Welcome to my submission for the 2021 Summergen over on AO3 (if you're looking for more lovely gen fics, there's plenty under the Supernatural Summergen 2021 collection on that site ;) ) Now that the masterlist is posted, I can upload it over here, woohoo! I hope you guys enjoy!

I don't own anything. Big thanks to bagelcat1 for the beta!

"Dean, you can't be serious!"

"Why not?" Dean asked with a wide grin on his face.

"I'm not even fifteen yet, no way I can drive a car."

"Awh come on." Dean shrugged and grabbed another french fry from the bag between them on the bench seat. "You're almost fifteen, and that's only six months from getting your permit. It's basically legal."

"Is not," Sam fired back.

"Think of this like studying for a test, just really far ahead of time, alright?" He smiled and popped the fry into his mouth. "Besides, I don't remember you saying you were too young when you wanted to start helping out on hunts. You were clearly old enough then."

Dean shot him a side-eye and Sam knew he was cornered. At twelve, he'd said he was old enough to start helping more than he had been. When he passed fourteen and a half, Dean had started pestering him to learn how to drive. In the months that followed, he hadn't let up, and tonight wasn't an exception.

"Come on, it'll be fun. Just for a spin before Dad gets back." Dean balled up the bag and tossed it into the back with the rest of their take-out garbage that they'd get rid of back at the motel.

"What if I get pulled over?" Sam asked, already thinking of how he'd explain his way out of that one.

Dean wiped his fingers on his jeans and jingled the keys in his hand. "I dunno. Say I wasn't feeling well. Medical emergency or something. But there's got to be what, two cops in this whole town? Don't worry about it."

Sam kept staring at him. "What if I crash?"

"Jeez," Dean muttered and shook his head. "I'm trying to have some fun, teach you something that could actually be useful, Mr. Worst Case Scenario. Now do you want to learn or are you just going to sit and sulk all the way back to the motel?"

It was then that Sam realized Dean had been planning this from the moment Dad called to say he was on his way back from the hunt but it would be a few hours. Dean had gotten take-out from a diner and then parked on the outskirts of the small town in an empty parking lot next to an abandoned factory.

Dean only waited so long for Sam to think it through before he sighed. "You know what, fine, forget I said anything."

"Dean—"

"No, no, it's fine," Dean shrugged off but looked at him.

"Just as long as you don't freak out," Sam finally said.

A grin spread across Dean's face. "Me? Freak out? When has that ever happened?"

Sam hit him with a bitch-face that had Dean laughing. "C'mon, scoot over," Dean said. Dean got out of the car and Sam slid across the bench seat to take the driver's position. He adjusted the seat so it was a little closer to the dash and relished in Dean's annoyed glare when he got into the passenger side, having to squish his legs into the footwell more than usual.

"I have to reach the pedals, don't I?" Sam asked, still smiling.

"Don't have to be so friggin' happy about it," Dean muttered and passed Sam the keys. He gave Sam a quick run-down of the main parts of the console and steering wheel that Sam had to be concerned about. Of course, Sam was familiar with them already, but sitting behind the wheel about to use them was a much different feeling. Sam checked his mirrors and adjusted his rearview so he could actually see out the back window. "Now go ahead, put the key in, and turn."

Sam did as instructed and the engine kicked to life, the familiar rumble vibrating under his hands where he rested them on the steering wheel.

"There ya go! Now, Baby's a beast, but she doesn't bite as long as you treat her well."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Dean."

"What?" Dean looked at him innocently.

Sam just shot him a look, which Dean deciphered immediately. "Oh, so boats and planes can be girls, but not my Baby?" He ran his hand fondly over the dash. "Don't listen to him, he's a newbie," he said in a stage whisper.

Sam groaned next to him. When Dean was finally over how hilarious he was, he told Sam when to give it gas and when to shift gears. After quite a few stuttered starts and stops, Sam nailed his foot on the brake, hands clenched around the wheel.

