Sanctuary

By: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, Dean or Sam, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Author's Note: Ok I LIED! This is NOT the final chapter! I decided to throw everything in the ending of this story except the kitchen sink and it got ridiculously long. So, this is the meat and potatoes chapter to be followed up by the final chapter. Sorry but I just couldn't convince myself to let anything out or miss an opportunity for some nice fluff to rear its lovely head. Hope you don't mind.

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Chapter 10: Heated Exchange

Fire. Dean Winchester knew it intimately, knew its smell, its hypnotic dance, its collage of colors, hated it even as he loved it. With its proclivity to destroy and to save, to rob and to safeguard, it was a volatile mistress. It had murdered his mother, decimated his naivety, stolen his childhood, and set him onto a path he would never have chosen on his own. And yet, time and time again, fire had proven itself his ally. It had once staved off the merciless touch of frostbite, had faithfully lit his path in the darkest of places, and was the most effective weapon in his arsenal, vanquishing evil when only a good salt and burn ritual would do. How could he not value something that allowed him to save lives, that had saved his life and the lives of those he loved in this world countless times? No, the pendulum swung too wide and too often to deem fire friend or foe, leaving him with only one certainty, fire was irrevocably interwoven in his life.

'And my fate…' Dean realized now, watching the flames play hopscotch on the ceiling through the gathering smoke, feeling the heat burn his throat at every breath. What rebellion sprang in him was not against his fate but in refusal that this be Sam's fate, Sam who stood at his side, scared, vulnerable and trapped in a burning room all because of him. 'It can't end like this! Not for Sam! Not with fire and not because of some curse heaped on my head! Think Winchester! Think! Find some way to get Sam outta here!'

Swallowing as the flames began to make their way toward them, Sam stammered, "Dean, I'm sorry. I should have…" but his words died as Dean took a step towards the flames. Instantly Sam's hold tightened on Dean's arm, ensuring that the older man could not take another step forward without dragging Sam with him.

Surprised to find Sam hindering his action, Dean faced Sam. "My heart medicine, I need it," he anxiously explained.

"You're having another heart attack! Now!" Sam exclaimed, stunned that so many bad things could occur simultaneously, unconsciously his grip tightened instead of loosened on his brother, as if he could ward off this newest threat to Dean.

Refusing to acknowledge the heightened fear evident in Sam's eyes, Dean shot back in denial. "No! I'm not having another freakin' heart attack! I need the nitroglycerin vials from the first aid kit." When his words didn't achieve his freedom from his brother's hold, only causing Sam's brow to wrinkle in puzzlement, Dean spoke his next words slowly and precisely. "Nitro being the key word."

Understanding flashed in Sam's eyes a moment before he ordered, "Stay here!" and dashed forward, his long arms snagging the first aid kit from the ground only inches from the merciless flames. Recoiling from the wall of heat, Sam quickly made his way back to Dean's side only to fist his hand in Dean's shirt and yank them both back a few more paces.

Grabbing the kit from Sam's hands, Dean sat it on the bed closest to the back wall and flipped the lip open. Shoving aside bandages, needles, and holy water, his hands finally revealed the five glass vials of nitroglycerin. "Here" he said to Sam as the shoved he vials into Sam's chest, releasing them almost before Sam had a good grip on them.

Jostling the five small vials, Sam watched as Dean crouched down beside his bag and began throwing out his clothing in a search for what, Sam couldn't guess. Surprised to find Dean's face shooting up to his with a triumphant cocky grin, he thought the found item would be more….exciting. "Jack Daniels! You have a bottle of Jack Daniels in your bag?"

A scowl fell on Dean's face as he knelt on the floor, gripping his prize, "Hey, it wasn't going to be the best day of my life today, I thought a drink might be in order." Seeing the lecture gathering in his brother, Dean snapped, "Stage your AA intervention after we survive this, Sam."

Sam gave a nod of agreement, coughed and said with a voice turning raw with the smoke, "You have a plan," his words coming off as a statement but his eyes wary.

"Yeah, sort of," Dean distractedly replied, screwing off the cap of the alcohol bottle. "We're going to pour those vials in this bottle, carefully."

