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.

Author's Note: After many rewrites, here's the Final chapter!

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Chapter 17: Traveling Companions

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It was surreal for Dean, bringing the race car to a stop, realizing he had dodged and sped and pushed his way through a throng of race cars to cross the finish line. First, no less.

To be, in that moment, normal. Better than normal, a winner. To know that he wasn't just a hunter, wasn't just someone good at killing evil things, wasn't just some broken soul that had but one purpose in life.

That he could do more, be more than he ever allowed himself to imagine. Knew just as surely that whatever happiness he felt now, it lacked something, was missing something, that he was missing something to complete this victory. And then that something was at his door, was pulling down the window mesh, was smiling so widely it was nearly blinding.

Barely pulling up his headlong run in time, Sam skidded on the heated macadam, was a millimeter away from clipping his hip on the side of the winning #36 car when he reached the driver's side window. Before the race car's engine fell silent, he was ripping down the window's mesh to get an unobstructed view of his brother, felt the breath that had rushed from him at Dean's victory, at the run to gain his brother's side, return as Dean's eyes met his. Dean's smile and the sparkle in his eyes told him that Dean was alright, that he was allowed to intrude in his brother's moment of victory, was maybe even a crucial participant in that celebration.

Leaning down to peer into the car's window, Sam raved, "Dean, you did it! I knew you could win it!"

His little brother's unchecked enthusiasm made Dean laugh in joy. Letting out a hoot of victory, he patted Sam's hand that was coiled on the base of the window, his smile matching the brightness of Sam's. Felt like he had won a victory for both of them, that he had proved that everything they were wasn't about death and destruction, sacrifice and loss, that normal could still be there for them, would be there waiting for Sam when he wanted it again.

Knowing that there wasn't much on Dean's body that wasn't sore after all Barton had thrown at him, inside and outside of a racing car, Sam tossed his qualms about overstepping his little brother boundaries aside and reached inside the car's interior, intending to help Dean from the car. When he gripped Dean's arm with one hand, he found his brother was leaning forward so he could slip his other hand behind his back, was not resenting his help but was welcoming it. He tried not to be suspicious of Dean's capitulation, tried not to wonder how much pain his brother was in if he needed his help.

With the joint efforts of Sam pulling and his pushing, Dean came to a balance on the car's window frame without knocking his head on the car's roof or too badly shifting his injured ribs. Removing his helmet, Dean tossed it onto the roof of the car and drew in a deep breath of unfiltered air that his abused lungs had been craving. As his adrenaline high started to dissipate, a wave of lightheadedness hit him, making him glad that Sam was at his back, that Sam had his back. He was more grateful than he would ever voice when Sam slipped his arm around his waist and cautiously manhandled him free of the car.

As his brother's feet met track, Sam felt Dean's stance wobble. Worriedly he steadied Dean against his chest, maintained that pose a long moment until he sensed Dean that had regained his equilibrium, wouldn't crumble to his knees if he relinquished his hold. Quickly stalking in front of Dean, he caught his brother in a hug, albeit, in lieu of Dean's bruised body, it was a gentle, loose hug. "You were awesome, Dean!" Then he felt Dean's hands wrap around his back in reciprocation, Dean's hold tighter, mocking the careful way his little brother was treating him, like he would break if he held on too tight.

"Crap, Sam that was fun!" Dean admitted with a laugh, pulling back from Sam, his happiness at his victory nearly overshadowed by the joy in Sam's eyes, by his brother's pride in him, for his accomplishments.

"Fun for you…nerve wracking for me!" Sam contradicted with a laugh of his own, oblivious to everything else going on around him but his brother. "When the number 77 car hit you…and Anderson rammed you into the wall, then when you cut low then high and maneuvered Anderson where you wanted him…And then you took the lead like it was child's play, dude," he exhaled in a rush of air. But a moment later, his smile transformed into a bittersweet gesture. With a hint of sorrow in his eyes, he pointedly acknowledged, "You took the lead like it was second nature to you, Dean." Generously admitted what he had both, wanted to and didn't want to accept: that Dean was born for this, should do this, not on some backwater track but for real.

Dean stilled, knew what Sam was saying, could see the pride in Sam's eyes but could see the fear there as well. The fear that he was going to walk away, was going to choose this life over the one he had with Sam, was going to leave his brother alone for the sake of his own dreams. Before he could reply, a familiar voice had him spinning to his right.

"Nice bit of driving there, Dean," Bobby greeted, trying for nonchalant but his smile was too bright for such deceptions, couldn't conceal how tremendously proud he was of Dean. Or how happy it made him that the kid had finally gotten a chance to seek out his own dreams, even if it was just for one afternoon.

For a moment, Dean was too shocked to speak, stood staring at Bobby before he croaked out, "Bobby, what are you doing here?!"

