Rule 9: Report all vehicle damage to a car-obsessed big brother immediately
Sam couldn't believe it!
It just wasn't fair! Dean thought just because he was older, he could tell him what to do.
Sam glared around at the three other cars parked in the gravel lot stood in front of the forested series of hiking trails where the monster they were hunting hid.
Where the monster Dean's hunting is hiding, Sam corrected himself and sat back against the seat with his arms crossed over his chest.
Just because he had a little bit of a cold didn't mean he couldn't hunt, Sam thought moodily before he leaned forward to dig through the glove compartment frantically.
Finding what he was looking for, the younger Winchester grabbed a handful of tissues and wiped at his dripping nose.
Sighing, Sam closed his eyes as a chill ran through his entire body and he shivered.
Okay, maybe a little cold was a bit of an understatement, Sam admitted. Especially when his head felt ten sizes too big for his neck, and his throat felt as though he'd been swallowing shards of glass and his nose streamed like it was trying to outdo Niagara Falls.
But Sam still thought that he could hunt.
He hated being told to wait in the car; it made him feel like he was a kid again, before John would let him go on any hunts with them and he was forced to watch over the Impala, as though that was an important part of the job.
Ah well, Sam guessed he should be grateful for the reprieve from hunting. At least he was getting a bit of a break at all. If their father had been there, he would have told Sam to suck it up and forced him to traipse through the woods all the while he was wracked with fever and snorting back snot the whole time.
Leaning back against his seat again, Sam closed his eyes, trying to get some rest while he waited for Dean.
W
Sam's eyes snapped open at the sound of his cell phone going off. Sitting up in his seat he pulled the phone from his pocket and saw from the Caller ID that it was Dean calling him.
"Yeah?" Sam asked as he answered the call.
"Get over here, Sammy! With the car!" Dean panted into the speaker, his tone urgent.
"Dean? Are you alright?" the younger brother asked, his heart skipping a beat.
"Just get over here! Trail 3, the red one!"
Without even saying goodbye, Sam ended the call and shoved his phone back into the pocket of his jacket, at the same time sliding over to the driver's seat of the Classic Chevy.
Starting the engine, Sam held back the feeling of a sneeze coming on and he maneuvered the car towards the dirt path that ran up through the woods- a wooden arm crossing the way to prevent vehicles larger than a stroller or bicycle from getting through- and towards the numerous hiking trails.
Sam stepped on the accelerator and broke through the wooden barrier, the tires rolling over it with muted crunching sounds.
He had no idea where Trail 3 was- he couldn't remember even though he had marked out each of the trails on the map he had grabbed a couple of days before at the Ranger's Station. Once he had crossed onto the path, Sam slowed the Impala to nearly a crawl and searched the trees on either side for signs of the trail he was looking for.
It took nearly five minutes for Sam to find Trail 3. He would have missed it completely but for the smear of flaking red paint marking a vertical slash across the trunk of a pine a few feet away from the edge of the road.
The Trail was narrow, with trees crowding in on either side, and Sam hesitated.
Dean needed him. Maybe he had found the monster. Maybe he was hurt.
Sam couldn't wait, couldn't waste anymore time.
Pressing his foot down on the gas, he inched the Impala onto the trail that was not designed for anything wider than a bicycle. Sam grimaced as branches as leaves smacked against the roof of the Chevy, scratched against its sides but told himself that it didn't matter, especially if Dean was in danger.
The Impala bumped over exposed roots and large stones, and Sam heard a strange grinding sound coming from beneath the car but ignored it.
SREEEECCCHHH- THUNK
Sam jumped a little in his seat and glanced out the front window. The trail was far too narrow and overgrown for him to continue down it with the car. He would have to keep going on foot.
Opening the driver's side door, Sam leaned out of the car.
"Dean!" he called, pausing to listen for a reply.
"DEAN!" he cried in a louder tone and again listened for a response.
There was none.
Shit, maybe his brother was seriously hurt.
Reaching into the Impala's backseat, Sam grabbed the shotgun loaded with silver buckshot and slipped out of the car.
"Dean? Dean!" Sam called again as he stepped around to the front of the car and headed down the trail, searching for any sign of his brother.
"DEAN!"