"Woah, woah, okay, easy there," Dean said calmly. "You're doing fine. She's a beast, like I said." The little bit of joking had gone out of his tone, replaced with something more serious. Sam had known the Impala was a powerful car, but being behind the wheel and controlling it…

"Maybe we should just head back to the motel," Sam started, but Dean shook his head.

"You've gotten this far; you can do it." Dean smiled at him when Sam looked over. "You've seen Dad and I drive her the entire time you've been alive. You got this, Sammy." Dean settled into the seat, not entirely relaxed, but also not on edge, unlike Sam.

Sam took another breath and tried to calm his racing heart. When Dad and Dean drove, everything was so smooth. There was a fluidity to it that came from years of driving the Impala, sure, but it was also trust that as long as they did the right thing, the vehicle would respond in turn. He remembered seeing their legs and feet move, their hands changing gears when needed, the easy way they'd turn the wheel to maneuver the boat of a car around a turn.

Sam spread his fingers, settled them gently back on the wheel, and tried again. Eventually, the car moved forward. Sam was able to give it some gas, and under Dean's instruction, began to drive around the parking lot. He maneuvered around parking barriers and the building itself until he had a pretty good feel for what the Impala could do in the contained environment.

He pulled into a parking spot, way over the line on one side and a little crooked, but he didn't hit anything, which he considered a win. So did Dean, apparently, because he suggested they go out on the roads.

"No way," Sam said, shooting daggers at his brother, who was calmly leaning back against the bench seat.

"Why not?"

Sam couldn't believe Dean was arguing this. "Maybe because I have zero practice and it's way different than driving around in an empty parking lot."

"Eh, not that different," Dean shrugged and sat up a little more. "Small town, it's a freaking Wednesday evening, nobody will be out, and besides, town is like a mile that way." He waved off down the road they had come up. "Two lane road with passing allowed and nobody on it. At least give it a try, Sammy. See what it feels like to let her really fly, hm?"

And damnit, Dean was smirking like he knew he had Sam hook, line, and sinker. Sure, they stayed in a lot of towns like this, but this one was pretty small even for them. The quiet weekday, environment, and weather were all favorable. Dad wasn't breathing down their necks about being back at a certain time for something hunt-related.

Sam sighed. "Fine, but only for a few miles," he conceded.

Dean's smirk turned into a full-on grin. "Well, go on. The open road is yours," he added in a corny voice and flourished his hands above the dashboard.

Sam shook his head at his brother's antics and pulled the Impala to where the parking lot connected with the road. He flipped on a blinker—which Dean snickered about—and checked both ways before making a right.

After he got over the initial panic of going over twenty miles an hour, Dean told him to at least get close to the speed limit of forty. Once that was done, the car seemed to settle, and Sam understood why Dean found driving to be so intoxicating. It really was like the Impala was flying, responding to his every command, powerful and rumbling under his hands.

Dean slapped him on the knee and rolled down his window a little to let some of the cooling evening air in. It was nearing eight at night, and the bright remnants of the day were quickly fading in the darkening sky. Sam drove a few more miles before he made a U-turn and headed back to town. He tried to get Dean to switch with him, but it was no use.

"You've driven this far, may as well get us back to the motel," Dean said, completely at ease with it all. He had his right arm leaned up against the door handle and window, fingertips sailing through the breeze coming in through the crack.

Sam couldn't find it in himself to bite back with a smart remark. Something in him relaxed when they passed the parking lot they'd been in earlier. He could make it back to town.

"What if Dad finds out?" Sam asked out of the blue. His eyes tracked the T-intersection they were coming up to and remembered that it wasn't more than half a mile to town. He watched Dean shrug out of his peripheral vision.

"He'll be fine with it. Useful skill to have in your toolbox, Sammy," Dean said and shot him a grin. "Besides, you never know when—"

The other car hit them midway through Dean's sentence.

Sam registered the metal crunching and the way the steering wheel didn't want to obey his commands. The force of the impact pushed the Impala across the road and whipped Sam's head against his window. Everything after that was black.

