Having me being bedridden for a day or two, the boys decide not leave town for a while. My wounds are healing and every time I take the bandages off to clean them, the bruises fade a bit more and the cuts become scabs that fade away too. The wound on my head seems to be the worst aside from my ankle. I have been smashing that part of my head into the chair they tied me in every time I received a blow to my head. Now, there is a large white line at the side of my head starting from my temple traveling down just above my ear. It no longer hurts but it doesn't look nice. After I get dressed, I let Dean or Sam wrap up my ankle for me while I do my wrist and chest wounds that still look a bit like they've been mauled by something wild.

A week later, Sam is out on a coffee run and I walk around the room to exercise my ankle. It still hurts a bit but I'm fighting the pain. I still walk with a limp and wince every once in a while but manage to muster up enough pride to cover up for it. I pace back and forth until my ankle decides to give way with every other step.

"Hey," Dean says, looking up from his browsing on the internet. "Lay off the foot."

"It doesn't hurt," I lie indignantly before toppling over.

"You're falling over while standing," he remarks, scowling. "You better sit down before I make you sit down."

I raise my hands up and say, "Okay, okay, I'm sitting." I plop down on my bed and look at him. "Happy now?"

He grunts before looking back at his laptop. I stretch my legs in front of me and flex my ankle. I do it gingerly, trying to force it to go all the way down. I lift it back up again and rotate it clockwise and anti-clockwise. My face screws up in a grimace as the pain registers in my brain.

Sam comes back with a tray of coffee and tea in one hand. I tried American coffee once but didn't like it. It was watery and bland compared to what I was used to so I stick to my preference of tea because they leave the teabag in there and I have some control over how strong I want my drink.

Sam sits and waves the newspaper he had under his arm when he came in. "I found something interesting," he announces.

I look up from my tea and Dean answers something vague. He seems a bit too sucked into whatever is onscreen at the moment. I assume it's some website that I'm not allowed to go on to yet, if you get my drift.

"Dean," Sam calls out to get his attention. "Dean, we got a case."

"Hmm, what?"

Sam looks at me with an expression that tells me that he, too, knows what Dean is looking at and he is about to take no more of Dean's browsing habits. I giggle and Dean looks confused. Sam reads out the news of a case and they decide to look into it. We pack to leave for the next state which I have completely given up hope of ever remembering. There are fifty states in this one country and you're expected to remember them all. Sam and Dean try and teach me through Goggle Maps and I'm slowly getting it, but the progress is slow and daunting.

When we set out for the car, I get up and walk by myself before any of them can offer me a helping hand. I still need my pride intact and this messed up ankle isn't doing me any justice. I ignore the little shocks of pain that come with each step and march out with my chin in the air.

"I can walk," I tell them as if proving a point. Both of them only look at me, each with an eyebrow raised and flanking the door of the motel room. I barely make it to them when my foot loses all sensation and I tip over one side. Dean catches me and rolls his eyes. "Maybe I can't walk still," I admit.

Dean sighs and repositions his bag so he can support me better. Sam's face seems to be fighting between laughing and looking confused. As a result, his lip twitches and his eyes narrow. Dean leads me out into the Impala before taking my bag from me and putting it in the trunk. Everyone gets in and the car's engine starts.

"Better make yourselves comfortable," Dean remarks. "It's going to be a long drive."

During the drive, Dean plays some out dated rock songs that, I admit, are cool tunes but get a bit noisy sometimes. Dean enjoys it, obviously. He dances in his seat and taps the steering wheel as he sings on the top of his voice (a little off key and off rhythm). With his hair disheveled by the wind and heavy rock songs that match with the engine sounds of the car, Dean is on cloud nine. Even a blind man can tell you that.

Sam, who sits shotgun, doesn't appreciate the in-car entertainment as much as Dean. He looks out the window most of the time. Other times, he sleeps or tries to. Dean's voice and music is loud enough to deafen even the strongest of ears, making it very hard to fall asleep unless you are just too exhausted. When I'm well rested, I like giving Sam a hard time, too. Whenever I get to sit shotgun while he tries to sleep in the back, Dean and I sing the most obnoxious of songs as loud as our throats allow. Despite all this, we all still love each other. I think.

