Sam stared at the brown sack in his lap. Whether the nauseous feeling he was experiencing was from the concussion or from his guilt, Sam wasn't quite certain. All he did know was that he couldn't bring himself to force down the hamburger Dean had bought him a few miles back.
"You really need to eat that." Dean said.
"And you really should have let me drive." Sam shot back.
"Like I'm really letting you behind the wheel of my car. Don't think I didn't notice you staggering all over the room before we left. You're still not over your concussion, Sam. Until you are, I'll do the driving. Besides, it's my car!" Dean pointed a stern finger at Sam. "Now, eat."
"I can't believe I let this happen." Sam said quietly, abruptly bringing the focus back to what was really on both of their minds.
"We, Sam. We let this happen." Dean corrected.
"You weren't the one driving, Dean. It was my idea to drive at the car. I'm responsible for all those people getting hurt." Sam slammed his hand against the door in frustration.
"It was a logical assumption, Sam. At the time, it seemed to have done the trick. And before you go playing up the martyr, don't forget that I was the one who made us get the hell out of there so fast."
"Besides," Dean continued, trying to absolve his brother's guilt, "the car had only appeared during the full moon. Technically, nothing should have happened for another week. We had no way of knowing this would happen."
Sam sat in a stony silence, staring out the side window. Dean made valid points, but it still didn't change the fact that he knew in his heart he could have done more. After they'd left Danbury, Sam had only halfheartedly searched for information on the ghost car. The few tidbits he'd found had pretty much confirmed that his hypothesis for sending the ghost car to that big parking lot in the sky was correct. Maybe if he'd spent a little more time checking into the past he would have found the reason the car was wreaking more havoc on the little community.
"Sam?" Dean's voice broke through his thoughts.
"How much farther?" Sam responded.
Dean sighed. He recognized the look in Sam's eyes. Dean had seen a similar look in his little brother's face after they'd left Palo Alto, California. It had taken months for Sam to come to terms with Jessica's death, and the consequences of keeping secrets from her. This time around Dean could tell that Sam was going to hold onto his guilt until he could correct his mistakes, and probably some time after that. Dean tried to push away his own feelings of self doubt. One of them had to remain level-headed. It was just Dean's luck that it had to be him for once.
"We've still got a ways to go. Now, eat that burger before I pull over and make you eat it." Dean borrowed his dad's patented "I will not tolerate any arguing" look and aimed it directly at Sam.
Reluctantly Sam opened the bag and pulled out the sandwich. With one hand on his queasy stomach, Sam took a tentative bite. To his relief, his stomach actually seemed to enjoy the modest offering. The more he ate, the calmer his stomach became. At least one part of him was content.
"You should probably take a few more aspirin. Then try to catch a few zzz's." Dean said, not quite ready to let go of his mother hen persona.
"Hey, uh, while you've got it out, hand me a couple." Dean motioned to the bottle in Sam's lap.
"Shoulder?" Sam asked simply.
"It's fine. Just a little tender." It was Dean's turn to hide how truly awful he felt. The pain traveled up his arm, growing in intensity until it exploded in his shoulder. It was as if someone lit a fuse halfway down his arm that led to a pile of C4. If the aspirin didn't help control the pain, he'd be forced to get the sling.
"Come on, Dean. You've been driving for hours. You're just as messed up as I am, if not more. Let me take over for a while." Sam pleaded.
"Tell you what. You get in a few hours of shut-eye, then we'll switch for a while. Deal?" Dean said after he swallowed the proffered pills.
Sam knew that was as close as he was going to get to a compromise. "Fine. Wake me in an hour."
"Two hours. Got it." Dean threw Sam an impish smile before turning down the volume on Kirk Hammett's guitar solo. "Nighty-night, Sammy."
Sam slouched down and shut his eyes. Determined to get in the last word, he threw in a "Bite me," then proceeded to fall asleep almost instantly.
Seventy-five semis, four dead skunks and endless billboards later, Dean was going out of his mind. He'd finally given in and retrieved the sling from the trunk. That, coupled with a few more pain killers had managed to relieve the throbbing in his shoulder. He knew Sam would be pissed that Dean didn't wake him, but the kid really needed the rest.
The final chords of Metallica's The Struggle Within faded away, followed by a loud click. Carefully bringing his left knee up to the steering wheel he leaned over, stretching his left arm towards the tape deck. Dean let out a myriad of curse words as his body protested the awkward position. He had just managed to eject the cassette tape when a blaring horn snapped his head back to the road. He had drifted into the opposite lane; right in the path of an oncoming truck.
Dean jerked himself upright, instinctively bringing both hands to the wheel. With a fast turn and a yell of pain, Dean steered the Impala to the right just as the truck whizzed by. Continuing towards the side of the road, Dean pulled onto the shoulder and painfully put the car into park.
"Son of a bitch!" he swore as he rested his sweaty forehead on the steering wheel. Too close. Way too close.
"Dean?"
Dean opened his eyes and sat up. Sam was staring at him with sleepy eyes. Dean was glad to see some color had returned to Sam's face. He didn't have to look in the rearview mirror to realize his own complexion was probably as colorless as snow after what just happened.
"Hey, Sam." Dean said wearily.
"What's going on?" Sam asked dully.
"Oh nothing. Just thought I'd pull over and take a moment to enjoy the beautiful scenery." Dean said sardonically.
