This is the last chapter of the year for this story. Hotshow, my intrepid editor, will be on vacation until after the first so no evil cliffies. (This time.) Thanks to everyone following this and I hope you all have a wonderful holiday!!

Chapter Twenty-two

"Come on, Sam," Dean motioned to the front door. "It's time."

Sam's head snapped up from the book he read. "Time for what, Dean?" His brother sounded surly. Also not a big surprise.

"You said you'd check under my car, so come on." Dean waved a hand at the door again, wondering if Sam was just yanking his chain with that.

"I already did," Sam declared, slowly turning a page in his book. "It looked fine."

Dean bit his tongue trying to keep in the retort threatening to burst out. "Right. So I'm sure you checked the rear axle to be sure it's not bent, and that the oil pan wasn't punctured, and the zoom gear is still able to spin, and that the…"

"Fine!" Sam snapped, slamming the book closed. "Fine! I'm going!" He stormed past Dean. At the door he paused, looked back thoughtfully. "You were kidding about a zoom gear, right?"

Dean shook his head. "It's attached to the turbo thrusters."

Sam's scowl lessened. "Now I know you're kidding." Dean took a step toward his brother, holding his face stern. "But I'm going, I'm going." Sam held both hands up in defeat, backing out the front door. "Right now."

Dean followed a few steps behind, somewhat puzzled by Sam's moodiness. That boy's moods were a freaking pendulum lately, swinging hard one way and then the other. First his brother acted all concerned, willing to be helpful, and then – bam! Moody-Sam. Dean used to pride himself on being the master of Sammy-emotions. When Sammy was a kid, Dean could spot an outburst or even the potential for moodiness coming a mile away. Sam was a different story, however. Since Stanford, his brother had not been hard to read, he had been nearly impossible. Sometimes Dean had to throw something embarrassing from their childhood in Sam's face, just to reassure himself that the guy in the car with him was really his brother.

He watched impassively as Sam laid down on some broken down cardboard boxes. Huh. Maybe Sam really did check under the car earlier. Dean rubbed his forehead with his fingertips, anticipating a massive headache sometime today.

"I don't see anything leaking," Sam called out from under the car.

Dean's eyes skimmed the salvage yard around them, looking for a shadow too large or moving, or both. "Get under the rear axle, make sure it looks straight," he ordered, holding Bobby's shotgun loosely.

The sound of dirt scraping cardboard reached his ears as Sam slid around under the car.

"It's dark."

Dean nodded to himself, keeping his eyes focused on the area around them while he opened his door. Without looking, he popped open the glove compartment and removed a flashlight. A cautionary scan of the yard first, Dean kneeled down to hand it to his brother. "Here's a flashlight."

Sam pulled himself out from under the car to accept the flashlight. "Dean?" Dean did look at his brother then, tearing his eyes from their vigil. "What are you doing?"

"Making sure the gremlin doesn't come along and drop my car on you," he snapped, shoving the flashlight at Sam. He stood slowly, still surveying the area around them, resisting the urge to press a hand against his side. The pain was not as bad now after laying around for a couple of weeks. If he moved too fast or bent over too far a sharp spike shot through him, enough to steal his breath and cause stars to dance in front of his eyes. Honestly, that was the real reason he had been obeying George's orders, not because of Sam.

"It doesn't look bent to me," Sam's voice was muffled by the car. "Maybe you should have Bobby check it, too."

"Anything dripping?" Dean asked, ignoring the Bobby comment.

"Nope."

"Can you find the oil pan?" Dean asked, his eyes returning time and again to a specific shadow. He could not quite put his finger on why it bothered him, but it did.

"Maybe," Sam replied. "If this is it, I don't see anything wrong with it." Sam slid out by his feet. "Not that I really know what to look for. Dean?"

"Nah, I trust you," Dean replied absently, motioning for Sam to stand up.

"Dean? What is it?" Sam's breath tickled his ear. Dean tried to brush his brother away.

"Not sure," Dean whispered, nodding at the shadow.

Sam looked hard at it, but Dean could tell by the expression on his little brother's face that Sam didn't see anything wrong. Sam looked back at him with lifted eyebrows, which asked what Dean wanted to do.

