Designated Driver

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

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Chapter 15: Team Sports and Cheering Sections

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When the motel door opened, Dean didn't look up from his task of wrapping his ribs, strove to seem unruffled that Sam had caught him in the act. But under his brother's scrutiny, he forcibly stowed away the wince that had accompanied his actions two seconds early and braced himself for Sam's lecture quoted straight out of a medical journal. 'Wrapping injured ribs might cause pneumonia…increases the chance of internal contusions…blah blah blah.'

Sitting the to-go breakfast boxes onto the table and shucking out of his coat, Sam quietly offered "Let me help," as he crossed the room to his brother's side. Instead of the expected protest, his good intentions caused Dean to snap his head up and level a look at him that implied Dean was suspicious that he was a doppelganger instead of his brother. "What?" he asked quietly, without accusation, hands raised at his side, purposefully not touching Dean until he got the all clear sign.

"Help?" Dean parroted back, eyebrows arched, wondering if Sam had decided to drink his breakfast before he returned to their room.

Misinterpreting Dean's words as protest not confusion, as shocked not pleasantly amazed, Sam firmly stated, "Yeah, Dean, help." Purposefully, he altered his stance from meek to resolute.

For a beat, Dean silently studied his brother, recognized the determination in his brother's body language, could read the earnest desire to just help him in Sam's eyes. Knew none of this was about gauging his weakness or strength, about someone winning or losing, was simply about family taking care of family. "Alright, have at it," he willingly capitulated as he raised his arms, gave Sam free access to his ribs. Secretly only too happy to abandon the vexing bandage into his brother's capable handling.

Feeling as if he were stepping into a trap, Sam hesitated, gave Dean an accessing look. Sensing no ulterior motives, he sat down on the bed beside his brother and took up the dangling end of the bandage. With gentle, too well practiced hands, he began to wrap the bandage over Dean's ribs, to conceal the colorful bruising, to pretend it wasn't there, wasn't a factor in Dean's chances in the race today, of winning, of not getting hurt further. "The second the race is over, this comes off, Dean," he said calmly without looking up from his task, hoping Dean didn't object to the command, that he didn't accuse him of overstepping his boundaries, of trying to pull rank on him. Though, honestly, he knew he wasn't going to back down, not about this, not about his brother's health, not again.

Knowing Sam was letting him off the hook pretty lightly, Dean looked at Sam's bowed head, his brother's face hidden from him. But Sam's body language, it said as much as his facial features would have. It told him that Sam wouldn't budge on this issue, was giving him free reign now only because he understood the necessity, his need to race. 'I can give Sam this round,' he thought, said aloud, "Needs to be tighter, Sam."

When Sam's head came up at the order, a protest forming on his lips, Dean casually explained, "It stops my ribs from shifting." He left unsaid that it also cut down on his pain, met Sam's probing look evenly as if he had nothing else to declare. After all, he wasn't a fool. Sure Sam was "letting" him race now but one faltering misstep, one wrong admission and he knew Sam would suddenly morph into their Dad. Sam would get that clench in his jaw, could get that growl in his voice, would become the unmovable mountain their father had been. And Dean had no desire to face off with 'immovable mountain Sam', had watched his father do it too often to fool himself into thinking a victory would be easy…maybe even possible.

Fighting back the urge to tell Dean that maybe this wasn't the best time for him to jump in a race car, Sam remained motionless, his eyes fixed on Dean. He struggled to read his brother's face for things Dean wouldn't admit, like being in fierce pain. Finding that, he badly wanted there to be honesty between them.

Though Dean didn't speak, Sam pinpointed when his brother weaken his fortifications, allowed him to see his entreaty for him to let it go, to bury his worry, to not make a big deal out of his injuries. Saw Dean's need to not feel weak, vulnerable, saw also his determination to not fail at what he set out to do. Could also sense that Dean wanted his help and not just in wrapping his ribs, wanted his help to see this through, to give him the ability to believe in himself. 'The way I believe in him.'

"Tell me if I make it too tight," Sam quietly requested, noting Dean's look of gratitude before he shifted his focus again to wrapping his brother's ribs, to ensuring that Dean was in as little pain as possible, was as prepared as he could be to race. 'As prepared as he can be sporting injuries that other people would be in the hospital for.' He nearly loosened the bandage when Dean breathed in a sharp intake of air, might have if Dean's hand hadn't landed on his, stilling his motions and keeping the bandage right where it was, as tight as it was.

