Next installment in the Interchange 'verse! For whatever reason, I just couldn't see Sam driving a CR-V... so I changed that. There may or may not be a little mini-sequel to this explaining what he replaces the car with, but I haven't actually bothered to write it yet. I just have a vague idea of how it'll work.

Also! To the guest reviewer who pointed out that John seemed OOC: I agree. He was. And I actually have a plan to explain that later on. MUCH later on, however, so if it takes forever to explain then I apologize. Anyhow, I own nothing.

March 3rd, 2003

Sam stared, eyes just about bugging out of his head. Seriously? This... could not be happening. It really, really could not.

"Bet this never happened to the 'pala," he muttered, watching as his car's headlights flashed on and off at him, the engine revving threateningly. Sam scrubbed his hands down his face, then shook his head disbelievingly at the car. The wheels twisted back and forth like it was feinting, and Sam winced at the sound of the sound of the rubber scraping against gravel.

He had driven the Honda for nearly six months now, and spent more than a few nights curled up in the backseat on the side of the road. It was funny, now he thought about it, but he had never fully appreciated just how much money that John and Dean brought in. Of course Sam had his fake credit cards and he hustled pool with the best of them, but there were times when it just wasn't enough.

Times like, say, tonight, when he had banished a poltergeist from a young couple's house, then gotten in his car and driven down a deserted stretch of gravel and dirt side road to spend the night.

He had awoken when the doors all opened as one, and the seatbelt wrapped around his waist and flipped him forcibly out of the car. His laptop, duffel, and weapons bag had followed a moment later.

Apparently, when he banished the spirit, it simply took up residence in his car. It was only the fact that he had parked next to a tree that saved him; before the possessed car had time to run him over he had managed to scramble up the trunk, snatching up the weapons bag and his duffel - it contained the salt - as he went. He winced as the car darted forward a few feet, nearly bumping into the trunk of the tree Sam was currently residing in, and ran over his laptop with a painfully loud crunch. Right. He'd need to order a new credit card now to pay for a replacement computer...

He sighed and began digging through the weapons bag to find what he would need. He toyed briefly with the idea of burning the car, but didn't think he could manage to soak the thing in salt and oil before it killed him. Spectacular.

Sighing, he opened his journal and began to read the chant aloud.

The car paused, engine idling, before it wheeled around and tore away. Sam paused in his chanting long enough to swear, then snatched up the bags, jumped down from his branch, and started running.

He leaped and just barely managed to latch his fingers onto the edge of the tire on the back of the car, the two bags dangling from his right shoulder. The CR-V wheeled sharply to the left, and Sam gritted his teeth and hung on for dear life as his feet lost their tenuous grip on the rear bumper and went flying. He kept chanting, though, gasping out the words he had memorized years ago. It was a simple banishment spell which, granted, hadn't entirely worked the first time around, but it should at least give him a few hours to figure something out. It had taken almost a full day for the poltergeist to take control of his car, and maybe the thing would be weakened even further the second time around.

The car abruptly darted to the right, and this time it was enough to dislodge Sam. He landed heavily on his side and shouted when he felt his left shoulder pop out of joint. Without a second thought he rammed it back in, screaming in pain. Then he scrambled to his feet because wow, the car had gotten very close in the last ten seconds. It was facing him now, darting forward and back, the headlights blinding against the darkness. What time was it, anyways?

Even as he braced himself - breathing too heavily to continue the spell - the car shot forward and Sam jumped to the side, latching onto the front door handle and yanking it open. A moment later, he was behind the driver's seat, sprinkling salt (he marveled that he hadn't lost the bags yet) and chanting. When the seatbelt locked into place around him, Sam simply braced his forearm next to his neck to keep it from choking him.

It pressed against his chest instead. Gasping and wheezing, Sam finally managed to choke out the last word of the chant. The whole car shook, and the seatbelt abruptly loosened. Sam panted and leaned his head back against the seat, eyes closing in relief.

