A cloud of steam wafted through the bathroom door, announcing the presence of the new and improved Sam Winchester. The hot shower had warmed his chilled body and eased his aching muscles. He was back in his own uniform of jeans and a t-shirt. A bit of breakfast would take care of his growling stomache, and hopefully some aspirin would chip away at his headache. Then all that would be left of the old Sam was the overwhelming guilt. Vanquishing the ghost car would alleviate part of that guilt. Getting back into Dean's good graces, well, that would be a longer trip.
"Dean?" Sam called out to the empty room. His keys were still on the little table by the window, as was the laptop.
"On your bed." Dean's voice came from behind him, causing Sam to nearly jump out of his skin. He whirled around to see a smirking Dean leaning against the wall.
"What?" Sam asked breathlessly.
Dean unfolded his arms and pointed towards Sam's bed. "Breakfast. I took my mangled car and picked us up some grub."
Sam felt like he'd just won the lottery. A large cup of coffee balanced dangerously on the edge of the bed next to a white bag which could only contain doughnuts. And perhaps the most beautiful thing of all lay between the two: a bottle of aspirin.
Sam flew over and carefully grabbed the coffee. Chomping into the doughnut he moaned with pleasure. He could feel Dean's amused gaze on his back as he wolfed down the food.
"You eat as sloppily as you drive."
Sam chose to ignore him, focusing instead on the processed wonder of fried dough followed by pure caffeine.
"You're welcome." Dean said pointedly.
Sam swallowed his last mouthful before turning around. "Thanks." he said before downing three aspirin.
Sam wiped his mouth with his sleeve and gave his brother an assessing look. "How's the shoulder?"
"Still a bit stiff." Dean admitted as he rotated his shoulder. "Of course, I could be driving with no arms and one leg and I still wouldn't have crashed the car."
"Oh my god, are you going to take everything I say and make it about last night?" Sam asked incredulously.
"Yes. You have a problem with that?" Dean narrowed his eyes.
"No, no problem." Sam answered with a sigh.
With that settled, Dean was ready to get back to business. "So, I've got a theory on how to deal with the Mustang."
Sam sat at attention. "Really? What'd you find out?"
Strolling over to the laptop, Dean motioned for Sam to follow. Dean sat in the lone chair while Sam looked over his shoulder. A little too closely, as it turned out.
"Dude, personal bubble." Dean hunched forward.
Sam stepped back instantly. "So…?" he prodded.
Readjusting his shoulders, Dean scrolled down the web page. "So, here's what we do know. We might be dealing with the spirit of Marc Lawler—"
"He was the kid driving the Mustang; who died in the crash." Sam interjected.
"Right." Dean nodded. "Before we came along the Mustang seemed to be just a specter, showing up once every full moon to reenact the events of the night Marc died."
"Until we showed up and screwed everything to hell." Sam said bitterly.
Dean ignored Sam's comment. "Now the car shows up at random, apparently corporeal, but still trying to recreate the crash."
"Maybe Marc's spirit has nothing to do with this. After all, we've never actually seen him. The car was driverless each time I saw it."
"Exactly what I was thinking. Although, I think we should be focusing less on who it is, and more on what it wants." Dean said.
Dean took the confused look on Sam's face as a cue to continue. "The victims all said the car headed straight for them."
"Playing chicken. We know that. That's how Marc died." Sam interrupted.
"Right. But afterwards it always vanishes. Take last night. The Mustang didn't hit you. You managed to get away, yet you said it was gone a few moments later. If it were really out to do some damage it could have easily turned around and had another go. You certainly made an easy enough target, slamming into the tree as gracefully as you did." Dean couldn't resist throwing in another verbal jab, followed by a physical one to Sam's arm.
Sam rubbed his arm, glaring at Dean. "So you're saying it's trying to complete some task; deal with unfinished business. But what? It must have played chicken with half the county by now. Plus we actually completed the cycle with it the first time we were here, remember?"