"You're doing good, keep going," Dean encouraged, knew his breath was a little short, didn't have to see the look in his brother's eyes as they met his to know Sam had heard it. "I'm good, Sam," he reassured, saw a flash of scorn in his brother's face before Sam refocused on his ribs, on doing what he needed him to do.

A few minutes later, Sam fastened the end of the bandage, eyed up his work from the front, back and side before he sat back on the bed, dared to look at Dean's face, to see what level of pain his brother was in. But Dean had on his Texas hold'em poker face. Whatever pain Dean was in, he wasn't sharing with the class. And somehow that only made Sam's worry spike. 'After all, we're talking about the guy who walked miles through a forest without telling me the Benders had branded his shoulder. Is the same guy that drove hundreds of miles with a bullet hole in his shoulder. Bullet that I put there…well Meg put there using me as a weapon against Dean. And I proved to be a weapon more deadly than any found in the Impala's trunk because he didn't even try and defend himself, not when it would have meant hurting me. Jerk.' That reawakened guilt caused Sam's old fear to mix with his new, made him break his vow of silence on the subject of worry, and 'are you up for this' and 'I won't be able to live with myself if anything happens to you today.'

"This isn't your only shot to race, you know," Sam said lightly, head bowed, eyes averted from Dean's. But it felt like an anvil was sitting on his chest as he struggled to get his next words out. "We can find another track in a few weeks. Tim will give you a reference…and I'll blackmail Garner into giving you a glowing recommendation." And he knew he was trying too hard, to be accommodating, to not let his words, his suggestion come out as worry, to make sure that Dean didn't think for a minute that this was about any lack of faith or trust he had in him, or in his driving skills.

Dean, though surprised that it had taken Sam so long to try and deter him from racing that day, was touched at his brother's offer to simply postpone his racing adventure, not squash it, not forbid it. Turning to face Sam, he sat there a moment, reading the worry in his brother's eyes, feeling guilty for putting it there even as he knew he wasn't going to backdown, not this time. Was going to be selfish…only hoped he wouldn't pay too high a price for it, that it wouldn't cost Sam anything. "I want this, Sam," he quietly admitted, praying that the truth wouldn't hurt Sam. But when Sam ducked his head, he knew that his actions affected his brother, that they weren't free agents even when it came to non hunting situations. They were bound together by more than the family business, by the truths they knew, by the danger they faced. They were bound together by brotherhood, even when they pretended to be strangers to one another, even when sometimes it felt like they were strangers, their experiences, their opinions, their reactions so vastly different as to be opposing. Looking down at his hands loosely clasped together, Dean sighed, ridiculed himself for thinking this would be easy…for him or Sam. That being selfish didn't always come with a cost.

"You deserve this, I know that," Sam's quiet, too low voice brought Dean's head up only to find his eyes colliding with Sam's. "After all you gave up for our family…for me…"

"And I would do it all over again, Sam. I would," Dean hurriedly vowed with conviction, disappointed that Sam's answering smile was so small, so quick, so full of hurt.

Sam didn't doubt Dean's vow, not for a second and it gave him peace even as it made his gut clench in sorrow. Dean would do it all over again, all of it, willingly. 'He shouldn't have to..should never had had to sacrifice as much as he had. Shouldn't have to be ashamed, to feel guilty for wanting something for himself.' Levelly meeting Dean's gaze, he quietly inferred with gentleness, acceptance not accusation, "But part of you…part of you regrets your obedience to Dad, all that you had to sacrifice."

"Not regrets….just I wonder sometimes, Sam," Dean clarified with a tug of a smile on his lips, a tinge of yearning in his eyes for the future that could have been. "You at Stanford, me working at some garage…" he envisioned, his voice wistful, teasing.

"You racing for NASCAR," Sam proudly tacked on, heart lightened to see Dean almost blush with the praise, the dream, with his belief in him.

"You defending me when another driver sues me for slugging them in the infield after they wrecked me," Dean gave another scenario, smile brightening, relishing the idea.. of racing, of getting into a fist fight on live tv..of Sam ready and willing to defend him in court and out of it.

"Not to mention all your NASCAR fines you, of course, would want to fight. I wouldn't need any other clients, defending you would be a full time job," Sam joked with a snort.

For a beat the brothers looked at one another and then they chuckled together as if on cue, laughed at their perceived antics in a future that would never be. A future that was a bittersweet, intangible dream but a future where they would have still be bound together, would have still been brothers to a depth that few others could understand, let alone feel.