I spend a couple of hours studying the pendant hanging off my neck during long rides. I have studied it for so long so many times that I can recreate every tiny scratch and discoloured patch without looking at it. I still find it fascinating even after all these years. It is a part of me that I can never part with. The leather cord it is hanging on is relatively newer than the pendant because I had it redone throughout the years whenever it gets too worn or too short for my growing stages.

The bronze circle sits comfortably in the middle of my palm. This pentagram is not the plain one with a star in it that you see in costume jewelry shops. This is one has a gem in its centre that is never the same colour twice and its circle has some characters inscribed on all around it. It's quite unique and I have yet to see one like it. If you look through all my photos, all of them feature this little thing around my neck. After staring at the little gem for a while, I get bored from trying to figure out the characters orbiting the star and look up at the two brothers in the front seat.

"Can I learn how to drive?" I pipe up when Dean is finally quiet and Sam is awake.

"Why?" Dean asks.

"Because I don't know how to drive and I want to."

"When are you gonna ever drive?" Dean scowls.

I shrug, "I don't know, I was going to ask you that, too." I wait for a while before continuing, "Maybe I can take shifts too. That way, we travel further, take less rest stops, and we get there faster."

Sam looks at Dean. "She has a point."

Dean sighs, looking out orange lit road. "Alright," he says grudgingly, "Sammy will teach you. If I find a scratch on the car, I'm not letting either of you in the driver's seat ever again, you hear me?"

"Okay," I answer cheerily.

Dean loves his car too much, it's funny. He hardly ever means the never letting us touch the car again thing. During some crazier jobs, the car has been through a lot and Sam gets all sorts of death threats thrown at him. So far, none of them has been carried out yet. He just wants us to be careful.

I lie down on the back row and close my eyes. I am about to drift off to sleep when Sam asks out of the blue, "When's your birthday?"

"Why are you asking?" I open one eye to stare at the ceiling.

"Just curious," he says. "And also I realized we don't actually know a lot about you."

I count off with one hand and answer, "Exactly two months ago."

"Oh," he replies awkwardly. "Sorry."

I smile, "What's there to be sorry about? I didn't tell you, so it's not your fault you missed it."

He chuckles.

"Just," I cut in. "If you forget it next year, I won't forgive you."

"Of course," Sam answers. "But I still feel bad. It was your sweet sixteen, right?"

"After what I've been through," I close my eyes and reply, "It's been anything but sweet. I spent the night of my birthday in a vampire's lair where they nearly turned me, remember? I should've known it was a sign."

I've fallen asleep and am woken up by the slamming of car doors and conversation. I sit up and rake my fringe backwards and out from my face. The car is parked at the side of the road and Sam and Dean get up to exchange places. Dean then pops his head into the backseat and looks at me. "You wanted to learn how to drive?" He cocks his head in the direction of the driver's seat. "Go get in the front." He gets in the back as soon as I get out and mumbles something about needing sleep.

I walk hesitantly to the driver's seat and get in. I look at Sam who gives me an encouraging look. I feel intimidated by the wheel in front of me, how large the bonnet of the car looks and the manual gear shift. I never understood those things, now it seems I have to.

"Ready to start?" Sam asks.

I nod. He points out everything that needs to be taken notice of and he ticks off each pedal and what they're for and when to press them. I try to remember everything he says, resorting to taking down notes with a pen and my forearm. Even when Sam explains over and over again, I still can't wrap my head around the gear shift rules.

"Are we still not driving yet?" Dean's voice comes out from behind.

"Shut up, Dean," I say.

"We can start driving now," Sam says.

I look at him shocked, "What? No, I'm not ready yet."

"Yes, you are," he assures me. "It's pretty simple once you start."

He coaxes me step by step to get the car back on the road. Thankfully the road is fairly quiet at this time of night. I slowly build up confidence as I drive on the smooth road listening Sam's careful instructions. Soon, I fall in love with the thrill of driving.

The starting part where Smug, Protective Dean is in play is cool. Then the Sam/Pierce driving lesson thing is just a little thing inspired by that one time Sam taught Adam how to use a gun during the show. I liked giving Sam a chance to be a big brother because he needs a break from the babying he gets from Dean and he sure as heck is capable enough to be a big brother. Also I wrote this having driving feels (I really want to learn how to drive but my licence is two years away, sigh) I hope you enjoyed it.