"Oh, I don't know …heard something about you racing. Course I wasn't going to miss the chance to come see it for myself," Bobby drawled, a twinge of affectionate scoffing in his tone for the boy not knowing how far his loyalty went, for not realizing that he wanted to be more than their 911 contact, their contingency plan. Wanted to be that, sure, but more than that. Wanted to be someone they called when a celebration was in order…of any kind.

Touched by Bobby's words, by the proof that Bobby didn't just see them as fellow hunters but saw them as friends, he earnestly said, "Thanks for coming, Bobby," hoped the words conveyed how much it meant to him to have the older man there, that he had come….for him. Knowing the little bird who would have invited Bobby, Dean spared a glance to Sam, saw his brother's shy smile, remembered that same look when Sam had invited Layla to talk to him before they left that small town in Nebraska. His brother had wanted him to know that other people valued him, were in his corner, had gone out of his way to prove it, then and now. Giving Sam a smile of gratitude he turned back to Bobby.

Stepping forward, Bobby gave Dean a hug, was warmed when the tough elder Winchester wrapped his arms around him too. Pulling back, he met Dean's eyes head on, didn't want there to be any doubt about his next words. "I'm proud of you, Dean." Hoped Dean knew he had been proud of him for a long time actually, over more important things than winning some car race. Knew he had gotten through when Dean shifted and looked away, the gesture the Winchester equivalent of blushing.

Tim, feeling somewhat like he was intruding on a private moment, held back from joining the group, only advanced forward when Dean smiled at him. "You make one heck of a race car driver, kiddo," he announced with a wide smile, pulling Dean into a quick congratulatory hug before releasing him.

Dean was opening his mouth to verbally reply to Tim's congratulations when Bruce Garner pushed his way into the inner fold of Dean's supporters. Coming to a stop in front of Dean, the track owner confidently predicted, "You drive like that in tomorrow's race and there's a real good chance NASCAR will consider you."

"You think so?" Dean drawled as if Garner had him on the line, like he was ready to do the track owner's bidding, would do anything to get a shot at tomorrow's race. Found he wanted to lead Garner on, wanted to punish the man for the crap he had dished out to him, for making him almost forget that family, his family came first, that Sam, his relationship with Sam, it came before everything.

Sure that he had all the leverage in the world, Garner smugly threatened, "But I'm the only one who can get you into that race," patting the hood of the #36 car, the winning car.

"And what hoops would I have to go through for your approval?" Dean asked, knew that the more confident Garner became the better his revenge.

Garner's smile was all shark. "I just happen to have a preliminary contract drawn up already. You join my team and you'll race tomorrow, this car. But I'm telling you up front, if NASCAR selects you, there is a hefty buy out clause which is non-negotiable. Cash on the barrel head. If they don't pick you, you race for me, my way. But my pay's not too shabby and, as you can tell, with Tim under the hood I maintain the best cars."

Honestly, Dean wasn't prepared for the race promoter Garner persona, had expected the man to come at him swinging, at the very least cursing him for taking out Anderson, though Anderson did himself in. Had never really thought Garner would welcome him into the fold, no matter how well he placed in the race that day. It went to show that, for Garner, winning was everything, went even above his pride and prejudices.

Sam's muscles were coiled so tautly that he feared if he moved, something in him would snap. Garner was offering Dean's dream on a platter, a sterling silver platter. Everything Dean wanted, everything Dean deserved, it was suddenly within his grasp. He had only to say yes. Had only to turn to him, smile and say 'Sorry Sammy, it's like you said about your law school interview back at Stanford: It's my future on a platter.' Sharply Sam remembered, when Dean told him to skip the interview, how he had railed at Dean, remembered the flare of frustration in Dean's eyes when he told him repeatedly during their search for Dad in Jericho that he had to get back to his life, to the future he wanted. Had tried to forget the hurt, the betrayal he had seen in Dean's eyes when he chose to walk away, to put the interview, normal above the search for their father. When he had chosen a future without Dean instead of with him. But Dean hadn't known the way it hurt, watching the Impala pull away from his apartment, the pang of regret, of sorrow that soured his stomach as his brother disappeared out of sight, out of his life.

Sam cursed himself for not realizing how his actions, his decisions, even his words back then must have sliced into Dean. Knew it now better than ever before, knew it because he was the one that could be left behind, discarded for a future he didn't belong in, wasn't welcome in. Felt like he would be lost without Dean, would drift aimlessly for the rest of his life without the anchor that Dean had always been for him, had been even after he had purposefully cut the lines. But Sam couldn't deny Dean his future, his shot at happiness, even if he condemned himself to an aloneness he had never feared before, never feared because he had believed Dean would always be around, would come if he called him. No matter what.

