So, the F-bombs are a little more plentiful in this chapter, and I'd like to apologize in advance for Dean's mouth. But, try to cut the guy a break. He's having a very bad day.

Dean, with his arms full of hurting little brother, looked up and met Bobby's eyes in the rear-view mirror. And, when he spoke, his voice dipped into a warming growl, "Bobby, you drive this damn car like a pack of hellhounds are on your ass."

^v^v^v^v^v^

Bobby shared a brief, but intense look with Dean, and then Baby was on the move. Bobby didn't gun it, but he wasn't taking her for a Sunday drive either, and the force of her acceleration pressed them back into the seat. Sam's bent leg thumped against the back of their seat and his weight pushed against Dean's stomach.

Baby's tires kicked up dirt as they hightailed it through the salvage yard, and Dean held onto his brother with both arms as the she drifted around a corner. Up ahead, Dean could see the end of the driveway. Bobby slowed her down just long enough to check for traffic, then swung her out onto the road. There was a quick squeal of tires as her backend got loose, but then her tires gripped the pavement, and Bobby put the hammer down.

Baby is an American muscle car and she always loves an opportunity to go hard and go fast. She can get her big, heavy ass from 0-60 in 6.4 seconds; once Dean got it as low as 6.2. It's what she was made for. So, when Bobby told her what they needed from her, she was eager to perform and responded with a powerful, throaty growl. She took a long hit of fuel and her big-block engine roared, long and loud, as she propelled them forward. Baby gave them all she had, and in no time, they were hurtling through the back roads of South Dakota as she ate up the distance to the hospital.

In the back seat, Dean angled himself against the door to and give Sam a little more room. He held his brother's head, cradled in his arm, and could feel the water from Sam's soaked hair drip onto his leg and leach through his jeans. Using his free hand, Dean adjusted the towel wrapped around Sam's wounded arm, and then took over holding the one he had pressed to his eyes.

Sam let him move his hand away and brought it back, behind his wet head, and latched onto Dean's arm.

"Hang on, Sammy," Dean soothed, "Gonna get you all doped up on the good stuff real soon."

"Heads up," Bobby said, and Dean saw him getting ready to toss him a bottle of drinking water. He caught it and cracked the seal.

"Some water, Sam," he said and touched the rim to Sam's lips. His brother released the grip on his arm and took the bottle from him. Dean watched as his forehead creased from the effort as he took long pulls from the bottle. When he had half of it drained, Dean placed his hand over Sam's, "Okay, that's enough for now." He pulled the bottle away and recapped it. "Your system's probably all wigged out right now; let's make sure that's going to stay down." He wedged the bottle between his hip and Sam's waist.

There was a hiss, and then Sam grabbed at his t-shirt with his good hand. He tugged it down, pulling it away from the burns near his collarbone.

Bobby stole a glance at them, and then he was driving with one hand on the wheel. The car made a slight jerk to the right while he fumbled around with something in the front. After a moment, he held up a dripping hand towel.

Dean shifted as little as possible as he reached for the towel, but Sam still groaned from the movement. Dean froze, and then settled them back, "Just toss it."

Bobby pitched it back and Dean snatched it out of the air. Water droplets flung off of the towel and sprinkled down over them. Dean quickly folded the dripping towel length-wise.

"Gonna lay a cool cloth on your face, Sam," Dean warned. Beginning at his temple, and going as tender and careful as he could, he laid it against the side of his brother's face, neck, and down across his chest.

"Ready for another?" Bobby asked.

Dean held his hand up in response, and Bobby tossed it.

"One more time, Sammy." Dean let him know what was coming, but Sam still flinched. He sucked in a hiss and grunted when the soothing cloth touched a couple of the more damaged areas.

Dean frowned, "I know, man. Hang in there," he said while laying the last part of the towel over the redness on his chest.

"Bobby, pass me that jug." Dean said looking up, but Bobby was already holding it up over the back of the seat. And, this time Dean had no choice but to lean forward to grab it.

"Hang on, Sam; gotta move for just a sec," he warned, and tightened the hold he had around his brother, cradling him to himself a little closer. Anything he could think of to help hold him steady as he reached forward.

Sam exhaled a silent grunt. His grip on Dean's bicep tightened as he drew his knee in, moving his foot to the door. Sam pushed against it, and Dean heard the panel groan and give a little pop, but he didn't give one damn. He knew Baby wouldn't take it personally.