There was a crash and a shatter, and everything went black.

When he awoke, it felt like his head was stuffed with cotton and his body was somehow disconnected. He was vaguely aware of the fact that yes, it was still there, he just... couldn't feel it. What...?

He opened his mouth to ask, but only a raspy little moan came out. A few seconds later, something remarkably cold and wet was pressed against his lips, and he greedily rolled it around in his mouth, not-all-there body relaxing in utter bliss even as he began to register the beeping of the various monitors beeping obnoxiously at him and the squeaking of a plastic-covered chair as someone shifted in it next to him.

"D'n?" he murmured a few moments later, wanting to ask his brother what had happened, why his head was spinning and what had he even done because they didn't usually end up in the hospital unless it was really bad and oh look, the pain was starting to register. He moaned again, and a hand pressed against his forehead. He leaned into it, sighing contentedly as it slid down to cup his cheek.

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean breathed. "You're in the hospital, but you're gonna be okay. You're a little doped up now, is all. Don't worry about it."

"H'rts," he whimpered, unable to open his mouth fully enough to form the word properly. Dean stroked his cheek with his thumb, shushing him.

"I know, kiddo. Just go back to sleep, okay? It'll be better when you wake up. I promise."

Sam thought that maybe he said something else, but then the world grew sort of fuzzy. All he got after that brief conversation were disjointed sounds that he didn't care enough to piece together and that, judging by the high-quality painkillers he was currently on, he wouldn't remember later, anyways.

"Dean? What're..."

"Just here to..."

"...wakes up...?"

"Don't... him..."

"'S John...?"

"Cali, we... up... stay with you?"

"Yeah..."

When he finally came to for real, it was to pain. They must have changed the dosage on his pain meds...

"Dean?" he gasped, because his brother had just been there, hadn't he? But no, wait, he couldn't be, because Sam left when Dean was in the hospital, and now... He was, too? What happened?

"Sorry, tiny, just me." He cracked one eye open, brow furrowing at the grinning face that he saw. "Good morning, princess," Caleb sing-songed. "Was startin' to think you'd never wake up."

Sam frowned, gaze traveling around the room in search of... He couldn't quite remember, pain and painkillers making him feel dizzy even while lying down. "What happened?" He grimaced at the raw sound of his voice and was pretty sure his throat split as he spoke, and Caleb held a glass of water up to his mouth as he answered him.

"You crashed into a tree, genius. What was goin' on?"

"Poltergeist," Sam murmured, glancing down at himself curiously. He couldn't really tell under the blankets, but he was pretty sure his left arm and leg were in casts.

"Possessed the car."

Caleb hooted with laughter. "Only you, man. Seriously. What'd you do?"

"Before or after it tried to run me over?"

Caleb raised his eyebrows, and Sam's face twitched in some sort of equivalent of a shrug. "It wouldn't sit still long enough for me to banish it, so I climbed inside."

"And it wrapped you around a tree. Good job."

"Wha' happened... after?" Sam murmured, fighting to keep his eyes open. He was just so tired, and everything hurt. "I don' even remember crashing..."

"Some kid was riding his bike down there and saw you, called the cops on his cell phone." Caleb snorted suddenly. "And seriously, what twelve-year-old needs a cell phone? I didn't have a cell phone when I was twelve..."

"Did they even have phones when you were twelve?" Sam asked innocently. Caleb gave him a deeply offended look.

"You are aware that I'm only eight years older than you?"

"Not foolin' anyone," Sam murmured sleepily, eyes drifting even lower. "So what then?"

Caleb shrugged. "Cops ID'd you - you're Sam Johnson, by the way - and found my number on that emergency contact card thing. I got here about two hours ago."

"Two...?" Sam asked, puzzled. "Then who was... Dean?"

Caleb blinked. "Eh?"

"Wasn' Dean here?" Sam slurred. "I though'..."