Coming to kneel beside Dean, Sam began removing the lids from the vials and lining the vials up on the floor. He watched Dean pick up the first vial, take a deep breath and slowly pour the vial's contents into the bottle, wincing as the first drop of the nitroglycerin make contact with the alcohol. Reassured that it didn't incite their doom, Dean poured the rest of the vial contents into the bottle.

"So, what's this plan of yours," Sam breathed, coughing, lifting his arm to cover his nose and mouth from the smoke.

Having finished pouring all of the vial contents in the alcohol, Dean leaned away from the bottle and let out a pent up cough, sounding like a long time smoker. When he had some of his breath back, he answered Sam's question. Nodding his head to the wall to his right, Dean revealed, "We're going to use this concoction to blast a hole right through that wall, climb into the adjoining room and get out of this death trap."

Sam hated to discourage his brother's plan, but he couldn't hold back his doubts. "Dean," he began gently, "I mean the Nitrate in that medication..it's pretty stable …just because it sounds like nitro.."

"You got a better idea college boy, spit it out," Dean challenged, before another cough stole his breath away.

"No, but…" Sam began.

"Then we go with my plan," Dean announced, gingerly picking up the bottle and putting it into a gentle small circular loop, allowing the nitroglycerin to mix with the alcohol. Then, with the bottle in hand, he made to stand, grateful when Sam's strong arm wrapped around his waist and helped his pain filled ascent.

"So what do we need to do to set off this bomb?" Sam asked now fully on board with Dean's plan, his faith in his brother overshadowing any doubts he had in his brother's methods. He watched as Dean's eyes swung from the fire that had now engulfed the bed closest to the door, to the wall to the right, and then to the bathroom.

"Stuff's volatile enough to throw but…it would work better if we could set it by the wall and ignite it from as far away as we can."

"How about if we shoot the bottle?" Sam suggested.

Dean sent him a smirk, "Hey why didn't I think of that? Oh, yeah, because we have no guns, Sam! We weren't on a job. Guns are all in the car…" his thoughts flickered to the now gone Impala and he fought down a curse, 'lousy stupid curse!' A .45 Magnum appeared in his line of vision and he reached for the gun, "Why do you have… Hey, that's not one of our guns," but the gun was pulled away before he could touch it, causing him to shoot Sam a startled look.

"Let's discuss our weapons inventory some other time, Dean," Sam mockingly reprimanded, tucking the gun back into the front waist of his pants. "Give me the bottle," he ordered, and he wrapped his hands carefully around the bottle. "I've got it," he declared, his eyes steady on Dean's.

Releasing his grip on the bottle, Dean felt his breath catch in his throat as Sam walked slowly toward the wall and sat the bottle on the floor between the two beds. He felt relief wash over him when Sam stepped back and regained his side. "Let's get into the bathroom," Dean instructed, now it was his hand fisted in Sam's shirt, pulling him backward. Backing into the bathroom as far as they could, the brothers stood shoulder to shoulder, a wall at their back and a room being consumed with fire in front of them.

Together they crouched down against the wall, their eyes meeting.

"You think this is really going to work?" Sam breathed, knowing that whatever Dean said he was ready to believe.

A smirk lit up Dean's pale, soot covered face, "It did for MacGyver," he pointed out.

Sam couldn't hold back the bark of laughter, "Oh, that's so reassuring." Raising the gun, he cocked it and gave one last look to Dean. "Dean…"

"Yeah.." Dean replied hesitation in his voice.
"I don't care what you say, that old crone's a dead woman," Sam vowed, and Dean didn't doubt that Sam meant to carry out the oath. Before Dean could reply, Sam pushed Dean's head down with his left hand an instant before the gun kicked in his right hand, releasing the bullet. Bowing his own head, his forehead resting on Dean's, Sam raised his arms over Dean's head even as he felt the similar shelter of Dean's arms bracketing his bowed head.

The bullet flew true, striking the bottle, setting off the explosion.

It was like an invisible wall slammed into Sam and Dean, crushing them against the wall, even as their ears rang with the report of the explosion a moment before they were peppered with hail sized chunks of cement. Huddling closer together, each brother desperate to protect the other, pressed their arms tighter to their brother's head. They rode out the explosion aftermath, coughing on the new air pollutant in the room as they raised their heads at the same time, squinting through the smoke and dust in the air to be rewarded with the sight of a three foot hole in the cement wall.