Stepping closer to Dean, Sam wrapped his hand around Dean's arm, forestalling whatever reply Dean was about to make to Garner. "Dean…" he quietly requested his brother's full attention, though Dean had already turned to him in surprise. Jerking his head to the right, he stepped a few paces away from Garner, held his breath until Dean moved, complied with his wishes and came to his side. "You could do this, Dean," he proclaimed without hesitation, his voice low to make sure his words didn't carry the few yards to Garner. As a look of protest began to take shape on Dean's features, Sam continued, "I know you said you didn't want this, that you were ….Ok with our lives, with hunting but Dean…this…this is your chance and I'm not going to stand in your way. I know NASCAR isn't possible but you could throw tomorrow's race, stay under the public radar and you would still have a place here on this track. And you could change teams as often as you like, it's not like you have to worry that any contract is binding, not with the long list of aliases we have."

Dean was touched by Sam's offer, knew what it had cost him to let Sam go to college, to let him leave him, realized that Sam must feel at least some of that same reluctance to let him go. "Sam, we already talked about this."

"You already paid your debt, Dean. To Dad…and to me. A thousand times over. You don't have to sacrifice the rest of your life to the hunt," but he couldn't bear to verbalize the rest. 'or to me.' "Like you said, 'Why do we have to get stuck with all the responsibility? Why can't we live life a little bit.' Well, you don't have to be stuck, Dean, you can live life." 'Can be happy.'

With his usual strong handed tactics, Garner stepped into the brothers' personal sphere. "You two joined at the hip or what? So what's the debate? How you can blackmail me into lowering the buy out fee?" his eyes settling accusingly onto Sam who gave him a close mouthed glare before the track owner turned again to Dean. "Look, the contract terms aren't set in stone. There is still room for some negotiation. Come look it over, bring your little brother if you need someone to hold your hand…" he retorted. Turning his back on Dean, he took a few steps away, certain the younger man would follow at his heels.

Without looking to Sam, Dean shortly replied to Garner's back, "Nah," with a fleeting smile.

At the negation, Garner turned around slowly as if an insult or a beer bottle had been hurled at him. Realizing that Dean wasn't budging from his spot, was wearing an uncompromising expression, Garner's brow crinkled in confusion. "No what?"

Tilting his head, Dean gave a cocky smile. "I'm gonna pass," found it was liberating, denying Garner, telling normal to go take a hike cause he didn't need it.

"Dean?!" Sam hissed, closing the distance between he and Dean that Garner's presence had created a minute before. But when Dean's eyes met his, he knew Dean wasn't taking one for the team, was content with his decision, was choosing their life over normal, was choosing him over the fanatical adoration of a stadium full of strangers.

His eyes holding Sam's for a beat until he saw that his brother saw the sincerity of his decision, Dean turned to Garner, spelled it out for the track owner. "Thanks for the offer but my brother and I, we'll be moving on."

"Moving on?! But NASCAR's coming here, tomorrow. You could go pro!" Garner thundered, finding it unfathomable that the cards he held were suddenly worthless. "I can help you get everything you've ever wanted!"

The declaration wiped the last tolerance from Dean's features and he stepped forward into Garner's personal space. "You don't have a clue what I want," he growled. Then a cruel smile turned up his lips, his eyes turning glacier as they lanced into Garner's. "But I know what you want…and you're not going to get it." He jerked his head to the race track, to the other teams milling around, to the cars still finishing the race. "I'm the only person on your team qualified to race tomorrow," saw the jump in Garner's clenched jaw as the truth hit him, hard.

"Tell me your terms!" Bruce lowly shouted, hands fisted at his side, desperation replacing his confidence from a moment before.

Terms. It reminded Dean of his first conversation with Garner, the man stating his terms of their employment, that he and Sam couldn't let anyone know they were brothers, that they even knew each other. "My terms…are non-negotiable." And it was sweet, seeing Garner's eyes alight with hope…right before he sniffed it out. "I'm walking away and tomorrow, a car is going to cross that finish line first…but it won't be one of yours."

"You son of a.."

"And it won't be Troy's," Though his tone was quiet, Dean's words cut Garner's hurled curse off like an explosion evaporates oxygen. His face twisted in anguish, Garner stepped forward, wrapped his hands in Dean's racing suit. It was then that Dean saw it, the crater in Bruce Garner that Troy's death had left behind. A crater Dean found he understood, matched the one his own father's death had scorched in his soul. "Kentworth was right, wasn't he?" Dean continued, voice almost gentle, sympathy where there might have once been accusation, victory. "This wasn't about your team getting a shot at NASCAR, it was about Troy getting a shot. You wanted this for him. And my driving his car, crossing that finish line, today or tomorrow, it will never lessen your regret that it's not Troy, that it will never be Troy."

The pain in Garner's eyes was acknowledgement enough of how right Dean was.

Giving Dean a harsh shake, Bruce hated that his breath caught, that his chin trembled. Hated more that the kid had the spirit and guts to stand up to him, was more like Troy than he wanted to admit, than he could bear right then. Hated that the younger man was telling him what he already knew. He had felt it in the pit of his stomach as he watched that #36 car streak across the finish line under a checkered flag… without Troy at the wheel: a fresh tsunami sized wave of grief. Burning eyes, a catch in his throat, a void so deep he could fall into it, it was like watching Troy's body being pulled out of the wreckage again. Felt as if he had killed Troy all over again by trying to replace him.