Letting the chuckle die down in his chest, Dean met Sam's eyes. He spoke even as he wondered if he should, if the words should be said, if he had a right to this, this chance, this dream, this selfishness. "I just need to do this Sam, to know I can do it. Even if I do it badly, it will still mean something to me. Prove that I'm not just Dad's son, your brother, a hunter. You told me I was more than that…I want to know that in my gut, Sam. I need to know that. And I know I'm being self .."

"Alright then we'll do this," Sam firmly cut in because he didn't want Dean to ask him for what was rightfully his all along. Didn't want Dean to think it came down to a choice between racing and his loyalty to him. Equally didn't want Dean to think he was doing this alone, that it wasn't going to be "we" from here on out, that Dean wasn't stuck with his little brother and there was nothing he could do about it.

Dean almost shook his head to clear it. Surely he hadn't heard his brother's words correctly, was misreading the look in Sam's eyes. Was only hearing, seeing what he wanted to…Sam saying they would do this together, Sam looking at him with pride and resolve…not censure and disappointment. But Sam's look did not change and he didn't recall his words, meant them, was going to stand by him today, through his selfish act. Realized…accepted that this wasn't going to be something Sam held over his head, used as evidence that he wasn't as committed to hunting, to him, to saving him as he had swore he was. No, Sam was going to sit up in the stands and cheer him on, was going to be proud of him, win or lose. And Sam would not leave his praise unvoiced either. Would not be like their father, would not keep alive the old traditions where accusations were leveled, praise was only doled out regarding a hunt and loyalties were tested, were always tested with fire, and his had always been found wanting even after all his sacrifices.

Seeing sadness flicker in Dean's eyes, Sam stilled, wondered if he had said the wrong thing, gave the wrong signal. "Dean, what's wrong?"

Shaking his head, Dean looked away, was ashamed his voice was as rough as it was when he made his reply, "Nothing, just thinking about what Dad would be saying to me right now." Then he faced Sam and put on a smile that lacked the nuances of mirth, did a poor job of hiding his inner turmoil from his brother.

Swallowing, Sam wished he couldn't easily predict what his father's words would be. Wished he could convince himself that his father would have let Dean do this, would have wanted Dean to taste his dream, would have told Dean he was proud of him. Wished he could lie to Dean and tell him their Dad would have cheered him on, would have been sitting in the stands telling everyone it was his son driving the #36 car. 'But he wouldn't. He would react the same way he did when I said I was going to college, would treat it as a weakness…would view it as a betrayal.'

Sam knew that there had been enough lies between he and Dean lately, with their father's death, with their father's final words. He didn't want more, didn't want to open the chasm they were slowly, carefully mending closed, more each day. So, biting his lip, he nodded in somber understanding, didn't utter the lies, the false hope. Their Dad had loved them, yes. But, in his desperation to protect his sons, he had also hurt them in more ways than he would ever know. He felt pain shaft in his chest as Dean sighed, nodded his head, neither of them doubting John Winchester's reaction. "I know it probably doesn't mean as much but…I'm here, Dean and I'm proud of you. I want this for you…" Sam stalwartly declared, the shine of tears that glistened in his brother's eyes appreciation enough of his words, his encouragement, his pledge. "Course if you choke…I'm disowning you…" he joked, knew Dean, like a man trapped in a burning house, would desperately want an escape to the chick flick moment.

Dean gave a bark of laughter, unwilling to swap his little brother's presence at his side for anything…or anyone. "Yeah, thanks for that, Sammy. You really know how to stand beside a guy in need," he sarcastically growled as he pushed himself off the bed, wasn't surprised that Sam matched his motions, that he could sense his brother's hands hovering at his back, ready and willing to help him if he needed it. "Right Sam, you're so cold hearted I'm getting goose bumps," he sarcastically drawled, pointedly nodding to Sam's hands that were ready to make a grab for him.

With a fleeting blush of embarrassment, Sam dropped his hands but didn't move back from Dean. "Well remember this Dean, if you get hurt today, you're going to have to listen to my music for a month as payback…and I won't make any pie runs and…"

"Won't happen, Sam," Dean promised firmly, his eyes telling Sam that he had no intentions of breaking his vow, come Hell or high water.

"Make sure it doesn't, Dean," Sam shot back almost heatedly, sounding a little too much like John Winchester for his own comfort. "Just…be careful, Dean," he tacked on, words soft as he slipped back into who he was: the imploring little brother who needed his big brother to stick around, to be safe…well as safe as their lifestyle allowed either of them to be.