There was a faint sound of mechanical ticking somewhere in the vicinity. Sam focused on the noise and used it as a life-preserver to drag himself back to consciousness even though he wanted nothing more than to stay in his current state. He squeezed his eyes shut and then opened them very slowly. The bits of light from the sunset had totally receded, covering the sky in darkness. Even the slight influx of light from the moon made his head hurt.

Sam very slowly tilted his head away from the window, groaning as he did so. At the movement, a fresh stream of blood trickled down his forehead. He tried to ignore it as he blinked again and tried to get his bearings.

The Impala was still on the road, albeit on the wrong side. Looking through the shattered passenger window, Sam didn't see the car that had hit them. He wasn't focused on that for too long though, because immediately after that observation, his fuzzy brain registered that Dean was slumped and unmoving in the passenger seat.

"D'n?" His voice came out as a cracked whisper. The effort of it and the movement that followed had his stomach flipping. Probably a concussion then, great; just what he needed. "Dean?" he tried again a little more forcefully. There was still no reply.

Sam's heartbeat thudded quickly in his ears as he began moving his limbs, fingers, and toes. Nothing seemed to be broken, which was good, but his neck and head hurt like hell. He took a deep breath through the pain and slid over on the bench seat to get a better look at his big brother.

He didn't have to slide far, as the impact had moved Dean to the center of the seat. Dean was still upright, but he was slouched, head leaning back on the seat and angled towards Sam. There was blood on the right side of his face that glistened in the moonlight. Glass from the broken passenger window sparkled between them.

Take a breath in, push a breath out. Squeeze your eyes shut, open them. Focus. Don't lose it.

Sam very gingerly pressed two fingers to Dean's throat and waited a painful few seconds before he felt his brother's quick pulse. He breathed out a sigh of relief. Dean was alive, and Sam would keep him that way.

However, as he continued his triage, Sam noticed they definitely weren't out of the woods. He tilted his head and from the new angle could clearly see a dark splotch on Dean's flannel. He'd shucked his jacket since the night was comfortably cool and tossed it in the back earlier. Sam very slowly shifted to get a better glimpse of Dean's right side. Even from his terrible angle, he could tell that Dean's upper arm wasn't at the right angle. If his arm was bleeding, it wasn't because of the glass, which meant that the fracture was bad.

Take a breath in, push a breath out. Don't lose it.

Sam had gotten them into this mess, and he'd have to be the one to get them out. He had no idea how often these back roads were travelled. Suddenly, Dean's reasonings for this being a good night to go driving—small town, weeknight—didn't seem so appealing. Sam could also reasonably assume that the driver that had hit them and taken off wouldn't be reporting the accident to the police or getting emergency services to their location.

They were on their own.

Sam had no idea when someone would come down this road next. No idea if, by the time someone did find them, the situation would have worsened beyond repair. The sky was dark and the moon has risen a little, but not much since he last remembered, so he guessed he hadn't been out too long. Which meant that Dad would still be on the road, not looking for his sons who were missing from the motel.

Sam's decision was made for him.

As gingerly as he could, he shook Dean's left, uninjured shoulder. "Dean?" he pleaded once more. Sam had to go get help. But he didn't want to leave Dean alone and unconscious with no idea what had happened. He also couldn't afford to wait too long. "Dean, please," Sam whispered. A few tears tracked down his eyes and landed somewhere on the bench seat. He felt impossibly young and alone.

Dean didn't stir.

Breathe in, breathe out, continue.

Sam took the only thing he had in his pocket, his lighter, and put it into Dean's hand, curling his fingers around it. That way, if Dean did wake up, hopefully he'd know Sam was alright.

He then very slowly turned into the back seat and grabbed Dean's jacket to drape over him. It wasn't much, but without the car running, the night felt cooler, and Sam wanted to help in any way he could.

He took another breath, another long look at his brother, and finally pushed himself out of the Impala. Standing sent an immediate wave of dizziness through him and he had to hold onto the roof of the car for support to avoid toppling over. His head pounded with the effort and the feeling didn't let up.

Sam had to do this. For Dean.

He had to continue.

Sam readied himself, let go of the Impala, and started slowly making his way down the road towards town.