When Garner first gripped Dean, Sam had stepped forward, was about to pull Garner off his brother. But Dean, his eyes fixed on Garner, blindly reached out, put his arm up to block his forward motion. It was both comforting and frustrating that Dean knew what he was considering doing, even where he was standing, without needing to look. But Sam knew Dean too. Knew what his brother was intending to do, knew Dean's heart rivaled his courage. Even when it came to jerks like Bruce Garner.

Meeting Bruce's gaze head-on, Dean drawled with a bitter laugh, "Trust me, I've tried what you're doing: to fill holes in my soul with all the wrong people and with the wrong things." Remembering his own blindness when he and Sam had first encountered Gordon, he internally cringed. Sam had been right then. It was almost embarrassing, knowing now how utterly foolish and truly what an insult it had been to give Gordon one ounce of the respect he had given to his own father. But Sam, he hadn't walked away from him, hadn't even returned his punch like he had every right to do. Instead his brother forgave him, stayed by his side through his bouts of anger and loss and pain. Was still by his side even now as he was making his way out of darkness, was unearthing a truth, a truth that hurt even as it healed. "There is no replacement for someone that you lose. Guess there shouldn't be," he shrugged, wearing a sad smile. "The ones we love, they deserve to still be a part of us, even after they are gone."

Roughly, Garner shoved Dean back out of his grip, the kid's words sharp and unwelcome and true true true. Nothing had come close to filling the void Troy had made in his life and he was beginning to worry that nothing ever would. And now this kid was telling him nothing ever should ease the terrible ache in him?! How did he go on? How did he heal with a gaping wound in his soul?!

"Anyway, the #36 car, it isn't Troy's legacy. Troy's wins, his skill, that is what people will remember, not the number on the side of his car," Dean declared, was aware of Sam's presence enough to sense when Sam stiffened. Shooting a worried look to Sam, he saw a flash of remembered sorrow flicker in his brother's eyes.

Dean's words sliced through Sam, made him recall standing in that junkyard off of I90, looking at the devastated Impala, telling Bobby that they weren't going to scrap the car. That car, it had felt like a representation of Dean, a part of Dean, was a way that Sam could keep Dean alive, with him, was something physical he could hold onto.

Sam's voice was hoarse when he spoke, was surprised to find himself addressing Garner, maybe even siding with the track owner, "The car, it's not just another one of your race cars. It's your last physical link to Troy. And it feels like it's all you have left of him." Feeling Dean's shift toward him in surprise, as if his big brother realized the topic hurt him, he sent a quick glance of reassurance to Dean, took comfort that Dean wasn't gone, that he wasn't left with what Garner was: with only a car instead of the one he loved.

With a hint of pity gathering in his eyes, Sam contended, "You don't really want to see that car win tomorrow, not without Troy driving it." Because his own gut churned at just the idea that he would letsome stranger drive the Impala, that he would ever barter away anything that Dean truly loved for something as pathetic as money..or fame. "Car's worth more to you than a hundred NASCAR contracts." 'Just like the Impala's worth more to me than any flashy new car …but not like I'm ever telling Dean that.' Focusing on Garner, seeing that the man wasn't disputing his words, was instead, still, his stormy eyes shifting from anger to sorrow. Sam swallowed, the expression reminded him too much of the look in Dean's eyes for months after their father's death. "Keeping Troy's memory alive on this track, memories of him driving that car, you don't want them replaced. Ever." Knew that his own memories of his Dad, the good and the bad, they were all treasures now, were a part of his father that he carried with him. Just like Dean said he should.

Garner's throat was nearly closed with emotions, emotions that he had kept in check as he watched Troy's car flip and catch fire, as Troy's body was lying so still on the ground, as the casket sat waiting to be lowered into the ground. It hit him now, hard. Troy was gone and he wasn't coming back. Would never again laugh at his angry tirades, or give him that cocky smile before he slid into his car, or make him feel like he was worthy of the adoration he saw in the kid's eyes.

And the two men in front of him now, they spoke a truth that both wounded him and sought to heal him: He had a part of Troy with him, would always have it with him, the memories of a young man who had been like a son to him. And the hurt, the loss, the hole he felt, it would never be totally gone, both gift and curse that it was. As for the car, it was a bittersweet memento of Troy, was a part of Troy. So many of his memories of Troy, good memories, were bolted and soldered and polished into that car. It was the reason he had put the car back together again. By himself. Why he couldn't let the car become so much junk. Suddenly, he knew that he could never treat the car as simply a means to an end, as another car to make money off of. It would never again be a car that another driver, no matter how talented, ever crossed over a finish line with. Not even for all the fame and NASCAR buyout fees in the world.