"Always," Dean quirked back, lips turning up into a true smile that reached his eyes this time.

"Yeah, right," Sam scoffed but he took a step back, gave Dean space to maneuver about the room. Felt some of his fear tack down because Dean had made him a promise and his brother, he kept his promises. But the realistic part of Sam knew that there were some things even his big brother wasn't invulnerable to. 'Like Semi trucks and reapers and death..' "Shut up!" he lowly murmured, cursing his mind for going there, for flashing pictures of Dean lying so still in that hospital, seemingly so broken, so willing to leave him.

"Shut up, I didn't even say anything," Dean groused from across the room, even as he continued rummaging through the closet for the right shirt.

"Ah…nothing, just…nothing," Sam stammered as he sank down on the bed, watched Dean from across the room and began to utter a mantra of prayers that his brother wouldn't get hurt today, wouldn't be taken away from him. Prayed that, just this one time, getting what one of them wanted didn't end up costing them more than they were willing to ever lose.

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A knock on the garage door snagged all three men's attention from their final inspection of the #36 car. As Tim beckoned, "Yeah, come in," Sam and Dean exchanged matching expressions of dread across the car's open hood. Going another round with Garner wasn't exactly on their pre-race schedule.

But it was Karl Phillips who stepped from the sunlit outside world into the shadowed interior of the garage. A measure of uncertainty conflicted with the determined set of the man's jaw. His expression of strength turned his burn, which sought to distort his features, into an acceptable even expected characteristic of his face. The burn had not the power to truly diminish the man's rugged handsomeness.

"Karl!" Tim warmly greeted and instantly stepped forward to engulf the man into a careful, but firm hug. "Man, I've missed you." Pulling back, he gave the wounded man his full eye contact, didn't give one flinch at the sight of the small section of marred skin on his friend's face. "I wanted to come see you but…well, that wife of yours, she's harder to get around than Richard Petty in his prime."

With his lingering fears about his reception melted away by Tim's unchanged attitude toward him, Karl found himself chuckling. "Yeah, I picked the right girl." Shuffling his feet, he chastised himself for not trusting Tim and the other members of the track with his vulnerability, his deformity before now. "I shouldn't have…I…" but, seeing that Tim wasn't looking for an apology, didn't want one, he switched gears, said instead, "I heard about Rook. I can't believe he's gone…wish I had talked to him before…" shaking his head, he stopped talking, bowed his head. Though he knew it was useless to think of could have beens and should have beens, he couldn't help regret that he had been too absorbed with his own self-pity and fear, had thrown away his chance to spend more time with Rook. Time he couldn't get back again, ever.

Understanding Phillips' regrets and still emerged in his own sorrow at Darien Rook's death, Tim's voice was rough with emotions when he spoke. "I'll miss Darien. Kid was almost too nice for the sport. I miss them all." Then, meeting his friend's eyes head on, he earnestly admitted, "I'm glad we didn't lose you too, Karl. Thought we did even after your accident. Glad someone kicked some sense into you, got you back here with the people who care about you… where you belong." Smiling, he gave the other man's shoulder a squeeze.

"Guy that did the kicking is your new driver," Karl revealed, jerking his chin toward Dean, who had come around the car to stand beside Sam.

Turning around, Tim faced Dean with a smile. He shook his head in a 'I should have known' gesture as Karl stepped by him and headed toward one of his new favorite people in the world.

When Karl extended his hand, Dean shook the other driver's hand with a genuine smile. "Glad you took me up on my invitation."

"Hard not to after you pointed out anyone who proclaimed himself as this track's historian had to be here today and tomorrow to see real history in the making. Not to mention you talked to my wife, told her you thought it would do me some good, being at the track, seeing everyone," Phillips returned, a slight edge to his tone.

Confident that he had done the right thing by pressuring Karl to come to the track, especially after watching Tim affectionately greet Karl, and seeing the light coming to life again in the wounded driver's eyes, Dean didn't offer up an apology for his strong handed tactics. Instead he dropped his reinforced mask and offered Karl his hard won advice. "Man, I know about cutting yourself off from the world, from the people who care about you. Trust me, it's a lonely, crappy road that you don't want to stay on."

Karl almost railed against Dean's words, at the younger man's audacity to give him advice when he didn't bear the scars he did, hadn't endure the pain he had. But he stopped himself because he could see it now, was allowed to see it now: the pain that flickered in the green eyes that were older than his years, the scars that weren't visible on the outside but were there all the same, the heavy burden he bore at having made tough choices, being right as well as being wrong. It made Dean's words hit home with him, hard. Made him realize that good advice.. sometimes it came from unexpected sources.

