The lights of the emergency vehicles crowded around the accident scene continued to flash in the darkness like red and blue strobe lights, disorienting but strangely exciting to those onlookers crawling by in their cars.

Radios were turned down and ongoing conversations were put on hold as both drivers and passengers speculated about what had happened on the side of the road to cause such a commotion. Everyone craning their necks to catch a glimpse of whatever was going on below in the ditch.

Tires hissed on the rain-slick asphalt as police officers yelled at the nosy civilians, glaring their annoyance and motioning for the drivers to drive and stop gawking.

"Jesus..." one of the officers swore, shaking his head as he glanced at his brother in arms while they both stood in the middle of the road directing traffic around the police cars and the fire truck and the ambulance. "It's like they've never seen a fucking accident."

The other officer nodded in agreement, forcefully gesturing to one particular asshole who couldn't seem to figure out that he had to go around. "It's always the same, man..."

The first officer snorted his disgust. "I guess," he responded dryly and then directed his attention to the black muscle car that was still parked haphazardly in the middle of the road, further making their job a pain in the ass.

The other officer squinted against the oncoming headlights – made brighter by reflecting off the wet pavement – and followed his buddy's gaze.

"Should we move it?"

The other officer arched an eyebrow at the question and shrugged. "Maybe. But how?"

The first officer smiled knowingly, having already given the car a once-over before mentioning this idea. "Keys are still in the ignition."

The other officer let out a low whistle and shook his head in disbelief. Because if he had a car like that, he sure as hell wouldn't leave her parked in the middle of the street with the doors unlocked and the keys inside.

But then again, the guy who had been driving the classic Chevy – an Impala, the officer was pretty sure, though he couldn't place the year – had other things on his mind when he had first arrived at the scene, more important things than even this black beauty...like a kid brother who was in the wreck down in the ditch behind them.

The officer had heard the guy announce that several times as he had frantically, aggressively pushed through the crowd of emergency workers who had been trying to stop him from reaching his brother...and had failed.

"So, what d'ya say?" the first officer pressed, glancing at his buddy as he directed another car around the parked Chevy. "We move it?"

The other officer shook his head. "I don't know, Frank. Did you see the guy who got out of that thing? I don't think he'd like us messing with his car."

Frank pulled a face. "Please," he dismissed, even though he had seen the driver of the muscle car and agreed that the guy didn't look like anyone to fuck with. "What's he going to do, Mike? Arrest us?"

Mike rolled his eyes, gesturing to another driver to go around the accident scene. "Cute," he commented flatly and then shook his head again. "But I'm serious, man. The guy is the kid's brother."

"So?" Frank challenged as Mike motioned vaguely over his shoulder to the wrecked truck in the ditch as if Frank didn't know which kid Mike was talking about.

"So I think the guy has enough shit to worry about tonight without us taking his car."

"We're not taking it," Frank corrected, irritated by Mike's conscience. "I'm not suggesting we take the damn thing on a joyride – though how fucking sweet would that be, huh?"

He and Mike smiled and nodded appreciatively at the thought of revving the engine of the classic muscle car.

"I'm just saying we move it so we have one less vehicle to direct dumbasses around," Frank continued reasonably.

And it made sense.

Mike couldn't argue against that logic.

But still...it somehow felt wrong.

Mike sighed. "I don't know, man," he replied and hoped that he could continue to stall his buddy from acting on this plan until the firemen rescued the kid in the truck.

Because as soon as that happened, Mike knew the Impala's driver would be headed back to his classic Chevy, undoubtedly with his kid brother in tow since Mike had heard the medics bitching earlier about the guy refusing treatment or hospital transport for the kid.

And when that happened – when the guy returned to the car – this issue would be resolved. The car would be moved...and the scene would be cleared...and they could all go home and let traffic direct itself.

But in the meantime, Mike just had to resist the usual peer pressure he felt whenever he was on duty with Frank.

...which was easier said than done.

Mike sighed again and then blinked as a driver, distracted by trying to see details of the accident scene, barely missed hitting Frank with his car.

"What the hell...?" Frank blurted angrily, glaring as he waved at the driver to stop and then proceeded to stomp in the direction of the halted car, splashing shallow puddles on the asphalt and swearing heatedly.

Mike couldn't help but smile at the stroke of luck; glad that Frank wasn't hurt but thankful for the near-miss since it would keep his partner occupied for at least the next 20 minutes.

He just hoped that was enough time for the firemen to complete the rescue of that kid.