He nearly laughed at it, because it had been so very long since Sam asked his advice on, well, anything. Instead he pretended to take it in stride, motioning to the house. Sam headed that way while he circled around the Impala, trying to appear that he was still checking for damage. When Sam was in position Dean headed for the shadow, keeping close to the stacks of cars for protection. He glance up once, wondering if the gremlin could break those stairs if it could send one of these stacks toppling onto his head just as easily. Too late, he decided, shrugging off the thought. Dean switched the shotgun to his left hand so he could pull his pistol out with his right. Might be a good time to see if those special rounds of Bobby's worked.

With a nod to Sam, they rushed the shadow together. When he was almost on top of it, a dark furry mass brushed by him, hard unwashed fur brushed against his bare skin. Dean shuddered, spinning to see where it went. Sam lay spread-eagle in the dirt at his feet with a dazed expression. Scowling, Dean raised his gun to fire, but the dark mass was gone.

"Damn it," he shouted, his frustration coming to the surface. Gun still out, Dean dropped to one knee beside his brother. "You alright?"

Sam nodded, pushing himself up to a sitting position. Large dusty footprints adorned the front of Sam's shirt and jeans. Dean was about to offer to help Sam up when he felt Sam's hands on his arm, pushing him to stand. Fighting the help would have made things worse, so he allowed Sam to lift him to his feet. Once on his feet, however, Dean pulled out of Sam's grip with a scowl.

"I never saw it," Sam said, out of breath, as he stood beside Dean.

"Maybe not," Dean replied, pointing at the footprints on Sam's front. "But you make a nice doormat."

Sam's eyes widened as he looked down. "Ha-ha." Sam brushed away most of the evidence, but the outline of one wide footprint remained right in the center of his chest. "Great."

Dean chuckled, having mastered the technique of laughing without excessive pain over the past couple of weeks. "Come on," he jerked his head toward the house, "before it decides to take up tap-dancing."

When he felt Sam's hand clap his shoulder Dean's first response was to look up, check the roofline for the gremlin. There it was, perched on the peak of Bobby's roof, dark eyes watching them. Dean froze, waiting for it to make the first move. Instead Sam did, pulling them both back, maneuvering him to the far side of the Impala.

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Sam wanted to hold on to his brother's shoulder, anchor them here out of danger. Assuming they actually were out of danger, that is. Maybe the gremlin couldn't attack from the roof. Then again, maybe it could throw the roof at them. Sam tightened his grip.

"We could use a distraction," Sam suggested, hoping Dean had an idea that did not involve his brother putting himself in danger. Again.

"Yo, in the house!" Dean shouted at the house.

"Yo in the house?" Sam asked softly. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means Bobby should stay in the house," Dean snapped. "Give me a little credit."

There it was, another accusation of Sam not trusting his brother. He clamped his mouth shut, trying to convince himself to ride this out until Dean was willing to talk. Of course, knowing his brother, there was every possibility that the sun would go dark first.

The front door opened a crack. "What?" Bobby's voice echoed across the yard. Dean motioned to the roof. The front door closed.

"Think he understood?" Sam whispered right in his ear.

Dean nodded. "Yeah, he got it. What he's going to do with it, though," he said with a shrug, "we'll just have to wait and see."

Sam kept an eye on the gremlin while they waited. Long, tense seconds stretched into long, tense minutes. Sam's fingers began to ache from holding on to Dean so tight. Dean shrugged him off, which was more of a relief than it should have been. "You're sure he understood?"

The low growl from Dean was his only answer. An upstairs window opened and a hand appeared. It flashed five fingers twice. Dean acknowledged by waving his shotgun. Dean felt Sam crowding behind him.

"What does he think he's doing?" Sam asked, his voice barely audible.

Dean shrugged again, his shoulder brushing up against Sam. "Whatever it is, he's doing it in ten minutes." Dean directed Sam's attention to the roof with his eyes.

"Why is it that all the people we know are insane?" Sam's jaw clenched as he swallowed hard past that tight spot in his throat.

Dean smirked. "Job perk?" Sam shoved against Dean's shoulder. Really, the times his brother used levity. "Seriously, dude," Dean's voice dropped low, "we need to come up with a distraction." Dean's eyes dropped to his watch. "Six minutes."

Sam sighed. "A distraction without scaring it off?"

Dean nodded. "Just don't make me dance for it."

"Just scare it off anyway," Sam muttered, the response automatic. "Hey," he said slowly as the idea formed, "fight?"

Dean glanced up, that familiar puzzled expression plastered across his features. "Fight?"