Watching Phillips' residual anger fade to understanding, even gratitude, Dean lightly added, "Besides, I wanted you here for more selfish reasons…to join my cheering section of one," and he jerked his head toward Sam.

Smirking, Karl accepted, "I'm not opposed to rooting for the underdog."

"Thanks," Dean groused back lightheartedly, feeling like he had already won a victory that day by getting Karl onto the race fairgrounds, back into the circle of his friends.

Then seriousness again settled over Karl as his look encompassed both Winchesters. "Dean, Sam, thanks for…" But he broke off, didn't know how to voice all that he was grateful for to the two men. Men who hadn't known him but who had come into his home to reassure him that he wasn't crazy, who had given him purpose again by asking for his help to gather information on the track, who had called him in the middle of the night to tell him that Barton was gone, to reassure him that the experience that had almost destroyed his belief in himself would not happen again. And then Dean had taken one more step by inviting him today, had cared enough about a stranger to encourage him, to goad him, to manipulate him into facing his friends, to step onto the track fairgrounds again. To not quit. "Thanks for what you did. All you did," he finally managed, eyes again resting on Dean, knew it was so little to say when what he owed was so great.

Always uncomfortable with honest gratitude, Dean gave a small nod at the wounded driver's words. Watched as Sam shook Phillips' hand and kindheartedly said, "Don't mention it." Then Karl turned back to him, gave him a smile.

"Good luck today," Karl offered truthfully before he turned around, made steady but careful progress out the garage door.

Feeling Sam's attention on him, Dean turned to his brother. Met with Sam's sappy smile, he lowly growled, "Don't say anything."

Laughing at Dean's wish to avoid any acknowledgement of his Good Samaritan actions, Sam unmercifully taunted, "Say what? That you're more of a sap than I am? That you're practically family councilor material? That what you did was 'nice'?!"

"Like you have room to talk!" Dean shot back, prepared to unveil the card he had been keeping in reserve. "You're the one that blackmailed Garner into using his brother's junk yard to get parts to fix the Impala when you could have asked for money to cover the repair costs. So who's trying to be family councilor of the year, Sammy?"

Chagrined that he had, just that morning, again boldly congratulated himself on pulling that one over on Dean, Sam huffed, "Hey, you're the one who said since our family's so screwed up we should help other families, Dean. I'm just taking notes from my big brother, you know."

"I didn't say that," Dean objected but at Sam's raised eyebrow of protest he backed down, "well not those exact words." But he knew he had lost the argument when Sam crossed his arms over his chest, leaned back against the car and stared him down. "Alright, fine, so we both did an amazing job of following that particular Winchester code this gig. You want a metal or a chest to pin it on, Sammy?"

Sam almost contradicted Dean's words, knew that keeping families together, putting them back together, it wasn't a Winchester code…it was a Dean code. And he was proud of Dean for it, always had been. "Just buy me a drink tonight and I'll consider it reward enough," Sam counter offered.

Feeling as if he had gotten off lightly but unwilling to question Sam's ulterior motives for his easy terms, Dean agreed with a firm nod, "Deal." Then, before Sam could realize he capitulated too easy, he walked over to Tim, started talking about the track's conditions and how long it would take until the car's tires got hot.

He and Dean sitting in some unknown bar that night, to Sam it seemed a simple enough request. Dean being alive and well in a few hours, that didn't seem like an unreasonable or greedy requirement. Not having to watch his brother get hurt again, surely he had earned that margin of mercy.

Sam couldn't remember ever anticipating having a drink with someone as badly as he did just then. 'A drink with my brother', he empathically clarified, fearing that a loophole would jeopardize his fervent wish from coming true. Because, he knew that, as much as Winchesters had a knack for slipping out of loopholes, they also had the bad luck to get tangled up in them too.

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Leaning against the workbench beside Dean and his brother, Tim took a swallow of water as he eyed up the race car. He remembered the countless times he had readied the car for Troy, watched as Troy paced back and forth, checked to make sure his lucky socks were on, barely took a breath to breathe as he recounted racing trivia. In contrast, Dean Winchester was motionless, appeared immeasurably calm, didn't prattle on or superstitiously clutch onto a good luck charm. 'Unless I count the necklace he refused to take off,' he amended, remembered how his instruction to remove the piece of jewelry had seemed to steal the air from the room. How Dean and Sam had stiffen even at his suggestion. Vividly remembered the way Dean's eyes had slipped to Sam, conveyed something to his little brother before Dean firmly replied, "I don't take that off." And that had been it, end of discussion.