He only had to stop to heave into the bushes once, which he considered a win. Time passed in a blur around him as he forced one foot in front of another until he finally saw the lights of the diner they had stopped at earlier. When Sam saw the 'open' sign still blazing its neon glow, his knees almost went out. He was nearly there. So close.

He was sweaty, breathing heavily, and having to focus on staying conscious by the time he opened the door and wandered in.

"Help," he whispered even though all eyes were already on him. Sam vaguely registered one of the waitresses, a woman about his mom's age if she'd lived, nudging him into a booth and pressing a towel to his head. Someone a few feet away was making a hurried phone call.

"My brother. You gotta help 'im." Sam looked at the waitress crouched down in front of him, holding the towel to his head.

"We will, honey, we will, he'll be just fine," she assured and pursed her lips. "What happened?"

Sam scrunched his eyebrows together with the effort of answering the question. The lights inside the diner were so bright. Even the soft music was too much. "Crashed. Half a…half a mile," he said and pointed weakly back the direction he had come.

The woman turned away from him, probably to get the information to the person on the phone.

Sam's body seemed content with the fact that his message would be relayed and that Dean would be getting help. By the time the woman turned back to him, his vision was spotty and swimming. The last thing he registered was her catching him as he fell forward.

The incessant beeping continued at evenly spaced intervals, dragging Sam out of his deep sleep. Dean hadn't turned his alarm off. Seriously? Dean couldn't let him rest? Was he in the shower and had forgotten to turn it off?

"D'n," he muttered, not yet opening his eyes. He shifted a little in bed, and the alarm increased its speed. Now that definitely wasn't normal. He cracked his eyes open, hoping he could glare at his brother for waking him up. That wasn't the case.

Instead, he was met with harsh light that bounced off white and pale blue surfaces. The sudden brightness made him wince and sent a wave of pain through his head. "Dean?" he asked as he screwed his eyes shut. Everything was too bright, the alarm was too loud, and now that he was more aware, the bed was much more comfortable than the lumpy, creaky pad he was used to crashing on in motels.

He risked cracking another eye open. When he was finally able to focus, the pain had decreased to a dull throbbing as his eyes adjusted. He was met not with their green and black motel room, but with a hospital room. The annoying alarm clock that had woken him up was in fact a heart monitor just off to his left. The lights were probably on a dim setting, but they still seemed extremely bright compared to the blackness outside the window.

"The hell?" He rolled his head back and forth to get a better idea of the room around him. Dean wasn't in one of the chairs next to the bed. As a matter of fact, there wasn't even a chair next to the bed, which was incredibly strange. Every single time he'd woken up in a hospital, Dean or Dad had been next to him or there was evidence that they had just stepped out for a minute.

He was still working it out when a nurse in pink scrubs walked in and smiled at him. "Well hey there! You look a little more coherent than last time, you staying with us?" she asked as she came around and checked his vitals before looking at him.

"Where am I?" Sam's throat didn't feel parched or sore, so he probably hadn't been out too long, which was good. But the fog over his brain wasn't lifting as quick as he wanted it to.

"Decker County Hospital, honey. You've been in and out of it for a few hours," she informed kindly. "Stay awake for one minute, let me go grab the doctor, okay?" Once he nodded, she left, a bit of speed and purpose in her steps.

As promised, the doctor came in a minute later. By then, a few things seemed to have settled into place. He remembered Dad calling to say he was coming back from his hunt, he and Dean taking the Impala to go get dinner, an empty parking lot, driving down the open road…

"Hi there, Sam," a cheery, middle-aged doctor with glasses said as he entered the room.

Sam didn't remember telling the man his name; he must have done so when he was partially conscious and couldn't remember. "Hi," he replied in a small voice.

"Good to see you up. If you don't mind, I'd like to see if I could run a few short tests while you're awake?" He clicked a small penlight on and off.

Sam just nodded.

The doctor administered some verbal and visual tests and confirmed that Sam had a mild concussion. Of course, Sam had already expected it, but it still wasn't great to hear.

"And Dean?" he asked as he blinked the last bits of harsh light from his eyes. His head still throbbed, but it was much duller than before.

