Dean collapsed onto the bed more than he did simply lie down. In all the years he'd fought side-by-side with his father and brother, he'd never hurt this badly. His shoulder felt like it was broken, his face raw with road rash, and Dean was sure nearly every muscle in his body had taken abuse this day. If he didn't know better, he'd be sure even his toenails ached.

He needed to sleep … just … sleep. And he was starving.

Ignoring the inches of mud and debris that covered him head-to-toe, Dean closed his eyes and drifted off - images of happier times spiraling down behind him.

But then the door to the trailer crashed open, and Dean was suddenly thrust back into wakefulness as Monte strode angrily over and stood glaring down at him.

"So you think it's nap time, do you, rookie?"

Dean struggled to sit up, not liking his vulnerable position with the older man towering over him.

"Well? I asked you what the hell you think you're doing?"

"No, you didn't." Dean said simply, pissed. This guy may have held his contract, but he sure as hell didn't own his soul.

Monte's eyes darkened. The older man was unused to back talk, and this Winchester kid was aces at it. It was one of the reasons why Monte felt compelled to drive him so far past his limits. Truth was, Monte didn't like the kid. He didn't like his attitude that was bigger than Georgia. He didn't like his flippant replies whenever Monte gave him an order, and he REALLY didn't like the fact that the kid was revealing himself to be a natural. This whole mess may have started out as a genuine money-making deal, but it was fast turning into something else. Winchester had captured the attention of everyone on the circuit with his skill and steady determination. And the worse Monte treated him, the more the older man could feel the disapproving eyes of the league.

The kid was making him look like a monster, and Monte didn't like it. He was determined now that the Winchester kid was going to quit and slink away home in a very public fashion. Then Monte would have him right where he wanted him - in breach of his contract. He'd never have to look at the little smartass again, yet he'd still get a portion of everything the kid ever earned throughout his life.

Kid should've read the small print on that contract, Monte thought, smiling. He glared down at the kid who had more attitude than brains and suddenly knew exactly how to put him in his place.

"So you're proud of your performance today, Ace?" He asked, snidely.

"Hell yeah, I am." Dean returned immediately, referring to his ability to climb the hill his first time out. Dean had known from the cheers and congratulations that followed his rookie climb that he'd done something amazing. "Climbed that bitch ten times over. No other rookie ever did it." He placed a shaky hand over his destroyed shoulder and rubbed it gently. Man, it was times like this he missed his brother something fierce. Sam's graceful hands were perfect for working the painful kinks out of shoulder muscles.

But Monte sneered. "Now is that counting the final three runs when you rolled back down?"

Dean shrugged, wincing. "Everybody rolls eventually. Paul Angello told me that."

Monte snorted. "Paul Angello was washed up his first year in. Kid wasn't worth what the ink cost on his contract."

Dean stared up in dismay. Paul Angello was a fast-rising star in the off-road circuit. Dean had been around long enough to hear the rumors.

Monte stepped back, preparing to deliver the words that he knew would destroy the cocky kid in front of him. "You know what happens when you roll one? You think it's cute? Think it's manly? Well it ain't. It's stupid is what it is. It shows the world you ain't got the sense God gave a goose. You know what else it does?"

But Dean was shutting down. He was used to Monte's abuse by now, and he had an innate ability to turn the guy off when he became too ridiculous. Dean began shrugging out of his driving suit, trying not to gasp as the sleeves came down off his shoulders.

"It kills people, you dumbass. It kills spectators. It you ever roll back down that hill during competition like you did today? People will die. That matter to you at all?"

Dean shook his head. The guy was lying. Dean had watched the other drivers. They'd all rolled eventually.

Monte was growing frustrated at Dean's lack of appropriate chagrin. "You know who was watching that race today, boy? Family. Maybe mine. Maybe Angello's. Maybe even yours. Maybe that smartass kid brother you talk so much about, hmmm?"

And at that, Monte had the kid's full attention, just like he'd known he would. The man smirked.

"Maybe Sam was in that audience today, hmmm? Maybe he showed up to cheer on big brother. And what he'd get for his trouble? He got dead. He got dead because Dean Winchester with his big attitude got cocky. What do you think about that, Winchester? Maybe when you rolled today, you rolled right over your sixteen-year-old brother. Maybe that's his blood coating your driving suit right now, instead of just mud. Maybe your vehicle landed on him like a fucking building, smashing him flat and busting his head open like a squashed watermelon. Maybe that's his freaking brains splashed up all over your boots right now." Monte paused, delighted to see the sickly green pallor that had overtaken the kid.

"Maybe Sammy died today because you killed him - you, Dean. You killed him. Your car, your run, your attitude. You think shit like that don't happen? It does, more times than I could count. You get cocky, you get careless, and it's some innocent bystander, some fan, someone's kid brother who could end up paying the price." Monte stopped for a breath. The kid looked like he was going to puke.

Good.

Monte stood over him, pleased that he'd finally managed to get under the kid's skin. He knew which tool to use now, and he'd be sure to take advantage of it in the future.

"So you think about that tonight when you look at that suit you're wearing. Sure, tonight it's covered in mud. Tomorrow? Who knows?" Monte smirked down at Dean. "Sleep tight, asshole." He said, striding to the door and disappearing through it.

Dean made it to the trailer's small toilet before vomiting.

###

"Your brother needs to get the hell back home. I can't fight monsters like this."

The words were delivered cruelly, just as John had intended, and Sam felt every syllable. He tried to shrink into himself more, in the hopes of becoming invisible to his father's wrath, but no luck. John was determined to let Sam know how disappointed he was in him - how badly he'd screwed up.

"Dad, I think … I think I need the hospital." Sam stammered, scared. He was hurting more than he thought he could bear, the pain in his side where the railroad spike had gone through throbbing in tune with the beat of his heart. Sam gritted his teeth, trying not to scream as John tugged the foreign object free angrily.

"Man up, Sam." John barked, holding pressure over the wound. "It didn't go clean through - just halfway. You don't need a hospital. And it's your own damned fault anyway."

"S-sorry." Sam stammered. "I'm sorry."

But John just shook his head, taking Sam's hand and placing it over the makeshift compress. "Here, pressure." He barked, turning to the first-aid kit. As Sam placed a shaking hand over the bandage, he saw John remove a syringe from its sterile plastic packaging and sink it into a vial of medicine. He winced as John plunged the needle into his already flaming side. He cried out, unable to help it.

"Dammit, Sam. Hold still. That bitch was rusty as tombs. You need this antibiotic."

"Pain, Dad! I really need something for pain! Please!"

But John just shook his head. "After." He said. "You know what pain is, Sam? It's a reminder not to let your guard down next time."

Sam rolled and twisted on the ground, unable to help himself. "Please!" He sobbed, ashamed.

John stopped in his ministrations long enough to glare at his injured son. "Stop moving right now, Sam, or I'll knock you out. You hear me?"

Sam did his best to stop writhing as he watched his father thread up the needle for his impending stitches, minus the painkiller.

"I want Dean." Sam whimpered, as the needle sank in.

John snorted. "You and me both." he said, and commenced stitching.