Almost as soon as the name out was of his mouth, Sam heard a cry come from down the trail ahead of him.
"Dean! Dean, where are you?" the younger Winchester called as he began to rush down the trail, stumbling over rocks and roots, gasping for air even from the mild exertion.
"SAM! Here!"
The hunter came around a bend in the trail and saw his brother sprawled out in the dirt, holding his arm to his chest.
"Dean! Are you okay? What happened?" Sam exclaimed and crouched down beside his sibling.
"I'm fine, Sammy, just a scratch, really," Dean insisted as the younger Winchester helped him stand.
"Did you get the Black Dog?" Sam asked and Dean nodded, "Better than it got me."
Once his brother was standing, Sam grabbed his brother's gun and began to lead the way back to the car.
"You should have let me come with you," Sam said as Dean followed behind him, "I could have helped you. Maybe you wouldn't have gotten hurt if I'd-"
"I'm fine, Sammy," Dean told him, "Besides, I wouldn't have been able to stand it, hearing you snorting and sniffling and hacking everywhere. It's bad enough in the car."
Sam lifted his arm to his nose as it began to drip and tried not to snort as he did so.
"Hey!" Dean cried out as the Impala came into view, "Sammy, what'd you do?"
"B-Brought you the car," Sam replied, "Like you said."
Dean scowled at him before running to the vehicle, eyeing the black paint for scratches.
"Jesus, Sam! You could have ruined the paint!" he snapped, "Why'd you bring it in here? Huh? Can't you use your head?"
Sam stared at his brother, hurt by his sibling's anger.
"Sorry," he muttered and made his way to the passenger's side of the car and climbed into the seat.
Once Dean was behind the wheel, he turned to Sam, "You're lucky she's not scratched or I'd have to kick your ass."
Sam looked away from his brother and grabbed a tissue from the glove compartment.
As Dean backed the Impala down the trail he didn't say anything and Sam didn't say anything either.
"Hey," Dean muttered once they had reached the main path and he'd pulled a U-turn, "Sorry, Sammy. Thanks for coming to get me."
Sam nodded but remained silent.
"Let's head back to the motel and then get something to eat," Dean suggested.
He reached out and turned on the stereo, smiling when the Allman Brothers' 'Midnight Rider' came on over the speakers, and turned the volume onto full blast.
Sam curled against the passenger's side door, shivering but glad they were going back to the motel. Maybe he could get some sleep before they went out for food.
Dean drove past the parking lot and pulled onto the main roadway- a two-lane highway- and began to head in the direction of the motel room, singing along loudly to 'Midnight Rider'.
The hiking trails were a few miles outside of town and bordering the highway were trees on either side of the asphalt; tall, dark pines that crowded next to the pavement.
"…But I'm not gonna let 'em catch me, no," Dean belted out happily, ignoring the pain in his arm from the Black Dog's claws, "…Not gonna let 'em catch the Midnight Rider!"
Neither Winchester noticed the check engine light come on, nor did he hear the incessant beeping that indicated a serious problem was imminent.
"…No, I'm not gonna let 'em catch me, no," Dean now began to tap his hand on the steering wheel, pretending that his injured arm didn't hurt at all, "…Not gonna let 'em catch the Midnight Rider…"
Dean's singing slowly came to a stuttering stop as the Impala slowed down, spluttered and coasted along until the hunter could pull over onto the shoulder of the road.
"What the hell?" Dean muttered and peered at the gauges along the dashboard in confusion.
"Dean?" Sam looked up blearily, his voice thick with confusion.
"The car just stopped," Dean ground out and spied the check engine light blinking red, than black, red, than black, on the dash.
Sam's eyebrows knitted in confusion, mirroring his sibling's expression.
Dean opened the door and stepped out onto the side of the road, walking to the front of the Chevy and popped the hood.
Sam listened to his brother as he fiddled with the tubes and wires and nozzles that made up the guts of the car before Dean slammed the hood down and headed back towards the driver's side.
"Can you get the car started?" Sam asked.
"No," Dean growled as he fell into his seat. He pulled out his cell phone and began pressing numbers apparently randomly.
As it turned out, Dean was calling for the services of a tow truck, all the while glaring at Sam as though he had pulled the Impala's spark plugs out and thrown them in the woods or something.