"Ha! You of little faith," Dean gloated as Sam again wrapped a hand around his waist and helped him come to his feet. Brushing off Sam's hold without thought, Dean headed for their escape route, crossing the bathroom's threshold to realize that the flames had recessed back toward the entrance of the room, a little less potent than they were before. "The explosion, it starved the fire of some oxygen…nearly put it out," he stated, astonished at the success of his plan before he looked again to the hole in the wall, to the safety that was peeking through the ravaged cement. Taking note of the small section of floor that the explosion had also destroyed, he called over his shoulder to Sam, "There's some damage to the floor but we can easily jump .." Without warning the floor under Dean's feet fell away.

If Sam was just a normal twenty two year old, like he so longed to be, he would have never reacted fast enough to save Dean. As it was, his dive had only been in time to allow his fingers to rake down Dean's right arm, desperate for a purchase. "Dean!" burst from him in anguish and terror as Dean's descent seemed inevitable…right before Dean's hand slid into his grasping grip and their hands forged together as if they were pieces of the same complex puzzle.

Groaning in pain as his wounded arm was wrenched nearly from its socket, Dean found himself dangling in mid air, Sam's hold the only thing preventing a harsh landing into the room below. Unable to resist knowing what horrors had been diverted, Dean looked down and found himself reinforcing his grip on Sam's hand. The room below was not habitable, hadn't been habitable for some time, not unless someone liked a big hole in their room floor that exposed underground pipes and sported jagged edged pipes and workman's tools scattered about the floor consisting of a jackhammer, blow torch, and saw blade bench. As fate would have it, the hole equipped with the jagged edged pipes and the saw blade all lay below Dean, waiting to impale him.

Looking up to Sam, Dean saw the determined set of Sam's features and knew his brother had also taken stock of the landing he would suffer if his little brother's grip faltered.

"I got you, Dean," Sam reassured, sliding backwards on his stomach before he sat up from a safer distance from the edge, pulling Dean up with the motion. When Dean's other hand gripped the rim of the broken floor boards, Sam's left hand latched onto the fabric on his brother's left shoulder, using it as another lever to pull Dean to safety. Then Sam's hand obtained a more tenacious hold by gripping Dean's pants and finally managed to drag Dean back into the room that only moments before they were desperate to leave.

Crawling on the floor until his feet were no longer hanging over the gaping hole, Dean collapsed on the floor beside the kneeling Sam, breathing hard and comforted by his brother's hand on the back of his head. "That did not happen to MacGyver!" he grumbled before he marshaled together what strength he still had and began to crawl to his feet.

"That's because MacGyver never pissed anyone off enough to get cursed," Sam quipped, supporting Dean under his arms allowing them both to gain their feet at the same time.

Then they stood there, shoulder to shoulder, surveying their room. The fire was regaining its boldness, busy reclaiming the territory it had lost, and the wall opposite them, it still boasted an escape hole…trouble was, no floor remained between them and that escape route.

Dread resettled in Dean's chest because, the last time he had checked, he wasn't Rocky the flying Squirrel. And that was before a crack resonated through the room and he and Sam simultaneously looked down to see cracks splintering across the floor boards under their feet. Dean's hands latched onto Sam's shirt even as Sam's latched onto his and they dragged each other backwards into the bathroom. But the splintering followed their motions and they jumped as another section of the floor dropped away, the section that they were laying on seconds ago.

"Get in the tub!" Dean called out, shoving Sam toward the bathtub.

Not second guessing Dean's order, Sam crossed the bathroom and stood in the tub. A moment later Dean leaped into the tub as the floor in the entrance of the bathroom followed the sections before. Coming to understand Dean's theory, Sam quickly sat down in the tub. "Dean sit down!" he ordered, yanking hard enough on Dean's arm to make him lose his balance and topple onto Sam. Dean didn't have time to rail at the indignities of landing on Sam or scramble off of his brother before another crack echoed through the tile walls and then the floor, tub and all dropped.

It was not a terrible long drop, but long enough to allow a yell to burst forth from both Sam and Dean Winchester. And then came the landing, the all important element of any flight. It was equivalent to getting tossed into a wall by a pissed off ghost, a cement wall and a very, very pissed, strong ghost. For a moment neither brother could draw in a breath, their breath having literally been knocked from them. Then they left out a collective moan and began to untangle themselves.