Looking to his watch, Tim nearly sighed. Some traditions were a royal pain in the butt even if they were necessary evils. "Time for the Team Garner meeting," he announced as he stood up, tossed his water bottle onto the table and eyed Dean.

"Really?" Dean asked, hoping Tim was joking. Reading the sincerity in the other man's eyes, he whined, "Ah crap." Resigning himself to going another fifteen rounds with Garner, he trudged behind Tim who was already heading out the door. He had barely gone three steps before he stopped, realized that Sam wasn't following him. Turning around, he saw that his brother was still leaning against the work bench, head bowed now, seemingly without any intentions of following him. "Come on," he ordered, snapping his fingers.

Raising his head, Sam said with a light laugh, "Dean, I'm not part of the team," but inside it was tearing him up, the disassociation, the division, Dean going where he couldn't go, wasn't allowed, maybe wasn't welcomed. It felt like it always did when he couldn't go with Dean, when his Dad said he was too young for a hunt, when Dean said he was going somewhere alone.

Instantly, Dean gruffly stated, "Yes you are," his eyes glinting dangerously, ready to take up the gauntlet if anyone questioned that truth, even Sam.

Warmed by his brother's declaration, Sam smiled that small smile that would have been a blush on someone less controlled. Abandoning his dejected pose, he strode toward Dean. Noted that Dean didn't start walking until he was a step away, was certain he wouldn't veer off. With a wider smile, Sam followed his brother out the door. Whatever Team Garner could dish out, Team Winchester could handle on their worst days.

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As he entered Garner's office, Dean felt the temperature drop in the room and knew, for once, it had nothing to do with spirits. 'Still involves malice,' he amended as the two occupants in the room, Kentworth and Anderson, tracked his entrance into the room without even the veneer of civility.

Standing beside Anderson who was sporting a racing suit, same as Dean, Kentworth seemed painfully out of place in his street clothes. It screamed that he wasn't getting his shot at racing, not today…and not tomorrow. Had absolutely no hope to snag a NASCAR ride.

Dean almost fidgeted in his own racing suit, suddenly felt unworthy again…especially when he knew he was responsible for Kentworth not getting a chance at his dream. When Kentworth approached, Dean braced himself, could feel Sam at his side doing the same thing. But Kentworth clipped his shoulder, bitterly undertoned, "Tell me again how sorry you are for totaling my car," on his trek to the liquor cabinet.

Grimacing at the man's rightful anger, Dean dropped his head slightly and found a space on the side of the room to stand. He knew he could make amends to Kentworth, could give up his spot on the team, knew just as certainly that he wasn't willing to do that. He had come too far, felt the rush of anticipation churning in his gut too strongly to turn back now. Couldn't give it up to appease the guilt he felt over his part in Kentworth's losing his chance to race..wondered if he would even agree to walk away now if Sam asked him to.

Claiming a spot by Dean's shoulder, Sam quietly asked, "You alright?" At his inquiry, he received a solemn look from Dean before his brother gave a minute nod. Before he could say anything more, Garner breezed into the office, came to lean confidently against the front of his desk and swept his gaze over his racing team.

"We all know this isn't business as usual, not with what's on the table for today's race and certainly not considering what's up for grabs in tomorrow's. So let's get things straight: There is no team playing out there today, no blocking for your teammate, no holding back, no kid gloves." He turned to acknowledge Tim's angry stance, "I know, I know, it goes against all your good ole boy rules, Tim. Well this isn't the time for sentimentality or brotherhood."

At Garner's choice of words, Sam stiffened as if a cutting insult at been hurled directly at him. He felt anger flare in him anew for the man's manipulation of him and Dean, for making them hide their brotherhood, for asking them to discount it. For treating it with so little respect…like he was asking these men to do.

Pushing away from his desk, Garner stepped in front of Anderson. "It's time to win or call it a career." Anderson simply gave a cocky smile in return, as if victory was a foregone conclusion. Kentworth took the words more to heart.

"Where does that leave me, huh?" Kentworth spat, downed his drink before slamming his glass back onto the counter. "Still your dog on a leash, kept around only to block for your favorites, make sure no one gets by them, that no one out drives them. First I did it for Troy, now you've got me doing it for Anderson."

"You should be kissing my feet I'm still letting you drive," Garner drawled, turning to face his unexpectedly recalcitrant driver.