"Ah yes, the young man you told the waitress about? Is he your brother or a friend?"

"Brother," Sam confirmed. "Wasn't feeling well while driving, and it was just a mile back to the motel, so I took over, and we got hit," he said in a rush, remembering what Dean had told him earlier. Thankfully, the doctor didn't seem too worried about Sam having been behind the wheel.

The doctor flipped to another page on the clipboard in front of him. Sam caught a glimpse of a 'Nixon' on his name tag. "They brought him out of surgery about an hour ago, he's in the ICU under observation but they should be moving him down in a few hours."

Sam's breath stilled in his chest. "Surgery?" he asked in a small voice. He had known that Dean's arm was injured and that it was probably bad, but surgery made it so much worse.

Dr. Nixon nodded. "Just to reset the bones in his humerus. It's a pretty standard procedure and there weren't any complications. He'll make a full recovery." He seemed very confident in that fact, but the word surgery kept repeating itself over and over in Sam's mind.

It was his fault. If he hadn't been driving, it wouldn't have happened. If he had listened to Dean and learned to drive before, he would've been more aware of possible errors other people would be making on the roads. If he had forced Dean to drive, this would never have happened (or Dean would be okay and Sam would have a broken arm, which Sam was infinitely more okay with, though Dean would probably beg to differ).

"Sam? Sam?"

Sam blinked and turned his attention to Dr. Nixon, who looked at him worriedly.

"Is there someone we can call for you and your brother?"

Sam looked at the clock on the wall. It had been a few hours, so Dad was probably back at the motel by now. He gave a little nod and relayed the number to the doctor with only a few pauses in-between to make sure he got it right. Dr. Nixon stepped out for a few minutes to make the phone call.

"When can I see Dean?" Sam asked when he returned.

Dr. Nixon smiled at him sadly before he shook his head. "Son, you're in different wards, and both need to be kept for observation. We can see about discharging you tomorrow, and him in a few days if everything goes to plan."

Sam began to frown at the explanation.

"If anything happens to him, anything at all, I promise to let you know, how does that sound?" Dr. Nixon offered, which Sam appreciated.

"Good," he answered in a small voice. "If he wakes up, make sure he knows I'm okay."

Dr. Nixon's smile spread. "Of course. You should really get some rest, Sam. Your father's on his way over, we're about twenty miles away from where your car was found, so give him a few minutes."

Sam just nodded. Something in him both relaxed and tensed at the idea of Dad coming to check on them. He was grateful his Dad was actually around to come help, but Sam knew he wouldn't be able to bear his father's reproach when he too realized it was all Sam's fault.

With that, the doctor left the room, and Sam was alone.

True to Dr. Nixon's word, Dad arrived at Sam's room about an hour later. He stood in the doorway for a moment, and just the sight of him made Sam's eyes well up.

"Dad," he said in a small voice.

Dad immediately crossed the room and gave Sam a once-over. His fingers were light where they brushed Sam's bangs away from the goose-egg and butterfly bandages on his forehead. Sam was a bit taken aback by the gentleness, which had been present in few instances as of late.

"I'm so sorry," Sam choked out, wanting it to be the first thing he said so Dad would never doubt it. His father dropped his hand from Sam's head and sat down in the seat next to his bed.

"Don't you start that, Sam," he sighed and shook his head. "I'm just glad you boys are okay."

Okay? Okay? "Dean has a broken arm because of me," Sam insisted with a frown.

"How is it because of you?"

Sam shifted in the bed to look at his father better and fought down the lump in his throat. "I was driving, I shoulda seen the other car, and I didn't. I could've moved out of the way, or stopped, or sped up, or, or, something!"

"Sammy," Dad sighed again.

"Dean had to have surgery, the Impala's dented, all of it is my fault."

Dad looked at him, and for the first time in a long time, Sam noticed how tired he seemed. There were bags under his eyes and he sagged in the chair more than Sam had seen in a long time. The job had taken him away from the motel for a week and a half, which was a fair amount of time. Now here he was, dealing with his hospitalized kids.

