Sam studied the rearview as Bobby's house faded from sight. It didn't feel right somehow. Even the Impala felt it, shuddering once as Sam pulled from Bobby's long and dusty drive onto the main road, putting Sioux Falls in the past, in the distance.

Memories. Those were the things. They could either light you up, or they could kill you, and seldom was there an in-between.

Sam's mind wandered as he held the wheel of the old car. Maybe once it had been a classic. Now it was just … old. And it handled like something from another decade; the wheel was shaky, the belts squealed.

But Sam would never dream of driving anything else.

He'd just have to stop somewhere along the way and get it tuned up, that was all. Just like his life, his future - a little fine tuning from skilled hands would get it back up and running eventually.

It would take a while.

It might take a damned lifetime.

A lifetime to fix things.

A lifetime to forget.

Hie eyes shifted sideways to the empty passenger seat, and he saw himself as a boy sitting there - Head thrown back, laughing.

He smiled.

He could smell Dean's aftershave. It was as much a part of this car as the leather seats, the worn floor mats, the half-empty bottle of Jack shoved under the driver's seat. And Sam was certain that even if he drove for weeks with all fours windows down, the driver's side of the Impala would always smell like the scented leather of his brother's old jacket.

He shook his head, a lopsided grin starting.

"What's so damned funny, Sasquatch?" Dean growled irritably from the back seat.

Sam snorted, "Nothing, Dean. Nothing at all."

"Yeah, well your 'nothing at all' is interfering with my ability to enjoy my Busty Asian Beauties." Dean rattled his magazine for effect.

"I didn't say a thing!"

"You were thinkin' it. You think too damned loud. Anybody ever tell you that?"

"You, I think." Sam grinned again, he couldn't help it. Dean could be as damned crabby as he wanted to be, just so long as he … he was.

"Well … good. Somebody should."

"Got it. I think too loud. I'll try to tune it down some. Will that make you happy?" Sam met his brother's tired eyes in the mirror, noting his pale color and the grimace that he wore when he thought no one was looking. Sam frowned. "You need a top-off?" He reached forward into the dash and grabbed Dean's painkillers, tossing them back to the boy who reclined in the back on a sea of pillows and comforters. They'd taken just about every soft, cushiony thing Bobby owned, but the old man hadn't minded.

So long as Dean was comfortable.

Dean caught the bottle upside the forehead, swearing and shooting his brother the stink eye in the mirror.

"Sorry." Sam tried to smother his chuckle. "Thought you were looking."

"I sure as hell hope your navigatin' skills are better than your aim." Dean shot back. "You hurt my baby and …"

"You'll kill me." Sam finished in unison with his brother. "Relax, Dean. I know how to drive."

"Good." Dean glared, and Sam swore he could feel the back of his neck burning. "How long is this gonna take anyway?"

"The specialist is in California, Dean. It's gonna take awhile."

Dean was silent, and Sam knew he was thinking about all the what-might-happens.

"Stop it."

Dean started, "Stop what?"

"Worryin'."

"I'm not worried. When have you ever known me to worry, Sammy? I'm the original 'fly by the seat of my pants' guy."

"Yeah, if you say so." Sam found that statement hysterically funny, considering Dean worried all the damned time over the least little thing, mostly Sam, but he didn't argue. The thought of the wheelchair that took up most of the Impala's trunk was sobering enough to keep his tongue in check. He hated the damned thing. He could only imagine how Dean felt about it.

Sam stared forward, his mind drifting back to that day he'd burst back into Bobby's house and back into his brother's life. The older boy had been just about one heartbeat away from dead, and it had taken a lot of begging and pleading on Sam's part to get Dean to come back from wherever it was he was trying to go.

Dean had done it though. Just like Sam had known he would. Dean would no more leave him alone to fight off the fuglies than he would cut out his own heart. Sam had played on that mercilessly.

And Dean had made it most of the way back.

He still had a long way to go, though.

That damned wheelchair.

Dean couldn't walk. Not even a little. The stab wound in his back had come a little too close to his spinal cord, and the scar tissue that resulted had caused some kind of a disconnection from the tops of Dean's thighs on down. He could still take care of his bodily functions. Hell, he could still enjoy sex if he wanted to.

It was just walking that was off the list. Walking, jogging, running, standing and Dean's personal favorite - pacing - those were no longer options.

Unless the specialist that Bobby had dug up near Sacramento had a new trick up his sleeve. Dean was stuck in that damned chair for the rest of his life.

Sam wouldn't let that happen, mostly because he knew that a life like that would slowly kill his brother.

The demon that had ridden Ford Merrill into the bar that night might have killed the old man, but no way in hell was he getting Dean too.

Sam would do whatever he had to do to get his brother the help he needed.

Whatever he had to.

And God help anyone or anything that stood in his way.

He reached over and twisted the dial on the radio, settling back as the first strains of Zeppelin's Black Dog burst forth.

Dean settled back comfortably into his makeshift nest, eyes closing, smile forming. "Like balm for the soul, Sammy. Balm for the soul. Gotta love Black Dog." Then his eyes were open again, and he was excitedly planning. "A black dog! That's the perfect hunt. That's what we're lookin' for first once I get back on my feet. It's a sign, Sammy. Tell me that ain't a sign."

Sam glanced back at his brother's animated face, happier than he'd seen it in weeks, and nodded. "Hell yeah, it's a sign. A black dog it is." He leaned over and cranked the radio up another decibel.

Sam had always despised black dogs.

Well, until today.

- The End -

Author's Note: Thank you for reading, reviewing and sticking around til the end. It means more than you know.