom?"

"Yeah, she's here. She's okay."

Sam's eyes slide sideways to Jody, who breathes her own relieved sigh as he asks, "you got her back?"

"Was there ever any doubt?"

"No," Sam replies, with meaning. But there's clearly more to Dean's story, just as there is to his own. His brother's voice is tight with pain and exhaustion, his words mushing awkwardly together like speaking is more work than it should be. "Dean?" he prompts.

A long pause, and then a stalling sniff. "Ketch showed up at the bunker."

Sam straightens against the seatback, heart pounding nervously. "What?" Jody mirrors his posture, gaze narrowed and tense as she listens to his side of the conversation. He'd switch the call to speaker if she asked but she won't, will allow him this quasi-private moment with his family.

"He's dead. British bitch is, too."

Relief and worry mingle in Sam's chest, keep his heart tripping wildly. "God."

"Yeah."

"You okay?"

"I'm good."

But the response takes too long in coming and is sandwiched between that huff of maybe-laughter of Dean's, the one that means no, not at all. Sam works his jaw. "Can I, uh…can I talk to Mom?"

When she comes on the line, his mother bypasses the pleasantries, jumps right into "Sam, I'm so sorry."

Sam's throat tightens. "Don't worry about it. Really. We're okay. We're all okay." He wants to pull over to the side of the road, have this conversation and really have it, but there's no time. The truck rumbles along, eating asphalt at a steady pace as he swallows back a choke of emotion and asks, "how's Dean?"

"As stubborn as his father."

Sam can perfectly visualize the pointed look his brother is no doubt currently on the receiving end of, and smiles despite the implications of her words. "Yeah, we definitely come by it honest, huh?" He changes conversational gears, fingers tapping nervously against the steering wheel. "How bad is it?"

Jody stays quiet, but shifts her weight on the bench seat.

"Don't know for sure, but it looks bad."

Her voice is deliberately, conspiratorially low, and vulnerable, like she's barely keeping her emotions in check. And yeah, Sam gets that. It's been a hell of a few days.

"I didn't see most of it, and he won't let me near him."

Sam bites the inside of his cheek, nods. "Sounds about right. How's his leg?"

"I think…I think it's worse."

He sucks in a breath. Dean's leg didn't have much room left for worse. Sam had meant it when he said he'd take a jacked-up Dean Winchester over any ten hunters, but it's also a fact that his brother hasn't had an injury this serious in years. His leg was a shredded, bloody mess back at Jody's, and if an infection hasn't reared its head yet in the ugly wound, he's damn lucky.

Worse also means that his mom knows Dean was already bad off to begin with, before…whatever went down with Ketch. It looks bad. He's struck with a sudden, morbid curiosity as to whether she really remembers all of it. Attacking Jody, the two of them stumbling in with a blood-soaked rag pathetically tied around Dean's wrecked knee.

Killing those hunters. Pointing a gun at her sons, pulling the trigger. Leaving them to die.

Sam forces the thoughts away, clenches his jaw and presses harder on the accelerator. "Okay. I'm only like another hour out. There should be some painkillers in the infirmary. See if you can get him to take any. And try to get him off his feet." It's too much to ask Dean to be at one hundred percent, but with an inevitable showdown with Lucifer looming, Sam's going to need his brother to be as close to fighting form as possible. It's also wishful thinking, because he knows better, knows his brother won't stand down until everyone is home. And that includes Cas. Which means they need to move quickly to the next crisis in the seemingly never-ending queue. "Mom, put Dean back on a sec."

There's a lengthy pause, as his brother takes the phone and cobbles together the last scraps of his understandably waning strength. "Yeah."

"Dean, listen." His eyes dart over to Jody. "We have a problem."

A rough, fatigued bark of laughter. "What else is new."

Sam's own exhaustion tugs viciously at him from all angles. It's been days since he slept, since any of them have. He can feel his brother fading through the phone, and brings him back harshly. "It's Lucifer. He's back."

"Son of a bitch."

"Yeah."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I saw him." Sam frowns. "Or, surveillance photos of him. Hess tried to use them as leverage to let her go."

"How the hell – "

"I don't know. She said Crowley."

"Son of a bitch."

Sam narrows his eyes. The dashed yellow line between lanes whips by as the truck passes. "She says he's dead."

"Super. Anything else you wanna share with the class?"

"Just one. Get off that leg."

"I'm okay, Sam."

He rolls his eyes. "Yeah, I'll believe it when I see it."

"Better get your ass home, then."

Sam knows it means I'm proud of you and I'm glad you're okay, in Dean's own way. His fingers tighten around the cell phone as he returns the sentiment. "Jerk."

"Bitch."

He pulls Jody's truck into a cramped parking lot tucked beneath the interstate, cars belonging to transfers to the bus line for the daily haul into Lincoln for work. As he throws the truck into 'park' at the end of a shaded aisle, he idly marvels at the fact he's stopped noticing what day of the week it is. He easily, discretely pops the lock of a nineties-model sedan, and Jody speaks up as he swings open the door.

"I could drop you."

He shakes his head, fingers molding around the window. "You should get back to Alex." He can see the concern pulling at her features, and knows exactly how badly it hurts to be away from your family when shit gets real.

She nods, gaze darting out of the windshield and back as she leans an elbow against the steering wheel. "I'm really glad your mom's okay."

There's a lot of subtext to be read in her steely, bruised gaze, in the thin line of her mouth. He and Dean played a role in shaping the hunter she is now, and that might be the kind of hunter who wouldn't have let Mary Winchester go on killing, no matter who her sons were. The kind of hunter who would have stopped her.

Sam swallows, nods tightly. He wonders if he'd let her, and he's glad as hell that he'll never have to find out.

Jody returns the gesture, hand sliding down to the gearshift. "You'll keep me posted on the Lucifer situation?"

"Yeah. Of course. I'll call you."

She bobs her head. "You did good today, Sam."

He stares back at her a long moment, contemplating her words. This was the role he'd shied away from, that he'd tried to force into his wounded brother's lap. There's a good deal of metaphorical blood on his hands today, and likely more literal blood waiting for him at the end of the road.

He's having a difficult time seeing any of that carnage as good, but all the same, Sam's chest swells. Following might be easier than leading, but this way is a hell of a lot more vindicating. "Thanks."