"Easy, Sam," His words were soft with compassion as Dean settled them back into the seat. He didn't waste any time and allowed a thin flow of the cool water to spill from the jug. Dean could see the relief it gave Sam as he started to relax a little and the grip on his arm was downgraded from crushing to uncomfortably intense.

Dean followed a continuous path, as he dribbled the water over his brother's eyes, face, chest, arm, and then back to his eyes... Dean closed his own for a moment and was selfishly grateful that Sam couldn't see through the towels. Because, if he could, he'd take a whopping two seconds to read him, and then he'd be screwed. All his confident, every-thing's-gonna-be-fine attitude would be trashed, because Sam would see what he was really feeling, and then—yeah, he'd be screwed.

Dean wasn't concerned, anxious, or even worried. He was flat-out scared with a heaping side of panic. He'd gotten a good look at Sam's eyes while he was forcing them open while Bobby flushed them out. They were intact. Awesome. They weren't bleeding enough to notice past all the water. Double awesome. But, they were both fucking blood-red.

And, we're not talking about blood-shot, here, where maybe the whites were really red, but you could still make out lines of veins stretching through to the iris. No; the entire white was red. He could see Sam's pupil, his iris, and then there was only a dark, rich red where the whites should have been.

Being that close to the epicenter of the explosion, there was pretty much no question that his eyes were exposed to an intense heat and flying debris. And, the way Sam had been palming them before Dean could stop him, well, Dean didn't want to think about how that debris could have been scratching and gouging as his brother pressed against his eyes.

He couldn'tthink about that just now. If they got a bad report, then yeah, he'd be all over that motherfucker to get their lives figured out. But, for this moment, these last few minutes before they got there, he'd give himself a reprieve, on thinking about the what-if's. It was his last-ditch effort to keep his shit together.

Bobby turned onto a dirt road and the difference in the sound of the road brought Dean out from his thoughts. Aside from the sound of the engine, the dirt road outside, and an occasional grunt from Sam, the car was quiet. Dean looked his brother over. He hadn't spoken since he was pleading with them to stop flushing out his eyes. He knew it was because Sam was concentrating on keeping a hold on the pain. Trying to compartmentalize it away and not let it overtake him.

Keeping up with the water's same, steady, slow rate he asked, "Bobby, how much longer?"

The hunter tilted his head as he calculated a quick estimate, "Maybe another five; give or take a minute." Bobby steered the car around a ninety-degree turn, "Shit; hold on." He said right before Baby plowed through a rough patch job in the old county road.

Dean held Sam close again, trying his best to keep him steady, but they got jostled pretty hard as she bounced and lurched through the ruts. Sam's grip on his arm went back to crushing as he released a tense grunt and pressed against the door again.

Bobby's eyes darted to the mirror, "Sorry, kid."

Dean was about to bitch at Bobby about his driving, but logic promptly shut that down. It reminded him that, right now, Sam needed speed over comfort.

Using up the last of the water, he chucked the empty jug over the front passenger seat. Bobby was already holding up the last, partial gallon of water, and Dean squeezed Sam's shoulder, "Gotta move again, Sammy."

Dean stretched his arm out as far as he possibly could, but still had to lean in a bit. Sam was quiet this time, but still squeezed his arm and raised that same knee again until they settled back.

He knew some aches and pains would be a no-brainer, considering how the blast had thrown his brother. He'd counted on it, in a few hours, after it was all over and Sam had stopped moving around. After the adrenaline faded, and his muscles had cooled down, that's when the real stiffness would set in. However, if all that was already happening? Crap. That was so not a good sign.

Dean's eyes stung and his throat tried to strangle him as he started pouring again. He swallowed a couple of times, but his voice still came out husky with emotion, "Fuck, Bobby. What the hell did you have in that pile?"

Bobby bypassed the mirror this time and whipped his head around toward the back of the car, and hissed, "Don't you go blamin' this on me!" He looked back at the road, then tossed another look over his shoulder, "Ain't nothin' was in that pile except brush and dead grass."

Dean snapped his head up, growling, "Yeah, well, there must've been something, because kerosene doesn't just explode like that!"

"Yeah, and I'm telling ya, Dean, only thing in that pile was brush!"

Dean kept pouring the water as it continued to drip off the saturated towels, ran down Sam's head, pooled in the hallow of his throat, and effectively soaking them both. "Think, Bobby!" Dean snapped, "Something else must have been nearby. Uh, I don't old know…, an old propane tank or a crate of old Aerosol cans—"

Bobby was just up there shaking his head against what he was saying, and Dean got pissed, "Bobby, they're gonna need to know what the hell exploded so they can treat him for it!"