Dean pushed himself off of Sam only to find himself sinking back against the other end of the tub as his head pounded and blood leaked from the cut lip he had sustained when his jaw connected with the side of the tub. 'Just add another injury to the tally,' he sarcastically thought.

His back having received the brunt of the impact, Sam had to force every breath amid his bruised muscles. But the pain was a price he paid willingly, grateful that he had been able to shield Dean from the full abuse of the landing. Blinking in the dusty air of the room, he saw Dean leaning against the other end of the tub, a hand raised to his head. "Hey, are you alright?" Sam asked anxiously, sitting up and reaching forward to put his hand on Dean's shoulder.

"I'll let you know later," Dean tiredly supplied, resting his head back on the tub, his eyes drifting overhead. "Sammmm!" he yelled in warning, causing Sam to look heavenward and see the ceiling in what was once their bathroom on fire.

Latching onto Dean's arm, Sam yanked Dean over the edge of the tub as he made the leap himself. Gripping Dean around the waist, Sam kept his brother on his feet. Then together, they stumbled forward toward the door, not stopping as something crashed behind them, namely the motel roof unto the tub. Sam barely broke stride as his shoulder connected with the room door, flinging it open.

Then they were surrounded by the blessedly smog choked sky, noisy urban traffic and asphalt parking lot. But Sam didn't stop his momentum; forcing Dean's weakened body to manage a few more steps hoping to achieve a relatively safe distance before they collapsed. The explosion that erupted from the motel bowled them to the ground.

Having barely gotten over his hard contact with the parking lot, Sam scrambled toward Dean, covering his brother's prone body with his own, his head pressed against Dean's as his arms sheltered Dean's head as debris rained around them. Even if it were with his last breath, Sam swore that no more harm would come to Dean.

When Sam no longer felt the pelt of debris, he raised his head form Dean's and looked back to the motel. Their room and the room below looked like one of Barbie's dream house models, the front walls missing, allowing the innards to be visible to the world, the flames that flickered in the rooms looked like some special effects on a cheap horror movie. Returning his focus back to his all too still brother under him, Sam's voice hitched in fear, "Dean!"

"Get off me, Sammy!" Dean choked out which didn't diminish the threat in his words if Sam chose to disobey him.

Smiling, Sam tiredly rolled off of Dean and lay on his back on the parking lot asphalt, his eyes on the sky a moment before his head rolled to the right, his sparkling eyes meeting Dean's. "The sun's down, Dean. It's dusk," even his exhaustion couldn't dampen the elation in his voice.

"Ahhhh…thank God," Dean sighed in reverent gratitude, only able to raise himself up on his elbows far enough to rest his forehead on the ground.

Sam was torn between option a) wanting to force Dean to lay still, to calling an ambulance and option b) helping Dean to his feet and escape whatever repressions there were for burning up a motel room. In the end, it was one of his father's rules that made his decision, 'What we do, how we do it, no one will understand that, certainly not the police. So don't stick around to plead your case to them, just leave before the smoke clears. Save you and yours first and foremost, that's our law, the only law you need to worry about keeping.'

Coming off the ground into a crouch, Sam gripped Dean's arm and positioned his other arm once again around Dean's waist. "Time to get out of here, Dean," he gently but forcefully stated, his words enough to get Dean in motion, struggling, even with Sam's help to regain his feet.

Swaying against Sam as he stood, Dean latched onto Sam's shirt to steady himself. Turning his face up to his brother's, Dean warned, "If you ever tell another single soul that we huddled together in a tub, I'll kill you, Sammy."

"Yeah, like I want that to get out," Sam snorted, steering Dean toward the Impala. He wasn't prepared for Dean to suddenly stop as if he just stepped into fresh cement. "Dean!" he called in worry, turning to see Dean wearing an astonished, yet elated look.

"How? The kid he …?" Dean stammered, mesmerized by the sight of his Impala waiting obediently for him in the parking lot. He turned stunned yet sparkling eyes on Sam.

Urging Dean forward, Sam smart alecked, "If you love something, let it go…" his brother's playful slap to the back of his head had him breaking off into laughter. "Fine, I'll tell you later." And he released Dean as the older man got in the passenger side without complaint.