Observing the uninteresting fields surrounding the highway, and the slightly stricken expression on Dean's face, Sam wisely chose to keep his mouth shut.
"How's the head?" Dean said, absently rubbing his shoulder.
"A bit lopsided. Although your haircut takes the focus away from how enormous it is." Sam's eyes twinkled mischievously.
Sam couldn't help but laugh at the irritated expression on Dean's face. "What, you can make jokes and I can't?"
"You're right. You know why? Because my jokes are funny." Dean shot back as he carefully put his arm back in the sling.
Sam watched his brother's movements, again choosing not to speak.
"It's fine, Sam." Dean turned the key with his left hand, listening to his baby rumble sounds of comfort as the engine started up.
A split second later the Chevy's voice was cut off abruptly as Sam turned the key to the off position.
"Get out. I'm driving."
"Cut it out, Sam. I'm not in the mood." Dean reached again for the ignition.
Sam snaked his hand over and snatched the keys out of the ignition, staring defiantly at Dean.
"Sam." The growl in Dean's voice eerily reminded Sam of a bear preparing to attack. Sam set his jaw, determined to win. He got out, slamming the car door behind him. Marching over to Dean's side, he yanked open the door, repeating his last statement.
Moving a bit too slowly, Dean stood up and stretched his six foot height up towards his taller brother. "Give. Me. The. Keys." he said, punching each word out through clenched teeth.
"Do you really want to do this? I may have a headache, but at least I have full use of my limbs." Sam pointed his chin at Dean's shoulder.
After a moment of quiet deliberation, Dean's exhausted body won out over his pride. "Fine. But if you even get even one scratch on my car, shoulder or no shoulder I will royally kick your ass."
Sam stifled a laugh. Dean wasn't fooling either of them with his tough guy act. He looked as if the flap of a butterfly's wing would topple him over. The big brother role was so ingrained in Dean that it seemed he would never realize that Sam was capable of taking care of himself; of taking care of both of them. Sam had hoped that their recent time together would show Dean that his little brother had grown up. Sam chose to think that Dean's yielding of the car keys indicated that maybe he was starting to see Sam in a new light.
"Deal. Now get in. How far out are we?" Sam slid into the driver's seat.
"Just about two hours." Dean's dismay over losing the wheel to Sam was lessened once he realized he was in position to regain control of the music. Being mindful of Sam's headache, he kept the volume down to a tolerable level.
"Have you had a chance to think about what might have happened?" Sam asked as he steered back onto the highway.
It's all I've been thinking about, Dean thought to himself. The lives we put in danger. "You're the one who did the research on the car. What do you think?"
"I think I should have looked into the car crash a little more." Sam replied regretfully.
"Tell me what you do know." Dean said.
"Ok. The Mustang we ran into--"
"Literally." Dean muttered.
Ignoring the comment, Sam tried again. "The Mustang was owned by a young kid named Marc Lawler. On August 21, 1975 he and another kid played chicken out on Blue Corner's Road. Witnesses said neither driver even tried to swerve. There was a terrible head-on collision. The Mustang caught on fire almost instantly. They weren't able to pull Marc from the car before it exploded. He was only seventeen when he died."
"What happened to his body?" Dean asked.
Sam grimaced slightly. "By the time they were able to put out the fire, there was barely anything left. His parents cremated his remains."
Dean shuddered at the image. With all the time he spent in his car and the reckless way he was often forced to drive, it was a miracle he hadn't been in an accident.
Dean pushed aside the thought.
"And the car?" he asked, getting back to business.
"They scrapped whatever survived the fire. It's long gone." Hearing himself recite the facts, Sam still could not figure out why his plan hadn't worked. More importantly, how had his actions made the situation worse? The car appeared every full moon, replaying the fateful events of that evening over thirty years ago. With the Impala standing in for the other car, reenacting the scenario should have put whatever spirit lingered at peace.
"What about the other driver?"
Sam sighed. "From what I remember, he survived. I didn't really look into it that much, to be honest with you."
"So it must be Marc's spirit we're dealing with. Well, we can't salt and burn the bones; he's already dust." Dean mused.
Sam rubbed his forehead wearily. Every time he tried to concentrate, the marching band in his head would crescendo, culminating in a cymbal crash right behind his eyes. Another thought was nagging at him, adding to the chaos in his brain.
"We also have to figure out our game plan once we get to Danbury." Sam said.
"What do you mean?" Dean's brow was furrowed as he looked over at Sam.
"The last time we were here a girl stole your car, we got in a bar fight with some college kids, and you stole a truck. We're going to have to watch our step, Dean." Sam pointed out.
"Jennifer." Dean growled at the very thought of her putting his car in harm's way. "That blonde bitch had better pray I don't run into her."
"Dean!" Sam exclaimed in his "Dude, focus!" voice.
"So we stay away from Chet's Bar and the cops. You did wipe down the truck, didn't you?" In his hurry to get to his car, Dean had forgotten to do so. He could only imagine the looks on the local cops' faces when they discovered that the guy who stole the pickup had died months ago.
"Yeah, I took care of it." Sam reassured him. "But that doesn't mean they don't have a description of us, or have us on camera. We really have to lay low on this one, Dean."
"Don't worry, Sammy. Subtlety is my specialty." Dean said smugly as Sam rolled his eyes. Oh yeah. This was going to be very interesting.