"…You sure? Okay… sure… thanks," Dean muttered as he spoke to the towing service before ending the call.
"A truck should be here in half an hour to forty-five minutes," Dean told his brother.
"It'll take that long?" Sam asked before he grabbed a tissue from the glove compartment and wiped his nose.
"Yeah," Dean muttered.
The brothers were silent for a long time. The only sound was Sam's labored breathing.
"What's happened to the car?" the younger brother finally asked.
"We're leaking engine fuel," Dean explained and turned in his seat to point out the back of the car. Sam twisted around at the waist and saw a dark red trail of spots leading away from the car back towards the direction they had come from.
Sam's eyes widened in shock; how did that happen, he thought but then he quickly recalled his attempt at driving the Classic Chevy down Trail 3 towards his brother and all the thumping and scraping coming from beneath the car.
Suddenly Sam didn't feel so cold anymore. Instead, a film of sweat beaded his brow and upper lip. He shifted in his seat, turning to face the window.
"Sam? Sammy, what's wrong?" Dean said instantly, concerned for his brother.
"Nuh-Nothing, Dean," Sam muttered, "I'm fine."
"You sure? You look like you've just seen a ghost," Dean commented and sniggered.
Sam shook his head, "I'm fine."
The older Winchester remained silent for a moment before he spoke again.
"Sam?" he said slowly, "Do you know what happened to the car?"
"No," the younger brother answered quickly, too quickly and cringed, "No, I don't."
Again Dean lapsed into silence for a few moments then spoke again.
"Is there something you want to tell me, Sammy?"
Sam said nothing.
"Sammy? Look at me," Dean said and reached out to touch his brother's shoulder, "Is there something you want to tell me?"
Cautiously the younger brother peered over his shoulder at his older sibling and took a deep breath, "I…uh… while I was coming to get you… and I was driving through the woods…"
"Yeah?" Dean pressed.
"I uh… well, I might have drove the car over… uhm, some rocks…or, or tree roots."
For a moment, Dean didn't say anything then he shouted, "Damn it, Sam! You busted a hole in the engine!"
Sam, because he was sick and not feeling well, cringed back from his brother's wrath.
"I'm sorry," he apologized, "I thought you were in danger."
Dean scowled at him, "Great, now we have to stick around and wait for the engine to get fixed, not to mention pay for something that we wouldn't have to if you had been thinking straight."
Sam tried to match his brother's expression, "I said I was sorry! I thought you were hurt, that you were dying!"
Dean stared at Sam for a few seconds. He was just so mad about the damage to the car that he hadn't thought about Sam's feelings.
"You… You thought I was dying?"
Sam nodded, his eyes red rimmed- but that could have been from his cold- and Dean let out a loud breath.
"Aw jeez," he muttered.
"You sounded bad on the phone," Sam told him, "And I didn't know… You could have been…"
Dean shook his head, "I'm sorry, Sammy. I should have told you I was okay. I shouldn't have freaked you out like that."
"Sorry about the car," Sam repeated his apology.
Dean waved it away, "Don't worry about it, Sammy. It was my fault for not telling you I wasn't hurt."
Sam bit his lip and nodded, turning away to stare out the window.
W
Sixty minutes later the Winchesters spied a rusty, old tow truck pull up behind the Impala.
"About time," Dean muttered as he stepped out of the car.
"How's your arm?" Sam asked, concerned that they had waited too long to get his brother medical treatment and the injury had become worse.
"Better now," Dean replied and walked over to the tow truck driver, a man wearing a grimy John Deere baseball cap, white t-shirt, blue jeans and boots. The man's face was deeply lined and he had a beard that made him look like a member of ZZ Top.
"Hey Sammy! Don't forget your wallet," Dean called, "You're paying for Baby's medical bill."
Sam, climbing from the Chevy's passenger seat sighed in exasperation but couldn't help the small smile that crossed his face.
Author's Note:
This rule comes from Reannablue.
Thanks to Jenjoremy, BranchSuper, jensensgirl3, whimsicalbarwench, elliereynolds777, GuardianOfMusic27855, StyxxsOmega, AnitaRez, SamDeanLover28, reannablue, and CarverEdlundtheLast for reviewing.
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