Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural in any way, shape, or form

Author's Note: Thanks again for all of the reviews, everyone! Sorry for the wait for this chapter - as before, constructive criticism is appreciated.

Rated for language

"So where are we going again?"

"Sam, the answer is the same one I had for you twenty minutes ago. I don't know!"

Sam sighed, crossing his arms and sliding down in the seat. He blew a piece of his hair up as they cruised down the highway. Dean glanced over at him.

"Don't even think about saying, 'are we there yet?' because I'll kick your ass out of this car so fast –"

Sam smirked a little bit, leaning his head against the window. He knew that his brother wouldn't leave him on the side of the road unless he did something truly awful – like squirting mustard all over the interior of his beloved Impala. And even then, he'd have a hard time with it.

"So," Sam said, deciding to push his luck, "are we just going to drive forever?"

Dean glanced over at him, annoyance crossing his face for only a moment, and then he sighed, "We'll stop somewhere."

"Where?"

"What do I look like, a fricken tarot card reader, Sam? I don't know where, but we'll find the place and stop there."

"What if Dad finds us?"

"That's not going to happen."

"How do you know?"

"Because I'm not going to let him find us," Dean said, "and that's that."

Dean drove late into the night, and it was ten-thirty when Sam dozed off, his head bumping into the window whenever Dean hit an uneven patch of the road. The beams from the highway light stretched over his face every once in a while, and Dean could see that there was a nick under Sam's eye from the cut under his brother's eye…a cut that his father had given him, a cut he'd received because Dean had failed his brother.

Why had he waited at school, why had he stayed at school so long? He was talking to a few stupid girls, a few girls who didn't matter. Sam mattered. If he had come home right after school, he could have stopped everything before it started. And maybe if he had come home earlier that day, nothing would have happened and then he wouldn't have needed to cut his last class every day, and he wouldn't have gotten caught and they wouldn't be driving away now, running…

He sighed and glanced over at the clock. It was already quarter after eleven, and he was tired…as was Sam, apparently. His tired eyes searched for a motel, scanning the roadside signs. It was another ten minutes before he found one. He parked and reached down for the money bag, counting up the dollars and cents that he had – money that he didn't anticipate being enough.

Sam had money…he shook his brother awake. "Sam," he whispered, shaking Sam's arm, "Sammy!"

Sam jerked awake, a look of confusion crossing his face for a moment, quickly smoothed over by understanding – and then anger. "What?"

"Dude, I need your money."

Aggravated, Sam dug into his jacket pocket and pulled out a wad of money, handing it to his brother. "Happy?"

Dean took the money, counting it in the moonlight…his eyes widened, and he looked up at his brother. "Sam, where in the world did you get this much money?"

"I –"

"Who did you rob? If it was that old blind lady at the end of the street…Sam, that's even low for us. I mean…come on, Sammy, the poor lady is blind and to steal her money –"

"I didn't rob anybody, why would you think that?" Sam said, even more annoyed than before. "I can make money."

"How?"

"Easy – I haven't spent any money. Did a few odd jobs around town, didn't blow the few dollars that the grandparents sent us when we were little and…it all accumulated, I guess."

"Well Sammy, I dub this time the time to start spending." He knocked his brother on the head playfully and then got out of the car and made his way to the back, where he pulled out the duffel bag. Sam got out of his side, rubbing his head, still slightly annoyed at being woken up.

They made their way inside, underneath of a flickering, "24 HOURS" sign. A somewhat sleepy man took their money and then dozed off on his desk, spilling coffee all over. Dean helped himself to one of the room keys and they made their way down the hall and into room A15, flopping down on the beds. They stared up at the ceiling and sighed.

"You know, when I was younger…I imagined this sometimes." Sam said, still staring at the ceiling.

"Imagined what?" Dean answered, casting a glance over at his brother who's eyes were fixed on the ceiling.

