Reason 346

Sam wiggles on the bench, adjusts his shoulders and kicks his giant feet around on the floorboards a bit before flopping hard against the seatback and exhaling a hot breath of restlessness and general discomfort, stares out of the window like a wounded puppy.

Dean smirks, chuckles in honest and healthy amusement. "Sorry, Sammy. We're still a few hours out of Jericho. What, none of your genius prepster friends drive a real car? Or is just that your Sasquatch body can't fit anymore?"

"Sam. And shut up. You know, all the time I spent being carted around in this thing, I can't believe I actually forgot how stiff these seats can be."

"And now look atcha. Finally graduated to the front seat, little brother."

"Yeah, lucky me." Another long sigh. "Dad's gonna flip when he sees what you did to the trunk."

Dean quirks a confused eyebrow. "Yeah, I guess."

"You guess? How many meals did we eat in this car when were kids? Ballpark, maybe fifty percent? And he STILL blew a gasket if we dropped even one fry."

Dean resists the urge to lay a soothing hand on the dash. "Well, maybe you could have treated her with a little more respect and not started so many food fights."

"Yeah, because I'm the one that started them." Sam props an elbow on the door. "Do you know how creepy it is when you call it 'her'? Dad did that, too."

Dean forgot how Sammy can flip the switch, shift gears from Worried About Dad to Annoying As Shit with little to no warning. Forgot that trashing Dad is what Sam considers small talk. And he's not necessary pleased with the past tense he just heard coming out of his brother's mouth, but he chocks it all up to lack of sleep and breakfast, rolls his neck and shoves a new cassette into the deck.

Sam reaches out and turns down the volume like this is his first rodeo, makes Dean smack his hand away. He falls back into the door with a squint. "So how'd you get the old man to let you use the car, anyway?"

"Hmm?" Dean clips out, annoyed.

"I'm not trying to say anything. I'm just wondering. He let you borrow it for that job you were working in New Orleans? What'd you say it was?"

"It was a hoodoo – what are you talking about, borrow it?"

"I mean, honestly, I find it harder to believe he ditched the Impala than to believe he ditched you. No offense."

Sam always means offense, but Dean lets it slide right off of him, because he gets it then, almost gloats when he says, "He didn't ditch me, or the car. Sam, the car's been mine for years."

Sam actually laughs, a quick high-pitched whine like a screaming tea kettle. "Yeah, right. Dad cares more about this car than he does either one of us."

Jesus, Sammy. "Damn it, Sam, the man is missing. Can we not…" Even as he's reaching to pop the glove box, Dean can't believe he's about to give Sam the satisfaction. The little voice in his head asking, why do you think you owe him anything, let alone proof? He keeps both eyes on the road as he sifts past the cigar box of IDs and, okay, a couple of greasy burger wrappers the old man wouldn't be particularly happy with, to wrestle out the title and registration, drops them both into Sam's lap on the way out.

Sam stares a moment, holds up the registration card. "This's expired. Like, by a lot."

"Check the name, Officer Do-Gooder."

Dean feels a swell of unchecked pride as he glimpses Sam's head bobbing in his peripheral, lips pursed in that prissy way he's really not missed these past few years.

Sam shifts the papers in his hand, studies the title. "This's…this is around the time I left for school." And he downshifts harshly from Annoying As Shit to Furious For The Hell Of It. "What, Dad buy you off for not going after me?"

Dean shakes his head, adjusts his grip on the steering wheel. "That's not how it happened."

"Unbelievable. He did, didn't he?"

Son of a bitch. "That's not how it happened, Sam."

Sam snorts. "Yeah, like Dad has never rewarded you for towing the line and doing what he says."

Dean thumps the wheel with his palm. "You know, Sammy, you're damn right. And this, this panicked scouring of the country, me coming to get you? This is me reaping my rewards."

Each Winchester has a tone at which they're communicating BACK OFF and Dean has just taken his. They might not be close anymore but Sam recognizes it, raises his hands. "Okay, sorry, point taken." He crams the paperwork back into the glove compartment. "But don't call me Sammy."

"Yeah, sure." Dean rolls his neck, spots an exit coming up. "I need some caffeine, we're gonna keep going." A quick check of the dash. "So does my girl."

Sam shakes his head. "So creepy."

Author Notes: Another small bunny I let have free roam of my mind today while I work on the mulit-chap. More teases and hints.