Mike cringed at the thought; because even without knowing the kid's injuries, he still knew the kid had been in the water for entirely too long, especially on a night as cold as this one.

Mike shook his head in sympathy, glancing over his shoulder at the generator as it continued to rumble noisily beside the fire truck and powered the Jaws of Life currently being hauled down the ditch bank to peel open the wrecked pickup.

"Hang on, kid..." Mike urged the stranger in the truck below and then glanced at Frank still raising hell with the driver who had almost run him over seconds before, having forgotten how ridiculously animated Frank became when he was pissed.

Mike chuckled at his partner's rant, thankful for the light moment, and then redirected his attention to the oncoming traffic, resuming his job of motioning cars around the accident scene and on their way.

Nearby, the constant roar of the generator vibrated the ground as the slight tremors traveled down the steep slope and tickled the edge of the rising water in the ditch, causing it to ripple.

The image was peaceful, as if the night was calm and a gentle breeze was blowing across a narrow river; as if a kid wasn't on the verge of drowning while trapped in a wrecked truck submerged in the frigid water rapidly filling the ditch.

Still crouched beside the driver's door of the truck, Dean shifted for a better view of his brother. "Hang on, Sammy..." he encouraged, having lost count of how many times he had repeated those three words over the past minute. "Just hang on..." he urged, readjusting his hold on the flashlight while tightening his grip on his brother's limp hand.

Sam didn't respond but instead choked on the water that filled his mouth, coughing and gasping and staring at Dean through the busted driver's side window; his eyes misted with tears, his expression resigned to his fate.

Dean shook his head, freshly pissed at the situation. "No," he growled in reaction to Sam's acceptance that he would probably die like this. "No fucking way. You hear me?"

Because Dean could still remember standing in the doorway of that hospital room while he helplessly watched John slip away.

And that wasn't happening with Sam.

Sam wasn't slipping away.

Dean wasn't losing his little brother.

Not like this.

And not tonight.

"Sammy..." Dean called when the kid's eyes closed.

Sam coughed harshly in response, blinking at Dean as he struggled to lift his head higher in a futile attempt to escape the water that was determined to drown him.

But Sam couldn't move; his body still pinned between the truck's steering wheel and the bench seat; the springs having torn through the worn upholstery to prick and puncture the skin on Sam's back.

Not that Sam could feel the pain anymore.

Not that Sam could feel much of anything since his entire body was numb from how long he had been in the freezing water.

"D'n..." Sam gasped, his voice strained by muted pain and panic. "D'n..." he repeated and then coughed. "D'n..."

"It's okay," Dean assured, even as he swallowed against the panic that swelled in his own chest at the sound of his brother calling his name over and over; the exhausted kid desperate for the one person who always saved him, who always made things right to rescue him now.

But there was nothing Dean could do.

Nothing.

Dean clenched his jaw, pissed and scared and so fucking over this.

"Just hang on..." Dean told his brother once more, squeezing Sam's hand encouragingly before yelling over his shoulder. "Bobby!"

Because what the fuck was taking the older hunter so long?

It was a ditch bank. Not the fucking Grand Canyon.

"Bobby!" Dean yelled again, shining the flashlight up the steep slope and feeling a brief wave of relief when he saw the older hunter.

"Calm down," Bobby barked back squinting in the glare of the flashlight as he descended the mud-slick slope and reached the edge of the water. "I'm here," he soothed, his tone softening at the unmasked panic in Dean's expression.

"Hurry..." was Dean's only response before turning the flashlight's beam and his attention back to Sam.

Bobby nodded.

In the next instant, the tiny ripples caused by the generator's vibrations morphed into small waves as the older hunter hastily plunged into the waist-high water, briefly gasping at how surprisingly cold the water was...and then scowling at the thought of his boys – especially Sam – having been in such conditions for so long.

...which meant mild hypothermia just got added to the list of things to worry about.

Bobby sighed. "How is he?" he asked about their youngest, approaching the wrecked vehicle and crouching beside Dean to peer into the truck's cab.

Dean didn't respond.

He didn't have to.

Bobby could see for himself that Sam was in trouble. "Ah, hell..." he swore as the kid stared back at him with wide, scared eyes.

"Bob – " Sam attempted to greet, but the name was abruptly shortened as he inhaled a mouthful of water.

Dean cringed as Sam audibly choked; his heart slamming in his chest as his brother coughed and wheezed. "Easy..."

"D'n..."

"I know, Sammy," Dean soothed, lacing his fingers with Sam's beneath the water to better maintain a grip on the kid's hand. "I know, man. We're gonna get you out right now. I promise."