Though he knew he should be thanking the two brothers for not only ridding him of the ghost but for their insight, Bruce, instead, gruffly ordered, "Get off my track and stay gone this time." Had no intensions of letting the men see that they had gotten to him, that their words had hit their mark like the marksmen they apparently were. Then he turned his back on the Winchesters, stalked for the winner's circle stage and plastered on his showmanship smile for the fans.

Sam and Dean didn't miss that Bruce trailed his hand along the #36's hood as he passed by the car. Was proof that their words hadn't been lost on the man after all. That somewhere the man still had enough goodness in his heart to love…and to feel the sharp pain of loss.

The fans cheered as Garner turned ringmaster. He shouted out "So were you bored by the today's race?! Do you all have the guts to come back tomorrow to watch the drivers duke it out for a chance to impress the scouts for NASCAR?! Just imagine, one of the drivers you just saw race today, he might be coming to you live from your TV one of these days, taking the checkered flag at Dover!" Each taunting question, each statement garnered more heightened reaction in the crowd.

Smirking at Garner's antics, Dean turned to Sam with raised eyebrows as if to say, 'Are you seeing this guy in action?! Does he have multiple personalities or what?!' Sam's forehead crinkled and he shook his head in disbelief. Ghosts they got, but people? People were crazy.

"Well, looks like our work here is done," Dean announced, was surprised to find when he turned around, that his small network of fans were still gathered around him, namely Sam, Bobby, Tim, Karl and Lilly Phillips and Pastor Pete. Turning to Karl, he extended his hand and the man readily shook it. "You do realize that there's a nice open space on Garner's team now. If you want back in…" Karl shared a look with his wife and they both smiled at Dean.

"Let's just say I'm in negotiation," Karl replied with a smile, nodding his head to Lilly, his true manager. "Thanks for proving to me I wasn't ready for the loony bin and for blackmailing me into coming today. It felt good, being back here."

At his side, Lilly offered a heartfelt, "Thank you," her look encompassing Dean and Sam. Then the couple turned away, found themselves surrounded by friends glad to see them.

Stepping forward, the Pastor extended his hand to Dean. "It's nice to know your skills aren't just good for crashing through churches," he joked, but there was absolutely no malice in his eyes. Instead his gaze harbored a mischievous twinkle as Dean shook his hand.

"Oh, no, Sam's the one that you have to thank for the redecorating," Dean assigned the blame with a cocky smile, shooting a look to Sam.

"It was your idea!" Sam heatedly grumbled under his breath before he turned to the Pastor wearing an earnest look of regret. "Pastor, I really am sorry about the damage. If .."

But the Pastor was laughing and shaking his head, "Like your brother said, a church is about the people, not the building..or the arrangement of the chairs."

"Or condition of the song books?" Dean couldn't help throw out, remembering the muddy tire treads on some of the hymnals.

Sam shot Dean a glare that clearly said, 'shut up' and 'stop helping me.'

"Yeah, that too" Pastor Pete drawled, fabricating resentment at agreeing with Dean, but his smile held. "Just tell me it was for a good cause?"

In synch Dean and Sam reassured, "It was."

Tim and the Pastor smirked and shared a look, couldn't believe that they hadn't pegged the two men as brothers from the start. "Well, that's good enough for me," Pastor Pete graciously pardoned. "I hope to see you two again. Church services are at 10am Sundays."

"For the Hell and Brimstone sermons?" Dean joked, remembered his first meeting with the Pastor in the hospital.

"Nah, I only break that one out once a year, around Halloween. The sermon I have scheduled for your next visit is about how Abram lied about Sarai being his wife and how the deception caused Egypt all kinds of trouble," the Pastor lightly said, but there was a roguish smile turning up his lips.

Tim burst into laughter even as the two brave, capable men looked slightly chastised at the tongue in check reprimand for their deception at the track about being strangers instead of brothers. With a parting wink, the Pastor left the brothers to their repentance.

Dean, stepping closer to Tim, whispered, "Are you sure he's a real Pastor? His sense of humor…"

"Is wicked?" Tim sputtered in mirth, which earned him a glare from both brothers. When he could effectively wipe the smirk from his features, he settled a serious look onto Dean. "There's no use trying to convince you to stay, is there?"

Dean smiled but firmly answered, "Nope. But it sure was a great ride. Thanks for believing in me, Tim."

"People believe in ghosts, they have faith in people. Isn't it ironic that my dad used to tell me that?" Tim returned, a fondness in his eyes for the young man before him. "And I had faith in you for good reasons. Today proves it."

"Your job, I hope Garner doesn't…" Dean began, remembered Garner's threat to the head mechanic before the race.

"I think my job's safe. That is until the next race when one of his cars doesn't come in first. It's a song and dance we do whenever our team loses," Tim downplayed, had some hope that, after Dean and Sam's words about Troy, that the Garner who loved racing might just be making another appearance soon. "If you ever need a job as a driver or a mechanic on any track this side of the Mississippi River…"

"I'll know who to call," Dean finished, shook Tim's hand and then he watched as Garner's head mechanic approached the winner's circle and came onto the stage beside his boss. When Sam bumped his shoulder, Dean looked to his little brother, eyebrow raised.

