OOC: No big warnings here! Mild hurt.

It's a surprisingly clean, bright day outside, which is weird for Sam, because it's currently the end of the world — you would think that the natural order of things would notice when Lucifer is wandering it, weaving his evil mark through the highways like a plague. Then again, maybe nature likes the devil; the devil sure doesn't seem to hate anything as much as he does humans. He puffs out a breath, leaning back and soaking in the calmness, because not very long ago they were in the throes of demon fighting and hopelessness.

Heat of the moment, heat of the moment —

Sam reaches over and shuts off the song before it can finish, Dean left hanging, the words coming to a halt before they can topple any further from his mouth. He raises his eyebrow, reaches back over, and flicks it back on after Sam's efforts. Memories hijack Sam's mind; they're all unpleasant and suffocating, even now.

"Dude, stop," Sam grumbles.

"It's a good song!" Dean replies indignantly. Trying to be light. The famous keyword. Sam just shuts it off again, wordless and too tired to argue it. Dean whirls around, still driving while he gives Sam a slight glare; they haven't been seeing eye to eye entirely, which is the usual after the Cage gates were opened. But honestly, if Dean's just bitchy over Sam not wanting to relive horrible memories of being brotherless, well, Sam'll take it. At least Dean's alive.

It's just sad that they've gotten to the point where even Sam petulantly turning the radio off starts something, because before, Dean would just let it go and throw junk food at his hair. Now, there's a wave of frustration that's obviously left over from the last hunt. Sam shuts it off anyway. Dean turns it on. Shuts off. Turns on. Shuts off.

"Will you just chill out, man?" Dean growls, exasperated as he turns his gaze back to his brother again. The freckles on his face are hidden slightly by the flush of pink there. "Keep your hands off my radio! You're always bein' a pain in my ass lately. Is awkward silence your favorite hit or something?"

Sam's looking ahead with his jaw clenched, and he sees the blur of fur and eyes.

Animal.

He manages a choked out — "Look out!" as he puts his hands up against the dash, and Dean's eyes are back on the road, wide and assessing as he makes the snap decision to veer (empty highway, no cliffs, hopefully no trees). They peel out to a stop in grass, Sam's driver's side hitting an old tree roughly enough that the crunch of metal is like a grenade going off in Sam's ear. There's a buzz there that is saddled with the rumble of the engine as he sits up slowly.

Dean's hand shoots out and rests on his chest before he even so much as looks at Sam, and his Sam can see the exact moment Dean realizes shouldn't have done that in case Sam's actually hurt — green-brown eyes widen a little and Dean hesitates to keep his palm splayed there over his brother's shoulder, but Sam doesn't feel any pain there, nothing hurt, nothing to warn his brother about, so the hand remains. "You okay?"

"I… Yeah." He reaches up, touching his face. There's a pain there in his temple that ends up being a knot with a clean cut through it that bleeds sluggishly. He can think straight, though. Pretty sure there's no concussion. "Hit my head, but it's nothing bad." He looks over at Dean, seeing only a bloody nose that is being tenderly checked for any brokenness. "I'm sorry. I — "

"No," Dean says, the sound short but sure. "No, no. It's… we're okay, so. Fuck. Baby is gonna need some work done to her."

Sam's face reddens while he runs his palm over his face. Dean's gotten out, investigating his baby, making sure she's alright. Sam's sort of hoping Dean just deals with that and ignores him, but then he returns with a cold pack for Sam's rung bell; he applies the sharp burn of it to his forehead and finally talks. "I just… Didn't want to hear that song. It…" He stops himself, looks over, and sees that Dean is actually staring and waiting for him to finish that response. So he breathes shakily and says, "It played every morning, when the Trickster kept killing you. Every Tuesday."

"… Oh."

"Yeah. Just… go figure, I almost get you killed again."

He should have just clutched a fist and beared it. They've had enough issues. And now Sam's making shit harder again, and he knows Dean must be thinking it. Making another reason Sam shouldn't be here, even if he says he doesn't talk like that. So far.

"… Nah. I should have kept my eyes on the road. I mean, you were still a dick when I was just trying to do car karaoke. But we can always blame that fox that decided to try to murder us just now. It can be our next job."

Sam laughs shakily. Until the Devil ruins more stuff because of me, he thinks, but he keeps it under his collar, where the pulse beats heavy: guilty, guilty, guilty. The same pitter-pat thumps strong under Dean's hand before he drops it from Sam's chest.

"You sure you're alright, though," Dean adds, eyebrows raising. He taps his forehead. "Other than this? No Memento going on up there, nothing feels like it's leaking into your nasal cavity or ear canal?"

"I'll be okay. Had worse."

Dean can't deny that one, for sure. Nothing worse than both of them being dead before.

"You'll have worse when I kick you square in your left asscheek… But, uh." Dean starts the car, carefully testing the wheels. She gets back on the road just fine, which is good, because Sam couldn't afford to hold them up anymore. Not when they had work to do. He just needs to finish this, fix everything. Then maybe… Maybe once Lucifer's put down, he and Dean can go driving without this hanging over their heads. Maybe they can get down a road without nearly getting murdered by forest animals. Maybe Sam'll finally be able to tell Dean everything without getting that look of disappointment, of judgement. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Dean thrums his fingers on the steering wheel, wiping his nose off on his shirt. "I'm sorry, too, Sam. I know I been crabby, too; should have… I don't know. Let's just… relax. Smooth drive. Even if we look like we came out of a bar fight."

Sam shrinks down. "Okay. But no more Asia."

"No more Asia. And you're gonna be hustling all weekend to help pay for this. It's a team effort."

"Because you can't hustle to save your life."

"Ha, very funny. I think we should probably just call a tow truck."

Bobby's gonna get a call to borrow his truck, and he's gonna hate them.