Running around the car, Sam sank down into the driver's seat and started the engine. He was reaching to shift it from park when Dean's hand covered his hand, causing him to look worriedly to Dean.

His eyes on the burning room, Dean stammered, "Dad's journal," and reached for the door handle. When Sam's arm suddenly braced against his chest, Dean looked to his brother, a protest on his lips.

"I got the journal," Sam quickly announced, pulling it from his jacket's interior pocket only far enough so Dean could see it before sliding it back in its protected place. As Dean relaxed back against the seat, a tired relieved smile on his face, Sam pulled his arm away, set the car in reverse and intended to put as much distance between them and the burning inferno that was once their motel room as he could in the shortest amount of time.

As Sam nervously checked the rearview mirror, praying that a police cruiser was not stalking them, smoke inhalation induced coughs seized Dean, causing Sam to worriedly divert his look to his brother. Uncoiling the tight grip of his right hand from the steering wheel, Sam land his hand on Dean's left arm, "You alright, Dean?" his eyes swiveling from the road to his brother and back again.

His hand braced against his ribs to diminish the jarring the air depriving cough was delivering to his injured midsection, Dean groused, "Yeah," only to be followed by more coughs. Bowing forward under the onslaught, Dean placed his right hand on the dashboard to ensure he didn't do a header into the glove compartment.

Helplessly watching Dean suffer now, after dusk, Sam felt pain and grief and fury claw at his chest. It was over! The curse had taken its best shot and lost! It was unfair that Dean was still hurting, still plagued with the aftereffects of the day's brutal events. So it was an answer to his prayers that a red traffic light forced their escape to a standstill, allowing him to throw the car into park and nearly dive over the seat, his long arms searching the floor of the back seat until his fingers latched onto what he sought. Dragging himself again into his seat, Sam triumphantly held up his half full bottle of water.

"Dean, here, take small swallows," he gently instructed, unscrewing the lid and holding the bottle in front of Dean's bowed head.

Striving to strangle the coughs in his throat, Dean used his right hand to push himself to an upright position and took the water from his brother. He almost had it to his lips before he shot a look to Sam, whose eyes were latched onto him, oblivious to the change of the traffic light to green. Dean wheezed out, "After all I've been through today, now you're trying to kill me with your Sammy spit?"

It got a snort from Sam before the younger Winchester ordered, "Just drink it, you jerk." A honk of a horn brought Sam back to the rules of the road and he put the Impala in motion, his eyes still flickering to Dean. A sliver of tension eased from him as Dean's cough was effectively vanquished by the water.

Leaning against the seat, Dean wiped some excess water off his mouth by the back of his right hand and reveled in the pleasure of having air flow through his lungs again. Knowing Sam's gaze was on him more than the road, Dean used what energy he had to ease the tension that was rolling off of his brother. "Dude, watch the road not me! I already lost this car once today I'm not going to let you…"

"The car!" Sam exploded, "Lost the car! After everything that happened today and …" his words died in his throat as he was treated to his brother wane but pleased smirk. 'Darn it! I fell for it again! Him jokingly using the car as a deflection!' Shaking his head he bit his lip, so grateful to hear Dean overly obsess about his beloved Impala, even jokingly. "Dean, today…" he softly began only to earn Dean's standard whine.

"Sammy, let's not turn this into an after school special," Dean cut in, knowing that his emotional barriers were too low to withstand any of Sam's chick flick sentiments. Later, after about twenty four hours of sleep, then he could take whatever feelings Sam wanted to express and grouse at every word while he clutched greedily onto them, stashing them somewhere deep in his heart.

Though his brother's reaction was expected, Sam found it ignited in him a need to set some things straight between them. "Fine. Then let's talk about what you said back in the Mexican restaurant."

"The Mexican restaurant!" Dean incredulously repeated, wincing as his usual raised eyebrow gesture spiked pain into his gashed open forehead. Restricting his facial responses, Dean continued, "Sam that was hours ago. If I were a cat, it was nine lives ago. It is ancient history, said and done." While Sam's jaw clenched ready to unleash his refusal to drop the matter, Dean's brow mutinously scrunched up in confusion. "What did I say back in the restaurant?"