Sam grunted as he tried to push himself above the water's reach.

But it didn't work.

Sam's movement only caused more pressure in his chest as the steering wheel grinded against his sternum and the dulled pain throughout his body freshly ignited and throbbed with his racing heartbeat.

Sam swallowed, reminded of how badly his head hurt with the drumming of his pulse in his temples. "D'n..."

Dean squeezed his brother's hand, his heart breaking every time Sam said his name in that slurred, whimpered way. "Right here," he assured his brother – because he wasn't leaving Sam, even if that meant drowning right alongside the kid.

Dean cut his eyes at Bobby.

Bobby nodded, sharing Dean's urgency, and glared over his shoulder at the firemen beginning to wade through the water in the ditch. "Move your asses!" he ordered sharply, disgusted by how slow this process had been from the start. "We got a kid drowning over here!"

"What? Shit..." the fireman from earlier hissed at the news and pushed forward with renewed determination, even as the resistance of the water was made worse by the layers of clothes he was wearing and the equipment he was carrying.

Precious seconds passed.

"It's about fucking time!" Dean snapped as the fireman finally arrived at his side with the Jaws of Life.

"Sorry," the fireman lamely apologized but didn't elaborate, correctly assuming that Dean didn't want to hear his excuses about a faulty generator having slowed the rescue process.

"Get him out," Dean ordered, shining the flashlight on Sam and nodding at his brother as the kid struggled to keep his chin above the lapping water. "Now."

"Yeah, of course..." the fireman responded, staring at the wrecked truck. "We just gotta figure out the right angle to start cutting."

Dean scowled at that plan. "What?" he demanded, feeling even more pissed when the firemen ignored him and began discussing and pointing at proposed angles like the crushed truck was a geometry problem.

Dean glanced at Bobby, who was also fuming.

"We don't have time for this shit!" the older hunter announced, and Dean nodded his agreement.

Because calculated precision meant nothing when Sam was fucking drowning.

The fireman in charge readjusted his hold on the Jaws of Life, tilting his head and nodding at one of the suggestions made by his crew. "That might work," he agreed with another fireman standing beside him. "Maybe if we – "

" – just cut the fucking door off!" Dean interrupted sharply, his urgency increased by the constant sound of Sam coughing and gasping inside the truck. "It can't be that fucking hard!"

The fireman arched an eyebrow at Dean's tone. "Sir..." he began.

But Dean was already handing the flashlight to Bobby as the older hunter switched places with the big brother; Bobby's hand now grasping Sam's beneath the water as Dean moved forward, reaching for the Jaws of Life to show the firemen how it was done.

Because Sam was not going to die while these assholes decided how to rescue him.

They had already wasted enough time.

Sam was already in shock and suffering from the effects of a concussion and hypothermia and god knew what other injuries hadn't even been seen yet.

And Dean was fucking done with this bullshit.

"Whoa..." the fireman commented as Dean approached, surprisingly fearful of the determined expression on Dean's face. "Sir, I ask that you please step back," he ordered, even as he was the one who took a step back from the pissed big brother.

"Like hell I will," Dean responded and continued to slosh through the water in the ditch, his focus on the fireman holding the one thing that could free Sam from the truck.

The fireman swallowed. "Sir, we're the ones trained to use this equipment – "

" – then use it," Dean growled, glaring his warning at the other firemen in the ditch who suddenly moved closer as though they planned to stop him; silently communicating that if they laid hands on him...there would be trouble.

Big fucking trouble.

Do you feel lucky? Well, do ya, punk?

Dean smirked, more than eager to kick somebody's ass.

The fireman holding the Jaws of Life swallowed nervously and cut his eyes at the other firemen, shaking his head to nonverbally call off his crew.

The firemen hesitated before easing back, giving Dean his space.

There was a beat of tense silence; the generator overhead continuing to roar as Bobby wisely observed, Dean quietly seethed, and Sam coughed harshly.

"Easy..." Bobby soothed, his attention flickering to Sam as he continued to hold the kid's hand beneath the water.

Sam said nothing.

Bobby readjusted the flashlight's beam to shine more directly on Sam; his gaze lingering on the kid to make sure Sam was at least still conscious and breathing before directing his focus back to Dean as he simultaneously monitored both situations with both of his boys.

Dean stared unwaveringly at the firemen, clenching both his fists and his jaw as rage pulsed through him.

Sam coughed once more.

