Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Supernatural characters or story elements used in this story; they were created by people far more talented than I. This piece was written solely to show my appreciation of this series, and I am not making any money from this story.

…

"Dean, we don't have time for this. If the pattern keeps up, the next attack is going to happen tomorrow night."

Dean looked up from his work long enough to favor his younger brother with an annoyed glance. "I may not have had a fancy college education, but I can count. I know how much time we have."

"Well, then, you should see that we need to go now, not in a few hours, or days, or whenever you get this thing running again."

Dean's carefully controlled temper slipped it leash, and with a sudden, savage, motion he yanked his wrench free of the Impala's inner workings and hurled it to the ground where it vibrated for a moment against the sun-warmed asphalt of the shoulder before lying still. "Dammit Sam! I know! I know we should have been there by now. I know we're almost out of time. What do you want me to do about it? Because unless you think we can push the car the rest of the way, I don't really see any other options here."

Sam's eyes widened at Dean's sudden outburst, and he stopped pacing along the track he'd worn in the desiccated roadside vegetation. "We could leave the car. There was an exit less than a mile back, and there's bound to be somewhere we could rent a car, or at least a bus station."

"No."

Sam ran his hands through his tangled hair in frustration. "Not for good. We'll call a tow company, they'll pick it up, and we'll come back for it when we're done with the job."

"Or, you could quit complaining for about five minutes and let me fix this thing." Dean retrieved the fallen wrench and turned back to the propped hood of his car.

"You've been trying to fix it for the past two hours, and we're still here. Just let me call the tow company. Cars break down, that's why they have tow companies, it's not a big deal-"

"Yes it is!" The words tore out of him, and his fist clenched around the wrench so tightly that the ridged metal bit into his palm. Realizing what he was doing, he forced himself to relax his grip and bowed his head over the engine. With some effort, he managed to force his voice into an approximation of calm as he attempted to cover his slip. "We could occupy a small country with the weapons in the trunk, and you just want to let some tow company drive off with them? How long do you think it would be before there was an APB out on our asses? I'd give it about 15 minutes." Dean gave his brother a quick sidelong look, gauging his reaction. Sam's expression wasn't promising: Dean was all too familiar with that slight frown and that furrowed brow; he saw it on a regular basis when Sam was trying to puzzle out a difficult case.

With an inward sigh of resignation, Dean tried to prepare himself for the questions he knew would be coming. Sam could be as persistent as a bulldog when there was a mystery that needed solving. It made him a good hunter, particularly on the research end, but when that tenacity got turned in a more personal direction it could make him damned inconvenient to have as a brother.

Sam had taken a few steps back towards the car, and stood with his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets, watching Dean.

A couple of years back Dean and his father had tracked a werewolf into the Rockies. The werewolf had been following a trapping line and the second-to-last trap on the line had contained a terrified fox. The animal's eyes had been glimmering with bright sparks of pain and panic, and it had bared its tiny, needle-sharp, teeth at them in impotent defiance. John Winchester had flung his jacket over the fox, trapping the squirming body and snapping teeth in the thick flannel folds, and had sprung the release on the trap. Now, Sam was giving him a look of wary concern identical to the one John Winchester had given the trapped fox, and Dean didn't like it. "What?" he snapped, immediately regretting it when the inquiry came out sharper than he'd intended.

Sam flinched slightly, but didn't lower his gaze, and when he spoke his voice was low and calm. "We can take the weapons out of the trunk, take some with us, hide the rest. You know that. What's this really about?"

Dean knelt to rummage in his tool kit, an action that conveniently allowed him to turn his back to his brother, as he replied. "It's nothing Sam."

"You've always been a lousy liar."

"And you've always been a pain in the ass. Christ, Sam! Can't you just let it go?"

"No, I can't. Not this time, because your "nothing" is going to get someone killed!"

Dean jerked as though he'd been shot, but he said nothing. Sam resisted the impulse to shout some more, and tried to force his voice into an approximation of calm. "Dean, please. Just tell me what's going on."

Dean stood slowly, the tool he'd been searching for forgotten, and turned to face his brother. His face was carefully impassive, but Sam could see the rapid beat of the pulse at his throat, and he was pale under the bronze of his tan. "I don't want to leave the car; she's all I've got."

Sam tilted his head, puzzled. "All you've got?"

"Do I have to spell it out, Sammy? I thought you college boys were supposed to be smart. Mom died, Dad was always taking off on hunting trips when were kids, you went off to enjoy the co-ed experience, and now Dad's gone off to god knows where and won't even return my phone calls. This," he said, thumping the Impala's bumper with the flat of one palm, "is the only thing that's ever stuck around for me, and I don't want to ditch her just because she's having a bad day."

Sam stared at his brother for a long moment, eyes gone dark and unreadable. Then, to Dean's surprise, he said, "alright."

Dean eyebrows rose. "Alright?"

"Yeah, "alright." We'll fix your stupid car. I don't know anything about car repair, but I can hand you the tools, if that will help." Sam gestured vaguely at the tool box that still lay near Dean's feet.

Dean grinned, feeling the tension beginning to ebb from his back and shoulders. "Yeah, that would help."

They worked mostly in silence, apart from Dean's requests for tools and Sam's requests for clarification. Then, while Dean was trying to loosen a particularly stubborn bolt, Sam spoke again, his voice quiet and thoughtful. "You're wrong, you know."

"Wrong about what?" Dean replied absently, his attention on the bolt.

"About not having anything besides this car. I know I left, but I'm here now, and I'm not going anywhere."

"Yeah, well, neither of us is going anywhere if I don't get this thing loose." Dean punctuated the sentence with a final heave of the wrench, and the nut popped free. "There we go."

"Dean, I'm serious. I'm staying."

Dean turned to look at his brother. "Yeah, I know you are."

Sam smiled and stood, clasping Dean's shoulder for a brief moment. "I'll be right back, I've got to pee."

Dean watched him go until Sam disappeared behind the clump of scrawny trees that bordered the highway and then turned his attention back to the car. Sam would be back, this time anyway. Someday he wouldn't come back. Dean knew that, even if Sam didn't.

Dean finished tightening the replaced bolt with a final twist, and looked at his work. "That should do it," he said at last, and swung the hood shut with a satisfying metallic clang.

When he turned the ignition a moment later, the Impala roared to life with its characteristic throaty growl, and Dean grinned at the sound. "That's my girl."

fin.

AN: There's not much to it, I know, it was just an idea I'd been playing around with for awhile, and as my other fanfic seems destined to stretch into eternity I thought I'd take a little break to write this down. If you've got a second and wouldn't mind reviewing, I'd really appreciate it, especially as this is my first attempt at a Supernatural fic! Thanks for reading.