"Us…getting away from Dad. You know, just going away one day and never looking back, getting away from him. I wanted to get away from the fear, I guess…the fear of never knowing what he was going to come home like, and if you were going to tell me to hide or –" Sam surprised himself when he felt his eyes starting to fill up. He quickly swallowed and tried to work in a funny remark. "Except, you know, I was five and I thought that we could go become Power Rangers or something."

Dean laughed. "Sometimes I thought about the same thing, Sam – minus the whole Power Rangers thing, though. I thought that we'd definitely be more suited to living on Sesame Street."

They laughed at that together and as Dean shut his eyes and started to doze off, he still found himself chuckling.

The next morning Dean woke up to a very different little brother, in full-out panic mode. "Dean, what the hell were we thinking? I mean, aren't the school people going to notice that we're gone? Plus, you know, there is that little thing about our Dad, unless he got so drop-dead-drunk that he totally forgot he had two sons. He's going to try to find us Dean, and then maybe he really will kill you! We need to cover our tracks somehow. That guy at the desk, did you tell him your real name? Maybe if we get fake identities –"

"Oh my God, breathe you moron." Dean yelled. Sam stopped for a second. Dean sighed and sat up, rubbing his eyes. "What time is it?"

"Seven."

"Seven? Sam, you have got to be effing kidding me!" He rolled over, pulling the pillow over his head, trying to block out his little annoyance.

"Dean!" Sam yelled. He pulled at his brother's shoulder. "Did you use your real name? Come on Dean, this is important!"

Dean sat up, whipping the pillow at Sam's head. Sam yelled angrily, rubbing his head. "If I tell you, will you shut the hell up?" Dean yelled as Sam leaned over to pick up the pillow. He had been planning to throw it at his brother, but quickly reconsidered.

"Yeah." Sam said, pulling the pillow in towards his gut as he sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Yes, I did." Dean said. "Now let me sleep!" As he started to lie down again, he slowly counted in his head…5…4…3…2

"What do you mean you used your real name?"

1.

"You said that you'd be quiet!" Dean moaned.

"He'll find us, we need to go, we need to –"

Anger raged in Dean's chest, and he sat up quickly again, giving Sam a shove off the bed. "Shut up before I stuff that pillow down your throat." he yelled. "Now, let me sleep more and then we'll do something, alright? And I swear to God, if you make a sound I'll kick your ass all the way to…to somewhere." he said, not wasting the energy to thing up a location to kick Sam's ass.

Sam knew that he wouldn't get his ass kicked to somewhere, but he was quiet anyway.

"Well, thank you for staying with us," the middle aged man who sat behind the check in area said as he took the keys from Dean, "and drive safely."

"Uh, yeah, the thing is…I have something I need to show you before we go. It appears that the people who were in the room before we were a little…destructive." Sam said, casting Dean a quick smile – of course, they were the ones who had scratched the paint off the baseboards that morning and cracked the mirror in the bathroom. "I just thought that you should know…"

"Oh dear," the man said, sighing.

"I can show you the stuff, if you'd like." Sam offered with a smile. The man nodded slowly.

"Yes, that would be great." They got up and Dean gestured towards the door.

"I'm going to go warm up the car, kid…meet me out there."

"Right." Sam said, leading the man down the hall. Dean started to walk towards the door and paused slightly, listening to Sam small talk for a minute as they walked down the hall, and then the door close as they went in. Dean turned around quickly, hurrying for the desk and going behind it. Records…records of those who had stayed, they had to be somewhere. An old computer sat blearily, and Dean had a feeling that he'd struck gold. He shook the mouse impatiently and…bingo, there it was, labeled in square, bold print clear as day – RECORDS FOR JANUARY 15

And there he was – Dean Winchester, his room number, and form of payment. Two clicks and he was gone – the Winchesters had never set foot in this place – at least, not as far as the computer knew.

He then sprinted out to the car, unlocking it and reaching in to honk the horn twice – the signal. Then he got in and sat down, turning the key in the ignition. It was five minutes before he saw his brother walk out, giving him a thumbs up.

"So," Sam said as he climbed into the front passenger seat, "where to next?"