The Pit Stop Garage and Gas Station
Dean's fist met the counter at the small garage. He wasn't kidding when he said it was the only garage in all of Mount Redding and it attached to the only gas station in the small Missouri town. Dean grumbled something under his breath and Sam gave the poor mechanic an apologetic smile. Dean turned around and walked out of the building, leaving Sam to explain things.
"Are you sure there's something wrong with the transmission?"
The guy took off his grease-stained baseball cap and scratched the top of his head. "I wouldn't say there was if there wasn't."
Sam nervously chuckled and gave the mechanic a faint smile. He quickly looked over his shoulder at Dean who was going on and on outside, using an impressive string of obscenities and kicking at little stones in the dirt lot. "It's just that the car means an awful lot to my brother and he would have noticed if there was something wrong with it," he continued, turning back to look at the guy behind the counter. He couldn't picture Dean letting the Impala go to the point that the transmission needed to be replaced.
"Look, kid," the mechanic said as he put his baseball cap back on, straightening the bill as he spoke. "Your brother brought 'er in for a check up. Told me to take a good look at everything so I did. It ain't my fault that the transmission needs to be replaced."
"And how long is that going to take again?"
The guy heavily sighed, resting his arms on the counter between himself and Sam as he leaned forward. He was clearly annoyed with both Winchesters at this point since he'd explained this to them at least three times already and Sam was asking yet again for an explanation. "I already explained this to you both, kid," he said, trying to remain calm. "I don't have a transmission for a '67 Impala here. I'll have to order it from another town. It could take up to a week."
Sam sighed now and nodded, looking a little discouraged. "Okay. Just let me talk to my brother," he said in an apologetic tone. He turned away before the middle aged man could make any response. He watched Dean, who was still going on and on with his string of obscenities. Sam suddenly noticed that Emerson's name flew from Dean's mouth at least a couple of times along with a few choice words to describe her. "It's not her fault, you know."
Dean turned quickly to glare at his brother. "She said to get the car checked and then I find out the transmission is shot," he said in a defensive tone. "If I knew it was in fair shape, I'd drive it out of this town just to get the hell out of here."
"Dean, if Emerson didn't mention it," Sam calmly reasoned, "we could have been stuck in the middle of nowhere. It's a good thing she said something, don't you think?"
"Being stuck out in the middle of nowhere is a hell of a lot better than being stuck here for another week!"
Sam took a couple of tentative steps forward, holding his hands up in a gesture of peace. "At least there's something going on here for us to investigate," he said.
Dean softly sighed. He knew Sam was right, at least about the car. The last thing he wanted was to be stuck in the middle of a stretch of deserted highway when the car died. "No, Sam, you have something to investigate," he quickly pointed out. "I already told you that I don't want to have anything to do with it."
Sam nodded, ruffling his dark hair as he looked around them for a moment as if he were trying to assess his surroundings. "You know what, Dean? Fine," he conceded, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets. "You don't have to help me. I'll do this one myself." Maybe once we get that research from Emerson, he'll be singing a different tune, he thought, knowing that probably wouldn't be the case. Still, there was hope.