"Letting me drive," Kentworth scoffed with a bitter laugh. "You're not letting me drive, you're letting your mechanic drive my car, you let your mechanic total my car. Guess if you can't see your dream come true of Troy going to NASCAR then you don't want any of your drivers to get a contract."

A dangerous glint sparked in Garner's eyes as he stepped closer to Kentworth. "What did you say to me?" his tone a deadly quiet murmur of words.

Kentworth ignored the warning sighs, waged his own battle for his dreams instead. "Let me drive the #36 car. Have the stones to try for the NASCAR contract."

Roughly Garner wrapped his hand painfully around the back of Kentworth's neck, drew the man closer. "The way I see it…my best bet at getting a NASCAR contract for one of my drivers…is to not waste a car on you, Danny."

"He's a mechanic!" Danny Kentworth thundered, pointing to Dean, enraged at the sight of Dean standing there, wearing a racing suit that was rightfully his. "He totaled my car!"

"My car, Danny," Garner corrected lowly, jerking the man in his hold. "They are all my cars and I say who drives them. And Dean over there…he has what you only wish you had."

"What's that? A job on the track to fall back on after he chokes today?" Kentworth sneered.

"Ability and heart, Danny. He has the heart to win, the guts to take risks to win. And as for him totaling your car…you panic when your steering gets a little loose. What makes you think you would have survived the mechanical trouble Dean had in your car, huh? Way I see it, man saved your life."

"You have lost your mind! Troy is dead and you can't deal with that! Can't deal with the fact that the kid you had so much faith in , he wasn't so good after all…couldn't even drive his way out of trouble to keep himself alive," Kentworth accused.

Suddenly sliding his hand forward to press against Kentworth's throat, Garner slammed the man back against the wall as his fury overcame him. It barely registered that someone was clamping down on his shoulder, was shoving his way between him and Kentworth.

"Bruce, let 'em go!" Tim shouted, bodily forcing Garner back a pace, breaking the older man's grip on Kentworth before he killed the kid. Making himself a barrier between Garner and his target, he growled, "In the world of racing we fire people Bruce, we don't kill 'em."

Bruce blinked at Tim's words, came back to himself. Pushing Tim away, he stood a moment breathing heavily, looking at Kentworth. "Get out of here before I decide to black ball you from all tracks on the east coast."

Any color in Kentworth's face disappeared as he stammered, "What …what are you saying? You're firing me?!"

But it was Tim who turned to him, gripped his t-shirt in his hands and shoved him toward the door. "I told you your temper was your worst enemy, Danny. That it would get you kicked off teams…or killed. Today you got lucky…you're still alive. Clear out your stuff and be off the track in half an hour."

Stumbling a little at Tim's shove, Kentworth stood there, shocked before he kicked the door and stalked out, leaving a depth of silence in the room.

Dean looked to Sam, gave a jump of his eyebrows at the theatrics, easily conveyed his thoughts of 'And I thought our family had our rows,' as if he had telepathy. Sam smothered his smirk at his brother's expression. Darn Dean for his ability to make a joke out of the most awkward moments.

"Well…I think I've got the gist of the game plan," Anderson drawled as he headed for the door. Before he disappeared out the door, he gave Dean a two fingered salute that held not one shred of camaraderie. Had he seen the gesture, Garner would have been proud.

With only the Winchesters, Tim and Bruce left in the room, Dean stepped toward Garner, drawled sarcastically, "Well, I can't wait to hear the pep speech you got planned for me."

"Pep speech? Nah, no pep speech for you," Garner darkly reassured. "What I have for you is pure incentive. You don't qualify today, you don't end up in the top ten…Tim's gone and I will make sure he's banned from every track known to man. I'll make sure he doesn't get a job even in a hick town garage. How's that for motivation?"

Dean unleashed his deadliest smile and shook his head as he stepped into Garner's personal space. "Way I see it, you should be glad Troy's not here to see you sell out the sport he loved."

Garner struck out with a right cross but Dean caught the older man's fist in his hand, brought the man's angry momentum to a grinding halt. Crushing Bruce's hand in his grip, Dean lethally threatened, "You screw Tim over and having a ghost problem again will seem like the good news." Then he shoved Garner's hand away and stalked out the door, Sam suddenly there, matching him stride for stride.

Rubbing his hand and fighting down the shamed blush in his cheeks, Garner didn't speak for a moment, didn't look to Tim who remained immobile. He almost winced when Tim shuffled forward.