"You should get up there," Sam said, nodding toward the stage, to Dean's rightful spot as the race's champion.

Instead of replying, Dean lowly said, "Let's hit the road," eyes catching Bobby's, including him in on the invitation. Then he turned away from the stage, began maneuvering his way through the gathered crowds, offering phony smiles to the words of congratulations and pats on the back he received from the race fans he passed. Found that earning praise from strangers, it meant little to him, was almost insulting against Sam and Bobby's earnest pride in him. That was until three giggling, gorgeous women stepped into his path and began gushing about how wonderful he drove, how brave he was, and asking if he would sign their t-shirts.

At Dean's fawning fanclub, Sam shot Bobby a look and rolled his eyes, couldn't help smirk as Bobby laughed at his antics. Shook his head as Dean obligingly autographed the three girls t-shirt fronts with a flourishing signature that suspiciously looked like Winchester. When Dean moved forward again, left his fanclub practically swooning behind them, Sam nearly stepped on Dean's shoes in his effort to be close enough to Dean to throw out his question. "Did you just sign your real name, Dean?"

"Yeah, so," Dean shot back, finally breaking through the crowd and coming onto the pit area where the Impala sat waiting for them.

Coming to Dean's side, Sam was like an exuberant puppy, pacing him. "Dean, we're trying to keep things low key. You know, no publicity, no reporters…no shirts with your name on them."
"Untwist your boxers, Sammy. We're gonna be out of the state in an hour. And besides, my autograph might not be worth anything as a race star but I hear serial killers memorabilia sell pretty good," he stated, a boasting smile turning up his lips as he met Sam's suspicious glare.

"You know this how?!" Sam lowly demanded, a pit opening in his stomach.

"I did some follow up on HH Holmes that's all," Dean nonchalantly threw out, not breaking his stride or taking too much notice of Sam's rising concern.

"You didn't put your name in, right? Didn't see if something of yours was selling…" Sam stammered, sick at the thought that his brother was on some list, that some twisted person would actually covet something Dean had left behind at a crime scene because they believed he was a sadistic killer. Honestly didn't want Dean to ever Google himself, find out how decimated his reputation had become, to start to believe, for one second, that any of it was true, that anyone knew anything about him aside from him…and Bobby.

"Course not, Sam!" Dean shot back, the thought ludicrous. But he wasn't blind to the relieved look that washed over his brother's features. He almost asked what it was about when he decided to leave it as one of the wondrous mysteries of having a geek as a brother. Turning to Bobby, he said, "So, I know this great restaurant two states over. It's on our way back to your place," hoping Bobby didn't bristle that he was practically inviting himself and Sam to his place. Found he wanted somewhere safe, somewhere normal, well his version of normal, to heal up. Didn't want to jump into another job right now. He actually wanted to have some time with Sam, with them just being family, not strangers, not driver and reporter, not even hunters, just plain old brothers.

"I could eat. 'Sides we won't have great pickings at my place until I hit the store," Bobby said with a smile, his look including Sam, reassuring the younger men that they were welcome to be his houseguests. Honestly, he was relieved the boys were taking a break because, by all accounts, it looked like they needed it. Between the stiffness he detected in Dean's motions and the way Sam worriedly, even possessively hovered at his brother's side, it looked like this job hadn't been the easiest on them. 'Course those two could complicate getting a cat out of a tree,' he sourly but affectionately groused, knew that whatever nervous ticks he had developed over the past two years, he owed each and every one to the two idjits at his side. 'And I wouldn't have it any other way.'

"Alright, give me a few minutes to get changed then you can follow my lead," Dean replied to Bobby, was glad the older hunter was willing to have them underfoot for awhile.

"My lead," Sam corrected as he jangled the Impala keys in his possession. When Dean turned to him to protest his claim, he pointed toward the #36 garage. "Go get out of that suit. Oh and unwrap your ribs."

"Who made you my boss…" Dean grumbled even as he headed toward the garage Sam had indicated, wishing he had simply stuffed his street clothing in the Impala before the race.

"God did when he made us brothers," Sam brazenly said, smirking at the dark look Dean tossed at him.

"You're forgetting that you're the younger brother, dude," Dean lowly shot back.

But Sam's comeback was instantaneous and sure. "I'm not forgetting that I'm the brother without the bruised ribs and cracked head. And I didn't just play crash up derby for the last hour and half."

"It was racing…" Dean corrected.

"Tell that to Anderson," Sam shot back with a smirk, felt the rest of his tension melt away when Dean's own lips turned up into a matching expression. Knew that things were getting back on track when he and Dean could readily agree on something, had a common foe to fight against instead of each other.

"Bet he's pissed," Dean predicted with a broad, happy smile.

"That's an understatement," Sam agreed, his own smile widening farther at the thought of the guy that had recklessly endangered his brother's life off sulking somewhere, knowing that NASCAR was going to come knocking tomorrow…and it wasn't going to be on his door. Sometimes justice did prevail.