"Sure," Sam said, warming to the idea, "we pretend to have a huge fight, right out there," he gestured to an open area between the Impala and the surrounding stacks of rusting automotive corpses. "It should be so busy watching us, Bobby can do…uh…whatever."

Dean nodded slowly. "I promise not to hit you too hard, little brother."

"Yelling and screaming should do it, Dean," Sam said, attempting to repress a sigh.

"Telling me what to do again?" Dean demanded, turning on Sam.

"What?" Sam took a couple of steps back, startled. Were they starting now?

"You're really something, you know that?" Dean glared, but there was no scowl. "First you take off because I wouldn't do things exactly your way," Dean advanced on him, forcing Sam to back towards that open area he pointed out earlier, "not a word, or a note or anything."

Sam swallowed hard. He suspected this was not all for the gremlin, so he really needed to pay attention.

"And now that we're doing everything your way, suddenly you decide that isn't good enough either!" Dean shoved him in the chest. Okay, he did not like that look in Dean's eye. The last time looked at him like that his jaw was sore for a week.

"Well maybe I don't want everything to be my way!" Sam shouted back. "Maybe I just want you to be reasonable!"

Both of Dean's eyebrows shot up. "Reasonable? I suppose taking a couple of days off to think things through wasn't reasonable? And wanting me to kill you? That's reasonable??"

Sam's mouth flapped open a few times but no sound came out. Okay, so maybe Dean had a small point in there someplace. His brain was stuck in neutral, spinning around and around searching for something to say to keep the fight going. Fortunately he was saved by the sound of a shotgun report. He spun around, eyes darting to the roof.

A dark furry shape teetered at the edge of the roof. Sam reached out, his hand connecting with Dean's arm. He intended to shove Dean away, but felt hands dragging him backward. Sam allowed it, grateful for the fact that some things remained exactly the same no matter what happened around them or between them. How could Dean still be so worried about saving him, when he knew?

The gremlin toppled over the edge, falling straight down toward a stack of cars. Sam braced himself for the sound of bones breaking, flesh bruising and tearing. There was barely a sound as the gremlin hit the cars. Confused, he exchanged a glance with Dean. As a unit they ran toward the cars, mirroring each other's movements, working as the team their father always wanted. Sam felt a flash of guilt at that, all the years he fought against exactly what he was doing now.

He circled around, covering Dean as his brother moved in to check on the fate of the gremlin. When Dean reached up to climb up on the cars, Sam grabbed his brother's shirt.

"I'll do it," he insisted, trying to pull Dean back down.

"Watch it!" Dean snapped, batting his hands away.

Sam held on. "No, Dean. I'll do it. Come on, I don't want you to get hurt. Please?"

Dean paused in his efforts to shoot Sam a glare. "If I let you, you'll get off my case?" His brother's voice was hard, but he knew that look, that tone. Dean might be offering what sounded like a deal, but he was really asking if this was what Sam wanted.

Sam nodded enthusiastically. Dean blew out a breath and made a disgruntled look before carefully climbing back down. He pulled out his pistol before giving Sam the go ahead to climb up. There was no one Sam trusted at his back more than his big brother. That was the real reason he tricked Dean into that promise; he knew Dean would only do it as a very last resort, and he trusted Dean to know when they reached that point.

Dirt and rub stuck to his sticky palms as Sam climbed up, expecting that nasty face each time he peered up. When he finally reached the top, Sam took a deep breath before lifting his eyes just above the top of the car. Nothing. Confused, Sam climbed up higher. The roof of the car was not even dented, which in itself was unusual but made even less sense considering that was where the gremlin should have landed.

"Sam! Jump!" Dean's voice commanded. Without a thought or time to wonder, Sam turned and leapt off the cars. He hit the ground running, literally, racing away from the cars. The telltale screech of metal was his first clue. After he passed Dean and slid to a stop behind his brother, Sam saw the stack of cars listing heavily to one side. It wavered, deciding whether or not to fall. With agonizing slowness that gave the deceptive impression he should be able to stop it, the cars fell to the side, landing on another stack. That stack slumped over from the impact, leaning into the next stack. Sam sucked in his breath. It was the domino effect, but with stacks of cars. The fourth stack was jarred, but not enough to displace it.

"Damn," Dean said, his voice full of wonder. "Guess we owe Bobby a little more than some siding, huh?" His brother turned to face him. "But dude, that was awesome!" Dean's face lit with all the wonder and mischief of a child.

Sam shook his head. Some things could never change.