"How stupid do you think I am, boy?" Bobby growled, "I know how to clear a damn area before—"

"Was... wasn't kerosene."

The sound of Sam's voice shut Bobby up quick, and Dean's steely gaze jumped from the mirror, down to his brother. He gave Sam's shoulder a little squeeze, "What'd ya say, Sam?"

Sam swallowed and tipped his head back against Dean's arm. His lips worked for a second before he pushed out a voice that was worn thin from pain, "Wasn't... kerosene. On the pile."

"Whad'ya mean, it wasn't kerosene?" Bobby asked, glaring into the mirror, and carefully delivered each of his words.

Sam swallowed again and pressed his lips together as he cleared his throat, "I could smell it. Right before Billy opened his lighter." He stopped and his head did a little twitch toward Dean's chest, "…gasoline."

"What?" Bobby squawked in disbelief.

Dean was absolutely positive he had heard wrong, because surely no one could be that stupid. But, he had to ask anyway, and when he did, his voice dipped lower, taking on that hushed and dangerous edge. "The fuck, you say?"

Sam pressed back against Dean's arm again, "He used gas on the pile."

Bobby's grip on the steering wheel tightened as he wrenched his hands around it. Grumbling curses tumbled from his lips, but Dean couldn't hear him anymore. A darkness was overshadowing him, as it crept in from the edges. The sudden urge to break something became almost unbearable. His demeanor slid into a slow burn and the hold he had on his brother took a leap from supportive, to fierce and protective.

"I ran at him," Sam started to speak again, "…tried to get him to stop, but it was too late. Billy flipped back the lid to his Zippo; must have sparked…"

Sam paused and his head made the slightest flinch against Dean again. "I—I don't think he even touched the wheel before the pile exploded."

"Of all the stupid..., half-witted, moronic, dumbass..."

The rest of Bobby's rant was lost on Dean as a cloud of rage settled in. Growling against the beast, he fought against himself to stay in control. "Kill him... I'm gonna— Bobby, I am going to fucking kill him. I swear; he's a fucking dead man!"

"You'n me both," Bobby growled, shaking his head against the very idea. "How stupid do you have to be to—" His anger cut him off and he tilted his head, exhaling hard, "I told that boy to use the kerosene—"

The sound of Bobby's strife and guilt over the entire situation filtered through the layers of Dean's fury. Bobby was up there, taking all the blame and making himself the one at fault for Sam being in the condition he was in. Dean knew he was beating himself up for not going out there and doing it himself. He knew the man was somehow trying to put all this onto his shoulders.

Dean sighed, "I know, Bobby, I heard—"

"They're not even in the same shed..." Bobby finished with disbelief, and then slammed his palm against the steering wheel. "Damn it to hell!"

"Bobby calm down, alright?" Dean snapped, feeling like a complete hypocrite, considering he was having a hell of a time doing the same. His breathing was tight, his chest even tighter, and he couldn't stop thinking about what he going to do to that asshat once he caught up to him.

But, for right now, they just needed to focus on helping his brother.

"Just calm down," Dean said again, talking to both Bobby and himself. Then a thought popped into his head, and he looked back to Sam. "Dude, I thought you went to show him which shed had the kerosene?"

Sam huffed and sucked his lips, "I did. Walked him right to it; he even looked inside."

Dean frowned, "Then how the hell did he grab the wrong stuff?"

Sam grimaced and pushed back against Dean's arm again, "Don't know. He was about to grab a container, but Rufus asked for help with something. Uh, after that, Billy headed toward the house with Cooper…,"

Sam was quiet for a beat, "I don't know. I was still over with Rufus. I remember Billy coming back out, but, then it had been a while—"He got cut off by a grunt and then his head did that same little twitch against Dean. "He still hadn't lit the pile…went to see if he needed help…, and that's when I smelled the gas; and then it blew."

Dean shook his head, trying to figure out what went wrong, "How in the hell did he—"

"—smelled something else, too."

"On the pile?"

Sam started to shake his head, but stopped with a soft gasp, "No. On Billy."

"What; like, booze?"

Sam huffed again, "Ah, not exactly."

Dean looked up at Bobby in the mirror and recognized a look of unease. He frowned, "What's he talking about, Bobby?"