"Just take it easy..." Bobby further urged, his voice calm as the advice was meant to comfort his youngest while also reeling in his oldest since the brothers needed to take it easy for different reasons.

The last thing they needed right now was for Sam to become more agitated...or for Dean to engage in a fistfight with a group of firemen in a flooded ditch.

Jesus...

Bobby sighed, wondering what a quiet life was like.

Seconds passed.

Sam coughed again as water entered his mouth and then squinted at Bobby, seeming startled to find the older hunter keeping vigil beside the truck instead of his brother.

Bobby glanced through the busted driver's window, aware that Sam was staring at him, and smiled encouragingly at the disoriented kid who was clearly in pain and needed to be out of this damn truck.

Sam didn't return the smile but instead frowned his confusion and distress at not seeing his brother. "D'n..." he called weakly, his movements sluggish and futile. "D'n..."

At the sound of his name being called in that familiar slurred voice, Dean instantly turned toward the truck, recognizing the confusion in Sam's tone and crouching so that Sam could see him.

"I'm still here," Dean assured his brother, concerned by how weak and wet Sam's voice sounded now, confirming that the kid had actually inhaled water at some point.

Sam blinked at him, audibly wheezing as water flowed in and out of his mouth.

Dean's stomach twisted as he cut his eyes at the fireman holding the Jaws of Life. "Get him out. Right. Fucking. Now." He paused. "Or so help me god, I'll do it. And then I'll kick your worthless asses."

The firemen stared at him wide-eyed.

Dean glared heatedly. "Move."

The firemen nodded. "Yes, sir," they responded obediently in unison – as if Dean was authorized to give them orders – and then began moving as one.

The fireman in charge motioned for the other firemen to take their positions around the truck. "First, we'll take off the door," he began to explain to Dean. "And then – "

" – whatever," Dean interrupted brusquely. "Just do it."

Because there wasn't time to outline a plan of action.

There was only time for action.

And that time was now.

The fireman nodded once more. "Okay," he agreed. "But..." He paused, clearly hesitant about his next request.

Dean arched an eyebrow. "What?"

The fireman swallowed. "We'll need you to move back."

"Away from Sam?" Dean clarified.

"Away from the truck," the fireman replied, as if that distinction would make a difference.

But away from the truck was away from Sam, even if there was no way around it.

After all, the firemen needed space to work.

And Dean knew that.

So did Bobby.

But still...

Dean sighed.

"Dean..."

"I know," Dean answered before Bobby could continue and then glanced through the busted driver's side window at Sam still trapped inside the truck's cab.

Sam blinked drowsily, spitting out water as quickly as it entered his mouth.

"Sammy..." Dean began, nodding his thanks to Bobby as the older hunter stood and stepped back to allow him to better see his brother. "I'll be right back," he promised, squeezing the kid's hand as he once again held it under the water. "You hear me? Right back."

Sam nodded jerkily but said nothing.

"Dean..." Bobby called, reaching to pull the big brother away from the truck. "Let's go."

Because the water was approaching Sam's nose and there would be no way the kid could fight against that.

They were damn lucky he had lasted this long.

Dean sighed harshly. "Right back," he repeated his promise to Sam, feeling the kid's hand slip from his grasp as he allowed Bobby to pull him away.

The older hunter's grip remained around his arm as they moved toward the ditch bank, as if Bobby didn't trust Dean to stay away from the truck.

And Dean had to admit, it was harder than he expected to watch other people – strangers – work to save his brother.

Because saving Sam, taking care of Sam was Dean's job.

"There's still plenty to take care of..." Bobby reminded as if he could read Dean's thoughts. "The kid looked pretty banged up. Head wound, probably some cracked ribs...and who knows what kind of injuries might be hiding beneath all that water that we ain't even seen yet."

Dean nodded, shrugging out of Bobby's grip as the older hunter kept the flashlight focused on the scene.

They both watched as the fireman inserted the tip of the Jaws of Life between the crushed driver's side door and the body of the truck.

"We gotta worry about anything being broken?" Bobby asked about Sam, knowing Dean would've asked his brother that during triage.

Dean shook his head. "I don't think so. Sam didn't report anything feeling broken."

"Good," Bobby praised and hoped that fact would remain true after they could fully evaluate Sam's condition once the kid was out of the truck. "No hospital, then."

"Exactly," Dean agreed, remembering his argument with the medic earlier about that topic and then stepping to the right to better see the firemen's progress on prying open the driver's side door.

There was a beat of silence; the generator roaring overhead while the firemen yelled directions to each other as they quickly worked to free Sam from the wreckage.