"You know, Dean's been egging both you and I to get you driving for some time now. And he's got a point about it."

Sam couldn't believe how calm Dad was being about all this.

"And the Impala…Dean can't fix her by himself with his arm, so you'll have to step in more than usual, you know that, right?" his father continued.

Sam nodded jerkily. His head protested the movement and a few tears escaped, but he didn't care. He'd do anything he could to start fixing this.

"Dean's arm will heal, we'll get the Impala back together. It'll take some time, but it'll be alright, Sam." Dad leaned back in the chair. From what Sam could tell, there was no anger or thought of retribution simmering in his eyes like Sam had expected.

"You're…you're not mad?" Sam ventured a few seconds later.

Dad huffed out half a laugh. "Sure I am. But not at you. The guy who hit you, now, that's a different story."

"But I was the one driving!"

Dad shrugged. "Yes you were," he started and took a breath before he looked at Sam. "I went and checked on your brother before I came in here."

The mention of Dean had Sam's chest clenching up.

"He's still partially sedated to help with the aftermath of the surgery, but they'll be weaning him off and bringing him down from the ICU pretty soon. He'll make a full recovery, even with that nasty fracture. You know why?"

The question surprised Sam. He shook his head.

"Because you," Dad pointed his finger at Sam, "kept your head on straight. You wandered into town with a concussion and got help. Doc said it could've been hours before someone drove down that road, and Dean would've been in shock by then. You did what you could, and you did it well, son."

Sam pursed his lips. All that sounded right, but it didn't fit with what he was feeling. The guilt was threatening to crush him despite his father's words.

"Paramedics found this clutched pretty tightly in Dean's hand," Dad added as he pulled an object out of his pocket. He raised it just enough for Sam to see before he returned it to his jacket. Sam's lighter. "You did what you could to put his mind at ease should he have woken up when you were gone." Of course Dad knew the reason Sam had left it behind.

"I wish it had been me, not him," Sam whispered and rubbed at his eyes with his hands.

"You want me to tell him you said that?"

When Sam looked back up, Dad was smirking. They both knew exactly how Dean would react to such a statement. "No," Sam said.

"Well then." Dad raised his hands and lowered them. "Don't say it, alright?"

Sam nodded and let out a shaky breath.

"It wasn't your fault. Dean'll tell you the same thing. So do your best to get some sleep." He didn't look like he was going to move any time soon, so Sam figured he'd probably check on Dean when they moved him down a level.

Sam sniffed and dashed the last bits of wetness from his cheeks before he settled against the pillow and tried to rest. His father's words had eased some of the worry in his chest over what his punishment could be. But that worry still paled in comparison to concern over what Dean's reaction would be when they saw each other again.

They released Sam in the afternoon with a list of things to watch out for following a concussion and a prescription for some painkillers if he needed. Both he and Dad were well-versed in the art of treating concussions, so they nodded when needed and asked no other questions.

Dean had been moved down to the general ward after the doctors were certain that he was out of the woods and everything looked good following surgery. Dad filled Sam in as they walked across the hospital, Sam being both eager and scared to face with his big brother again. When they came to Dean's room, Dad knocked on the open door before he and Sam went in.

"Someone to see you, Dean," Dad said, and Sam could see the smile on his father's face.

He walked into the room at that introduction and was met with the almost familiar sight of Dean in a hospital bed. He had a bruise on his head like Sam, as well as some minor cuts from the glass, and his right arm was immobilized in a heavy-duty brace. Some bandages peeked out around his shoulder.

"Sammy!" Dean immediately exclaimed when his eyes landed on his little brother. The grin on his face did wonders at making the lingering paleness and bags under his eyes disappear.

Dad looked between the two of them. "I'm going to grab a coffee, you two play nice, alright?" He left a few seconds after, leaving Sam standing a couple feet from Dean's bed.

"Sammy? Your feet bolted to the floor or something?" Dean quirked an eyebrow as he regarded Sam.