"Nah, just me. Think you were hallucinating or something, bro; last I heard, Dean was in California."

"But..." He blinked and couldn't seem to open his eyes back up. "'Ver mind."

Caleb snickered. "Go to sleep. Oh, and when they ask, you were driving up to visit me anyways and lost control of the car."

"W'pons...?"

"I got 'em; they gave me your stuff to look after. Sleep, dude."

He did.

The doctors bought the story without any trouble, and Sam got a stern lecture from a nurse about not driving when he was tired. Then he was off to Caleb's dad's old place to recuperate for the next for weeks. His arm was in a cast up to his shoulder, and his leg from the knee down. His face was a mass of bruises and cuts; while he hadn't gone through it, the windshield had shattered and the glass had wreaked more than a little damage.

It was after he'd been there long enough to become thoroughly sick of the pain medication and being more or less bedridden that he happened to catch a glimpse of the back of his arm in the mirror when he was turning to leave the restroom. Of course Caleb had scribbled all over the thing, dirty jokes and stick figures with breasts, and he had only grinned unrepentantly when Sam complained that he couldn't go out in public now. He didn't think Caleb had added anything new recently...
And yet, when he twisted around to see the back of the white plaster cast on his arm, he could just barely make out his brother's name, written in small, capital letters, like he wanted to make a point but was wary of Sam actually seeing it at the same time.

Sam gritted his teeth and screwed his eyes shut against the unexpected tears. Dean had been there, Dean had sat by his side in the hospital, and Sam hadn't even been able to speak to him.

When Caleb returned from an "errand" (he smelled like perfume and cigarette smoke, but Sam didn't question) a few hours later, Sam was stretched out on the couch that had been his bed for a week and a half, and he glanced at Caleb listlessly.

"So did you call Dean or was he already there when you got to the hospital?"

"What?" Caleb asked, blinking at him. Sam rolled his head on the armrest to look at the older man more fully. He was just so tired, but he needed to know.

"Dean was at the hospital, Caleb. I'm not an idiot."

Caleb didn't answer. Sam pressed his lips together for a moment, then asked in a voice that was much smaller than he would've liked, "Why didn't he stay?"

"I got the impression he wasn't sure if you wanted him to," Caleb said slowly, shucking his jacket off and leaving it on the floor. Sam closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe evenly.

"I just... I never wanted to..."

"Hey, I get it," Caleb said quickly. "Man, we were all waiting for you to bolt. John's a good hunter, but..."

Sam screwed his eyes shut, pressing his lips together. Caleb's hand sort of floated uncertainly over his head as if not sure whether or not he should touch, and Sam sighed. "Was he... I mean, did he look okay? Like, he's all right?"

Caleb's hand did drop down on the crown of his head now, tousling his hair. "Yeah, tiny, he looked good. A little tired, got a coupla new scars, but he's all right."

"Good," Sam said faintly. "That... that's good. He got me the new phone, didn't he?"

"Yeah. Gave me credit for it though, 'cause he's an idiot."

"Would you put his number in for me?"

He thought he could hear Caleb smile. "Yeah, kid. Lemme getcha some more pills, 'kay? You look kinda dead."

"Mmm."

The next day, when Caleb left him alone to go check out a possible haunting two towns over ("Call if you need anything, but, ah, ya know, try not to need anything.")Sam pulled out the new cell phone that had been waiting for him when he awoke in the hospital, his old one having been demolished in the crash. He hesitated just a moment over the list of contacts, staring at the name and gnawing on his lower lip. They hadn't talked since before Sam left, and he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know what Dean would say to him.

Maybe he should just start with something simple. Not a phone call, but... maybe just a text?

Hey, Dean. How's it going?

He stared at the short message until the screen went black, then he brought it back up, changed 'Dean' to 'jerk', and hit 'send'.

Then he waited. And after less than a minute, his phone buzzed that he had a message.

Ambiguous ending is ambiguous. Ha ha...