His determined eyes swinging between Dean and the road, Sam answered Dean's question with a question. "How many people in the world would have figured out a way to get out of that room alive, Dean? But you did. You with your crazy, pull it out of your butt, brilliant stunts. Man, Dean, how could you even think that I thought you were dumb! Stunts like you did back there, they are always saving us. Even when you were a freaking little kid, you could always outthink whatever was trying to take us out."

Instead of beaming with the praise, Dean dropped his eyes to the seat between them and mumbled something Sam couldn't decipher.

"What? What did you say Dean?" Sam gently coaxed, sounding like he was talking to a shy child.

Raising his head, Dean snapped, ashamed at having earned that tone from Sam and frustrated with his failings, "I said, 'it didn't work.' My plan."

"What? Yeah it did. It blew a hole right through the wall into the other room," Sam vouched, his eyes turning worried as the thought of Dean's memory being a little off struck him.

"Yeah, but we didn't go through the hole. Well, not that one," Dean shot back. "The one in the floor, yeah, the one in the wall, my hole, we didn't use it Sam. It didn't do us a bit of good. It was just by stupid dumb luck that the floor…"

"No," Sam interjected, "the floor only gave way because of your explosion. And if that hadn't happened we would have used your hole to get to the other room." Coming to another red light, Sam turned in the seat to face Dean, his voice conveying his unwavering conviction of his words, "You saved us, Dean." As a surprised but pleased expression flashed on his brother's face, Sam smiled and quipped, "Now shut up and take the credit."

Dean couldn't fight off his own smile as he allowed, "Fine, but I'm only taking half the credit." He paused long enough to give Sam the false hope that he would bestow the other credit on him, "MacGyver gets the other half."

Sam laughed but offered up a mock protest "What about me? Don't I get any credit for our survival?"

"You! Mr 'you're having another heart attack?now!'" Dean countered, a gleam in his eyes easing the harsh lines of fatigue that laid claim to his features.

When his eyes clashed with Dean's laughing green gaze, Sam laughed out loud, his protests forgotten entirely as Dean's laughter joined his own. "You're the one yelling for your heart medicine, doing your Fred Sanford imitation," Sam retorted, his words choked by laughter, a part of him so surprised, so relieved to be able to laugh about Dean's past heart problems.

Dean couldn't reply, he was laughing too hard, bending over, bracing his ribs against the bittersweet release. "Stop…" he gasped out among his laughter, "It hurts…don't make me laugh…Sammy. Stop, please."

"Alright, alright, truce," Sam magnanimously agreed, his laughter dying down to a smirk, watching as Dean's own laughter did the same.

Unwinding from his curled position, Dean relaxed backwards, head cushioned on the seat. It felt wonderful to laugh after the day he had had, felt even better to have Sam at his side. "So, the last thing I remember before waking up in our room is plowing into the kid," he offhandedly drawled, purposefully offering a kinder gentler version of his "last thing". Sam didn't need to know that his true last conscious sensation had been the feel of the impact of each bullet as it struck him, convincing him that the lead was tearing through muscle, bone, his heart. "So how'd I end up with you?"

"Bet you say that to all the girls," Sam joked but when his mocking gaze collided with Dean's steady no nonsense green eyes, he sobered instantly. "Alright, but first tell me how some guy ended up driving the Impala," Sam bartered, knowing that blackmail was the most effective way to learn what his brother had been through during his absence.

Sam saw hesitation flash in Dean's eyes before they dropped from his and Dean mumbled something incoherent. "What Dean?" he asked, using his gentle tone, feeling he was dealing with a skittish animal that he had unknowingly backed into a corner.

Dean knew, without a doubt, that Sam was not going to drop his line of questioning. If he wanted to have his missing time filled in by Sam, he'd have to return the favor. Sighing in defeat, he met Sam's eyes and very clearly said, "The Impala conked out on me. Dude came along and stole her," his eye's sparkling with a challenge to Sam just daring him to make light of it and see what happens.

Finding absolutely no humor in his brother's telling statement, Sam, instead, was filled with confusion. "Wait, you said the Impala quit on you. Then how'd the guy steal it? I mean, let me tell you, it was running just great when I saw it…"

Tired of the interrogation, Dean angrily confessed, "It started right up for the gangbanger, alright," his eyes blazing into Sam's. "Nothing for me, wouldn't even turn over and then it just purrs to life for some ….stranger."