Sam pursed his lips and before he could think further, he closed the distance and wrapped Dean in a hug, being very careful around his injured arm. Dean paused for a split second before Sam felt his left arm snake around Sam and hold him tightly. "Awh, Sam," he whispered.

Sam didn't even care how childish he was being, or that he was breaking all the no-chick-flick rules in the book. His head hurt, his emotions were out of whack, and all he cared about was the living proof in his arms that Dean was alright. The last time he had seen Dean, he'd had to leave him bloodied and unconscious in their damaged home. So sue him for being a little sappier than usual.

"I'm glad you're okay," Sam whispered around the lump in his throat. He squeezed a little one more time before he let go and dropped into the seat next to Dean's bed.

"Right back at you," Dean smiled at him.

Closer than he was before, Sam took a moment to really look at his brother before he asked, "How are you feeling?"

Dean made a half-frown in lieu of shrugging. "Arm hurts a little, but they gave me the good stuff, so it's alright." His frown transformed into a smirk. "I wonder if I'll set off metal detectors now."

"Metal detectors?" Sam asked, his mouth going dry.

"Yeah, they put a plate and a screw or something in to make sure everything heals up nice 'n orderly," Dean nodded.

Sam opened his mouth and closed it again. The wave of guilt was back, worse than before, despite what Dad had said hours ago.

"Hey, hey, Sammy?" Dean snapped his fingers a few times to get his brother's attention.

"I'm so sorry, Dean," Sam choked out. "If I had seen the guy coming and turned, or not been driving in the first place, or had more experience like you've been saying I needed, none of this would've happened," he said quickly.

Dean was immediately shaking his head. "C'mon, man, don't think like that. Look, Dad told me what you did, alright? If anything, I should be thanking you. You kept your head on straight and powered through. Nothing more you could've done."

It hit differently when it was Dean saying it. Something about Dean being there when it happened—about Dean always being there no matter the situation—made it feel even more genuine. "But…your arm, your dominant arm! The Impala!"

Dean kept shaking his head. "Not your fault, Sam. I mean, I'm gonna be a gimp with this thing on for a month or so, so you'll have to help fix up the Impala. And do important things, like write out my research notes. And even more important things like channel surf," he said with a smirk, knowing full well that he had one perfectly good working arm left.

All of it was said to raise Sam's spirits, and Sam knew it. Despite the waves crashing on the shores of his heart, the storm started to die down a little.

"You didn't see the guy that hit us?" Dean asked.

Sam ducked his head. "No. He came up so fast and the road was curved and…It was a truck, maybe, or a big car. It felt big, anyways. But nothing else."

"Eh, it's alright. We can go bug Bobby for a while so we can get Baby back in tip top shape, how does that sound?" Dean suggested, and Sam looked up.

It sounded pretty good, actually. With Dean being out of the game for a while, it was probably their best option anyways.

"And you, huh? C'mere," Dean motioned with his left hand and Sam leaned closer to the bed. Dean ghosted his fingers over the bump and bandages on Sam's head and let out a small whistle. "Looks like Baby got you back pretty good. That's plenty of payback as far as I'm concerned, not that it's needed, but you know how she is."

Their earlier bantering about how Dean treated the car filtered back into Sam's mind. "Yeah, I know," Sam said with a slight smile. And he did know now. He'd felt her rumbling under his hands as she flew—Dean would say going forty wasn't flying but Sam didn't care—down the road.

"Hey," Dean said. He let his hand drop back down to the bed but held Sam's eyes. "We're both okay, that's all that matters in the end, alright?"

Sam just nodded, knowing Dean was right, even if he couldn't get his vocal cords to work to say so.

Dean appraised him for another moment before he leaned back against the pillows. "So," he started a minute or so later, breaking up the hum of the air conditioning and the quiet beeping. "What did the diner lady's face look like when you came in all zombie-like for a midnight snack?"

Sam let out a stuttered laugh at that. Only Dean could turn a situation like that into something comedic for Sam's benefit. He took a deep breath in and tried to remember. When he had an image pinned down in his fuzzy brain, he set about describing it to Dean, who listened intently to the entire thing, fuzziness and all.