"I came to work for you because I could see you were a guy that loved the sport. If that guy I used to know doesn't show up soon, I'll be gone before next weekend's race. Of my own free will," Tim warned, wanted to believe the part of Garner he had once respected was still there, hadn't died with Troy.

Facing Tim, Garner snorted, "Next weekend's race? Whether I fire you or not is being decided today!"

Smugly, Tim smiled. "No, it's not and you know it. This kid…he's the best this track has ever seen, Bruce," he proclaimed before he left Garner to his wounded pride.

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Taking his place in the stands, Sam was touched when he was joined by Karl Phillips and his wife and Pastor Pete. 'An official Dean Winchester cheering section has been established. Crap, that would go to Dean's head,' he thought with a smile. Down on the side of the tracks, he could see Tim and the mechanic crew double checking their equipment. He knew that, thanks to Anderson's ego and condescension toward his own crew members, those men were rooting for Dean as well.

As the cars lined up on the track, a myriad of emotions swamped Sam: gut wrenching fear, adrenaline fueled excitement, pride, happiness and back again to fear. He wanted this for Dean, wanted Dean to win but knew in his heart he would not put anything higher on his priority list than his brother's safety, than his brother's life. Fervently prayed that he hadn't unknowingly made that choice today, wasn't allowing Dean his dream and putting him in jeopardy.

When the pace car left the track and the race cars surged forward, Sam's heart lurched into his throat. He fisted his hands at his side as Dean's car was sandwiched between the other cars, impact seemingly inevitable. He didn't breathe until the traffic thinned out, didn't care that some cars managed to pass Dean, only cared that Dean was unscathed. So far.

Sam nearly jumped when someone spoke as they claimed the seat at his side that he had reserved.

"What did I miss?" Bobby Singer hurriedly demanded, sinking down beside Sam even as his eyes were fixed on the track. Fixed namely on car number 36 that was making a pass around two cars in the inside along the straight stretch.

Sparing a quick glance at his adoptive uncle, Sam replied, "Nothing, just the first lap," before he swung his full attention back onto his brother. He gritted his teeth as Dean's attempt to pass was blocked by one driver who nearly clipped Dean's bumper in the maneuver. Seemingly shaken, Dean pulled back…only to swerve right and zoom by the car on the high side of a turn. 'Crap, this is going to turn my hair grey before we even get half way through the race.'

As the cars made their laps, they thinned out more, allowed some maneuverability, gave Sam a chance to take in a breath, to believe Dean wasn't in constant danger of being spun out. He forced himself to look away, to remain calm, to look to Bobby. "Bobby, hey, thanks for coming," his sincerity and gratitude evident.

Bobby met Sam's look, smiled. "Thanks for calling me, Sam. I would have hated to miss this."

Sam smiled broadly, nodded his head and refocused on the race but couldn't help voicing his thoughts. "He's going to think this is stupid."

"You calling me to come or me coming?" Bobby asked, his own focus on Dean's car as it rocketed around a corner, coming too close to the wall for Bobby's old heart.

"Both," Sam said with a laugh that sounded too nervous even to his own ears.

"Doesn't mean it was wrong..or that he doesn't appreciate it. Besides, I would have kicked your butt if you hadn't called. Ah, watch out kid!" he exclaimed as a car in front of Dean spun out.

Dean found that racing wasn't so different than hunting. He had to put everything else out of his mind but surviving, at gauging what his prey…competitors would do, had to out think them, out run them and elude them. "Crap," he yelped as a car spun out in front of him. With another car practically glued to his right side and a spinning car out his windshield, Dean knew he had few options.

Sliding forward in his seat, his heart pounding in his chest, Sam tried to brace himself to see what he feared: Dean caught in an accident. "No, no, no…" he said in a mantra of denial, protest and prayer. He couldn't lose Dean. "We're just starting to be brothers again," he thought, like some insidious repeat button had gone off in his head. It was about to happen all over again: Dean being hurt in a car crash, Dean threatening to go, to leave him behind. Dean not keeping his promise to not get hurt, to not stay safe, to not go any where. And all Sam could do was helpless watch, unable to help, unable to prevent it, unable to even shout out Dean's name in warning.

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TBC

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Ok, as usual, I hope you'll forgive me for being long winded. I'm trying to tie up all my loose ends and not short change the race scenes. Hope that doesn't equal tediousness for you as a reader.

Thanks for those wonderful people who encouraged me on the last chapter. It was nice to see that the story still had a following even though the update was a long time in coming.

Have a wonderful evening!

Cheryl W.

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