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"So how's she handling?" Dean asked, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen in the car since they had left the track, Bobby following Sam's lead. He tried to make the inquiry light, non-consequential, as if it was truly the car's condition that was making him shoot glances to Sam every ten seconds.

"Good as new," Sam answered, loosening his tight grip on the steering wheel and sending Dean a reassuring smile. But it took a moment before Dean nodded, accepted his words. Dividing his attention now between road and brother, he watched as Dean rested more firmly back against the seat, not in exhaustion but…relief. Realized that Dean's question, his own answer, they were about the same thing: Their relationship, their bond.

Contentment and relief settled in the car when Dean turned his head and met Sam's glaze and the truth was there. They had weathered another storm, together. And somehow, they were stronger for it. And though their bond wasn't new, it was something better: old, as old as Sam was. Old and tried and tested and forged with love and loyalty. And yet it had new aspects, new priceless qualities, new depths, new scars and even newer impenetrable soldered joints. Ensuring it wouldn't break so easily in the future, against whatever forces it came up against.

"So you really think I could have been a contender, too?" Sam prodded, already knowing what he was setting himself up for, anticipating it.

"Yeah, in the pee wee league," Dean snorted, knowing that he was giving Sam what he wanted. That this wasn't an opening to throw out brotherly support but instead brotherly ridicule.

"Oh yeah," Sam protested, sending a fabricated offended look to his brother. Then, without warning, he jerked the Impala back and forth across the barren country road. "How about now?" he asked as he swerved the car left. "Now?" he taunted as he sent the car swerving right. "Or maybe now?" he goaded, as the Impala dodged left, tires almost hitting the shoulder of the road.

"Sam, you put one more scratch on this car and …" Dean began to threaten, eyes boring into Sam's mischievous ones.

"What? You like me more than the Impala, remember?! And I have proof…" Sam brazenly shot back, his smile at 100 watt assurance.

"What proof?" Dean scoffed, shifting higher in the seat, giving his brother a look like he thought Sam had inhaled too many paint fumes when they fixed the Impala.

"Well, you never hit me with a crow bar," Sam pointed out, his smile broadcasting his belief that full victory was his to claim.

"The day is young, Sammy. The day is very young," Dean drawled even as he inwardly wondered when Sam would ever realize that he was way out of his league, that when it came to all things of brotherhood, big brothers always won. Won because having a little brother, especially one like Sam, who was your biggest fan even when you were being the biggest jerk, that was a win on any given day. "And you do remember that Bobby's following you, right? Thinks you're a total retard who doesn't know how to drive?!" He couldn't help point out with a wide grin because, Sam, he liked a challenge, didn't want a nice, boring brother.

"Oh crap," Sam cursed, immediately straightening out the Impala and shooting a look in the rearview mirror to the Camaro following them. Already cringing at what was probably going through the older hunter's mind, he wished that he had left Dean drive. 'This is what I get for trying to be protective of Dean?! Bobby now thinks that, not only am I a sap who invites him to see Dean race, but I drive like I'm having a seizure.'

Seeing the scowl on Sam's face and knowing just what was going through his brother's head, Dean pulled out his cell phone and called Bobby. "Hey Bobby," he greeted, watched Sam's head swivel his way in dread, was amused by the way Sam's eyes bounced from road to him, road to him like a cartoon character watching a tennis match.

"-----"

Unsure if he wanted to hear Bobby's side of the conversation or if ignorance was bliss, Sam was left hanging onto every word Dean said. Was wondering how much damage control he was going to have to do afterwards to untarnish his driving reputation after Dean was done with him. But Dean's next words caught him off guard, totally.

"Yeah, everything's fine," Dean assured, smiling broadly at Sam, almost laughed at the disbelief and relief in his little brother's gaze. "The steering is just a little off. Sam's working to get it straightened out. I'll have to check it out back at your place."

"---"

"Alright," Dean said, disconnecting the call and giving Sam the 'Everything's fine, I fixed it' look that was the staple of Sam's childhood …of his life.

For a moment, Sam sat dumbfounded. Dean maligning the Impala's reputation?! To protect his?! It was more proof than ever that the Impala…it wasn't even in the running for Dean's affection, not when it came down to his little brother. Sam was torn between reverently thanking Dean and happily gloating over how right he was about where Dean's true loyalty laid.

Knowing that look of Sam's, that gratitude, that shadow of a smirk that said he knew his big brother was just a big old sap, that look that warned him that his little brother might just hug him, Dean pointedly looked away from Sam. But even without being subjected to seeing Sam's big old goofy smile, he knew Sam was leveling it at him, along with his big old puppy dog eyes of gratitude and love. As the silence in the car became suffocating, he braved a quick look to Sam, saw that Sam had moved on from goofy smile to smug smile status, gloating at the concession he recognized in Dean's actions, if not his words.