Bobby shook his head, "Nah…"

"Bobby!"

The older hunter shook his head. One look at his weary expression, and Dean knew, that Bobby knew, he wasn't going to like the answer. He took a breath and, "Billy used to like to... sample the local grass; but—"

"What?" Dean shouted, "Are you joking?! He's a fucking stoner and you let him—"

"—Kid's been clean for goin' on six years!" Bobby shouted back. "Got busted for being a user during a drug test at work. Lost a damn good job and his wife took it outta his ass. Threatened to leave him. He quit usin' after that, and as far as I know, hadn't touched the stuff since. I've worked with him plenty of times, on plenty of hunts; never gave me reason to believe he'd started smoking it again."

"Oh..., you gotta be kidding me!" Dean thumped his head back against the window and looked out the windshield as Bobby merged onto the highway.

"No," Dean shook his head and glared at Bobby in the mirror again. "There's no—" his temper overtook him and he had to take a breath to process. "Bobby. How the hell hadn't you noticed?!"

"Dean—"

"Because he ain't been usin'!"

"Well," Dean was incredulous, "Obviously, he has!"

"Dean—"

"Well, then, obviously I'm just too stupid to pick up on it! That it?"

"I'm sorry, Bobby, but, it's not all that tricky to—"

"Dean!"

"What!" He snapped, tearing his eyes from Bobby's smoldering glare, and looked down at his brother.

"Lay off... alright?"

"Sam, no—"

"Look." Sam exhaled a soft grunt as he squirmed a little. "I didn't notice anything until I was standing right up on him; in the doorway of the shed. And, it was so faint, I'm not even positive that's what it was."

"Pot's got a pretty distinguishable smell, Sammy."

"Yeah, but like I said, it was real faint. He could have just as easily picked it up by standing near someone else that was smoking."

Dean shook his head and exhaled hard through his nose.

"I'll get with Cooper," Bobby started and Dean looked back up at the mirror. Bobby looked at the road and then back at Dean, "He'll give it to me straight."

Bobby looked back to the road a few times, but held his gaze until Sam adjusted his arm and his soft gasp stole Dean's attention away. Sam pressed back against him, forcing a groan through clenched teeth and he placed a hand on his brother's forehead.

They were coming up to a blue highway sign that told them the exit for the hospital was three miles ahead. He looked back down, "We're almost there, Sam. Couple more miles, man. You're going to be doing a lot better real soon."

Sam flashed him a nervous smile, "Yeah, ah," he blew out a tight, humorless snicker, "can't say I share the same opinion."

Dean frowned down at the towels covering most of his brother's face. He looked at how Sam's mouth was set in that patented, uneasy scowl, and asked a question he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer to.

"Why? What do you mean?"

"Dean," Sam's lips pressed together and Dean didn't need to move the towels to know his face was drawn into a worried scowl. "When you had my eyes open… I couldn't… make anything out. I—Dean, I couldn't see.

Dozens of thoughts and scenarios rushed through his mind. And, the one thing he hadn't been allowing himself to think about, sucker-punched him right in the gut. He took a second to force his voice to remain calm and confident, and without a trace of the emotions trying to pummel him into a sloppy mess.

Dean cleared his throat, "Was it all dark?"

"No, it wasn't dark, but everything was just shadows. Lights and darks. I couldn't… Dean, I couldn't even make you out."

Couldn't make you out. He was only inches from Sam's face, and his brother couldn't even make out his silhouette? That familiar panic began to bubble up from his gut and he shut it down as it reached his chest, making his heart stutter.

Continually fighting against the panic and the fear was wearing him down to his last nerve. He wasn't going to be able to keep up the charade much longer, but, the hospital was only a few miles away. He could grip it until then. After they got Sam settled, if he had to, he could find a dark corner somewhere to unravel.

But, for right then, he clung onto his good friend, Logic. "Sam, don't worry about that," he spoke carefully again, making certain he still came across as calm and confident, "Bobby was dumping water in your eyes, I was probably too close to really focus on, and, if there is some sort of loss of vision, I'm sure it's just temporary."

Sam's breathing quickened, "But, what if it's not?"

"Sammy, I said, don't worry about that now. Everything's going to be okay."

"But, Dean," Sam breathed and when he continued, there was a slight tremor in his voice, "… what if it's not?"

Dean swallowed hard and held his brother a little closer. He squeezed his eyes shut against the watery sting, and heard Baby open up with a roar as Bobby urged her on.

TBC...