It was hard for Sam to fight the smile that wanted to leap to his face. Dean's wounded tone, jealousy, over a car, it was just…funny.

Seeing Sam's lips tip up ever so slightly, Dean warned dangerously, "Dude, if you even …"

"No, no, I understand," Sam quickly interjected, his humor evaporating as he realized the real issue. His head swinging from the road to Dean's set look and back again, he expanded, "It was like another betrayal. I get it, Dean. I do."

Silence met Sam's words but Dean's eyes lost their fire. Deciding that it was his turn to uphold their bargain, Sam revealed, "The kid that stole your car, he told me where he last saw you. I got there in time to see you do your hero dive in front of the kid." His tone was light, nonchalant, like seeing his brother take three bullets was a run of the mill every day occurrence that could no longer evoke a reaction out of him, hiding the fact that even now, the memory had the power to close up his throat, cause tears to threaten and his stomach to churn.

Ignoring Sam's pointed reference to his extremely close brush with death, Dean pressed on the issue that most interested him. "Wait, you found the kid that stole the Impala and made him talk?" his eyes studying Sam for more details than his brother would verbalize.

"Yes," Sam firmly boasted, his eyes divided between his driving and his brother's incredulous look. "I can be very persuasive Dean."

"And you just happened to find him and the Impala!" Dean pressed, obviously disbelieving that any good luck had found its way into the day. "You have a vision or something?"

"No! I was out looking for you and the Impala streaked by and I…I got in the car and encouraged the kid to tell me where you were," Sam stated without frills, downplaying the antics he had gone through to achieve his face to face talk with the kid.

"I would have loved to see the look on that kid's face when you opened the door and hopped into the passenger's seat," Dean enviously admitted.

His brother's envy encouraged Sam to venture into the realm of truth and trust. "Well, I kinda had to jump in through the window," his voice lower, uncertain of Dean's reception to his words.

"What?" Dean squawked, wondering if his hearing was getting worse instead of better.

Shooting Dean a look of desperation, Sam justified, "Dean, he was gonna take off, ….so I jumped in the car."

"Through the window?' Dean restated his eyebrows rising only to drop a moment later as logic kicked in. "The window was down, right?"

"How hard did you hit your head today! Course the window was down," Sam snapped back but Dean's snort and cocky smile wiped away all of his frustration. A moment later a feral gleam settled in Sam's eyes. "Kid was playing rap music in your car, out of your speakers when I caught up with him."

Dean's stricken look was all the payback Sam needed. "Rap music! Out of my speakers! These speakers!" Dean exclaimed, pointing to the front speakers as if the very concept was making him ill.

"Who knows how long he was playing the rap music…you know, before I came to the Impala's rescue," Sam baited cruelly, his lips twisting up into a smile as Dean's eyes narrowed.

"Sam, just shut up," Dean retorted, slouching down further in the seat, as if his new position could ward off his brother's taunts.

"I think he was playing Eminem when I …" Sam said unmercifully.

"Shut your pie hole, Sam, I mean it," Dean growled, glaring at his brother before he turned his head forward and closed his eyes. "Wake me up when it's tomorrow…or better yet, when it is two tomorrows from now."

Sam smirked as he contently managed to take his eyes off the road long enough to steal views of Dean slouched in the passenger seat of the Impala, his breathing quickly changing to a lighter pattern indicating sleep was near. As he maneuvered the Impala onto the interstate that would take them out of the city, Sam ran his hand over the car's dashboard and quietly said, "You ever betray him again and you're scrape metal. We clear on that?" The Impala made no reply but it's engine did not falter as Sam gave it more gas. Sam wasn't sure what made him feel more foolish, the fact that he had just threatened a car or his belief that the car took his threat very seriously.

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TBC

Thank you so much for reading this chapter! And as always, I would love to hear your thoughts on it! To my reviewers, you guys are the best! You help me strive to make each chapter better than the one before!

Warning: Fluff alert! The final chapter is all about fluff, tying up loose ends, and fluff again so if that's not your cup of tea, bail now. However, for those addicted to fluff like I am, I hope you'll stick around for the final chapter. Oh and of course to learn the outlook for Dean's next September 21st.

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.