Bobby sighed. "Do we know how this happened?"

"Yeah," Dean replied, glancing at the older hunter. "Vision."

Bobby arched an eyebrow at the news, not sure what explanation he had expected...but that won't it. "You sure?"

"I'm sure," Dean confirmed dryly, because he wasn't making this shit up. "Sam told me himself."

Bobby nodded thoughtfully. "Does he remember – "

" – no," Dean interrupted, shaking his head. "And we're not gonna worry about it right now," he added, staring meaningfully at the older hunter beside him on the ditch bank.

Because the last thing Dean needed was a little brother upset over something he couldn't remember, over something he couldn't control.

If the vision was gone, it was gone.

They wouldn't go chasing after it; especially since Sam may never remember its details given the head injury he had sustained shortly after the vision had occurred.

And while that sucked and Sam would undoubtedly bitch about it later, Dean couldn't be bothered to care.

Because the only detail that mattered to him was that Sam was okay.

Everything else – including information obtained through a vision – was insignificant by comparison.

"Got it?" Dean checked, still staring at Bobby as the older hunter stood beside him.

Bobby nodded, receiving Dean's message. "I won't mention it," he promised, though he was vaguely curious what the vision had been about and knew Sam wouldn't agree so easily about leaving the issue alone.

But they would cross that bridge later.

For now...

"What the hell is taking so long?" Dean demanded and then blinked when the driver's side door was suddenly cut free.

The water in the ditch sloshed as the sheet of twisted metal and broken glass was carefully passed from one fireman to another as they moved it out of their way.

"There..." Bobby needlessly pointed out and quirked a smile. "Almost done now..."

Dean shook his head in disapproval.

Because almost wasn't close enough.

He wanted Sam out now.

"'Bout damn time..." Dean grumbled about the door finally being removed and began wading through the water, heading back to his brother as the fireman wielding the Jaws of Life began working to pry the steering wheel away from Sam's body.

Bobby sighed. "Dean..."

Dean ignored him.

Bobby sighed again. "Stubborn idjit..." he muttered, knowing Dean had already stayed away from Sam longer than he had wanted, and followed behind the big brother to referee any conflict likely to arise between Dean and the firemen.

The fireman in charge glanced over his shoulder as Dean appeared behind him. "Sir..." he yelled over the rumble of the Jaws of Life in action. "You need to – "

" – no," Dean informed and shook his head. "I'm not going anywhere," he added and then offered an encouraging smile to Sam as the kid looked up at him from where he remained trapped against the truck's bench seat; the water tickling his nose. "You're doing good, Sammy. Almost there..."

"Sir..." the fireman tried again.

"No," Dean repeated, knowing what the fireman was going to say, and then nodded at how close the powerful tip of the Jaws of Life was to Sam's body. "Be careful with him."

Because if this dumbass hurt Sam by not paying attention...

The fireman nodded his understanding of the unspoken threat, reminded that his focus should be on rescuing the trapped kid instead of on arguing with the kid's older brother who clearly didn't follow directions...or play well with others.

The fireman sighed and then directed his attention back to his job, working under Dean's supervision while he carefully maneuvered the Jaws of Life to cut through the steering wheel and pry it away from Sam's chest.

Dean nodded his approval, reaching beneath the water for his knife tucked inside his boot and pushing back one of the other approaching firemen who carried a knife of his own.

"I got this," Dean assured and quickly sliced through the seatbelt, the only thing still holding Sam in place inside the truck.

The result was instant...and unexpected.

With nothing holding him up – and being too cold and weak to remain upright by himself – Sam fell forward, plunging beneath the cold dark water; his head disappearing below the surface before Dean could grab him.

"Sam!" Dean yelled, dropping the knife and immediately reaching for his brother...but grasping nothing. "Sam!" he yelled again.

Because for one heart-stopping moment, Sam was gone; was beyond Dean's reach in the surprisingly deep ditch.

Dean growled his frustration, ignoring the other firemen and even Bobby as they joined the search but instead crouching lower in the water, determined to find his brother first.

And after a few frantic moments, he did.

"Sammy..." Dean breathed in overwhelming relief when his hand brushed his brother's wet hair. "Sammy..." he said again, moving his hand further down to fist Sam's shirt before hauling the kid up.

Sam emerged from the water in one fluid whoosh.

"Sam..." Dean called as his brother came to the surface coughing and gasping.

Sam said nothing, his entire body shaking as he collapsed in the safety of Dean's arms.

TBC