"How could I forget you recklessly driving my baby straight at that thing?" Dean shuddered as he remembered the wild look in Sam's eyes as they careened full speed at the Mustang. "In fact, I honestly don't know why I even allow you behind the wheel anymore. You're on driving embargo, my friend."
"Whatever." Sam put the conversation back on track. "Fact it, we drove right through it. We stood in for the other car. Theoretically the Mustang should have been vanquished. But we know now we were wrong." I was wrong, he added mentally.
"Except we weren't the other car." Dean said, waiting for Sam to put the pieces together.
Sam's eyebrows shot up. "You're saying this thing will only stop if it goes after the original car? The one from 1975?"
Dean took offense to Sam's slightly mocking tone. " Marc's body is gone; we have nothing to salt and burn. As for the Mustang, we have no way of tracking down where the leftover parts are. Near as I can tell, our only other option is to focus in on the other car. Help the Mustang complete the cycle once and for all. I don't see any other option, unless you have a brillant idea you'd like to share, College Boy."
Sam held his hands up. "Ok, ok, easy. I see your point. Were you able to find out anything about the other car?"
Dean leaned closer to the laptop. "Oh yeah. It was a 1973 Pontiac Firebird. Quite a beauty. Before the crash, I mean." he threw in hastily.
Dean had pulled up a few photos taken of the wreckage. While the Mustang was twisted and charred almost beyond recognition, the Pontiac had fared slightly better. The front end had been pushed completely in; the hood accordioned up to the shattered windshield.
"Wow." Sam shook his head in disbelief. Tearing his eyes away from the pictures, Sam scanned the accompanying article. "Does it say what happened to the car?"
"I couldn't find any information about the Firebird. Only that they had to cut a hole in the roof to get the driver out." Dean said.
"The other driver's name was George White, eighteen years old." Sam read aloud. "Do you think he's still alive?"
Dean closed the laptop. "He's still alive, all right. He's in an assisted living facility on the outskirts of town. Um, Greenfields." he said, reading the information he'd written on a piece of paper.
"Assisted living?" Sam repeated. "He's not even fifty years old!"
"He was severely injured when they pulled him from the car. He ended up being paralyzed from the neck down." Dean explained somberly.
"So we're going to go harass this poor guy?" Sam was appalled.
"Sam, we have no choice. If we don't do something fast, the next attack could kill someone." Dean pointed out bluntly.
He knew Dean was right. It didn't mean he had to like it. "Yeah, you're right." Sam yielded. "I guess we head for Greenfields."
Dean gave Sam a long once over. "You sure you're up for it?" Although some color had returned in Sam's cheeks, he still looked ready to keel over at the slightest breeze.
Sam gave a humorless laugh. "Have you looked in the mirror lately?"
Classic Sam, taking the focus off himself and shifting it onto his brother. Dean had taught him well. Although this time there was definitely some merit to the question. Despite his full night's sleep Dean still sported raccoon-like circles under his eyes. His normally meticulously styled hair stood up in every direction. The constant massaging and rotating of his right shoulder had not gone unnoticed.
Dean looked at Sam with mock concern. "Sam, this jealousy has got to stop. I got the looks in the family, and you got the brains. No, wait. Anyone with half a brain wouldn't have smashed my car into a tree." Dean smacked his forehead dramatically. "So that's what that was all about! You finally cracked under the pressure of having such a good-looking, intelligent ladies man as a brother. I didn't know the strain of living with such perfection would be that hard on you."
Dean walked over and placed a hand gently on Sam's shoulder. "Do you want to talk about it? Huh, do you, Sammy?"
Sam simply stared at Dean, who was working the innocent angle for all he was worth. Rolling his eyes, he grabbed his coat and walked out the door.
Dean grinned at his brother's back. "Aw, don't go away mad, Sammy! Where ya going? Come on, stay and play!" he guffawed as he followed out the door.