"Ah shut up and drive, Sam," Dean groused, though his affection peppered his tone and he couldn't quite fight a smile of his own.

Expertly maneuvering the Impala on the twisting road, just like the Winchester he was, Sam felt happiness wash over him. Dean didn't have to say the words, to say how he felt about him. Because sometimes words? They didn't mean anything compared to actions.

Contently watching the scenery slip by, Dean knew that, the destination of any path he traveled? It wasn't half as important as who was riding at his side, who was cheering in his corner. And when it came to traveling companions, he truly was a very blessed man. By anyone's standards.

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The End

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Thanks go out to everyone who read this story, who tuned in for this ending that took me so long to write. I really appreciated every review, everyone that put it on an alert, who kept the story alive when it seemed to "stall out" my muse.

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.

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Epilogue

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Taking his life in his hands, Sam reached over to the Impala's radio from the passenger seat. Ignoring the sideways glare coming from his brother, he spun the tuner until static turned into voices…

"If you're just tuning in, we're broadcasting live from Smithfield race track today. As many of you know, our hometown track was visited by NASCAR scouts, looking to see if any of the drivers showcasing their skills here were worthy to earn a contract to the pros. So Ethan, in your opinion, did any of the drivers catch the eye of the scouts?

"I hate to say it, because I'm a local boy, but Reuben, by all accounts, this race was a disappointment. The drivers seemed inexperienced, even lacking the most raw of talent, the passes were poorly executed, and the winner, Marcus Broman, from a small track sixty miles south of here, only gained the lead by haphazardly slipping by the pile up of the lead cars in the 3rd to last lap. I saw the NASCAR scouts heading for the hills even as the checkered flag was being unfurled. Totally different race today from yesterday's."

"Yes, let's talk about yesterday's qualifying race. The fans today can't stop raving about the tension found on this very track only one day ago. And everyone was anticipating Bruce Garner's team car #36, driven by Dean Aron to do well today, if not decimate the competition and snag a contract from the big boys of professional racing. It must have come as a shocking disappointment to fans to not see the qualifying race's winning car and driver in this race today. Was there any explanation given for this shocking withdrawal?

"Oh it's the true talk of the spectators gathered here. Where is the driver who showed such incredible skill in the qualifying race? A driver that, if stories are correct, was on Garner's team as a mechanic days before he slid behind the wheel and outdrove the best contenders from this entire state. Though the press was not officially invited to attend yesterday's race, I came as a loyal fan to the sport and let me tell you, the Dean Aron kid could drive! He out maneuvered his own teammate Anderson, who tried to crunch him into the wall, skillfully dodged the numerous accidents and flying cars and came up the positions like he was born driving a car. Consequently, the #36 car was previously driven by Troy Nichols. Sadly, Nichols lost his life racing a few months ago. He was known for his talent and heart, might have even caught the eye of NASCAR today. I'll miss seeing him on the track and in the winner's circle. I actually got a sound byte from Bruce Garner, owner of the #36 car as well the Smithfield track. This is what Garner had to say on the loss of Nichols, the disheartening absence of the #36 car and this track's new gifted driver's vanishing act."

Then Garner's voice filled the Impala's interior and for as much as it was his idea to listen to the broadcast, just hearing the man's name almost had Sam reaching for the off switch. Almost.

"Racing the #36 car yesterday was my way to honor Troy Nichol's memory. I had no intentions of entering it into today's competition."

"But your new #36 driver, Dean Aron seemed more than capable of winning today..in that very car. A car that local fans have seen win here time and time again. Except today, that car and its driver crossing over the finish line could have landed both into racing history. Was your sentimental decision really worth…."

Garner's baritone voice sliced across the reporter's words. "Troy's legacy is in his wins, his skill, not that car. Like I stated, the car was driven yesterday as a final goodbye to an exceptional driver and a man I counted as family."

"Well there you have it…sort of. Sentimentally over fame and fortune. I guess stranger things have happened…."

With a twist of his wrist, Dean turned off the radio and shot Sam a look that had components of a pout and a scowl. "Man, Garner totally stole my lines about the legacy thing."

"He also said that it was his plan all along to not have you race today," Sam pointed out, a hint of disgust in his tone. "Guy's a liar of the 1st order."

"2nd order. We're liars of the first order, Sammy," Dean corrected, sporting a boasting smile. It earned him a mock glare from his brother, who sometimes didn't embrace the whole nefarious, bad boy ways of their lives.

"You know you're going to go down as a racing legend. 'The mysterious mechanic turned race car winner that disappeared without a trace'" Sam announced, like he was reading it from a headline, which he knew would appeal to his brother.

"Yeah, they'll be saying, 'Who was that helmeted man?'" Dean half scorned and half envisioned with something like school boy relish.

Sam couldn't hold in his snort of laughter, watched as Dean's smile became genuine. Was something he truly hadn't seen much of since their father had died. Hadn't realized how much he had missed Dean's crazy line of thinking, lame sense of humor and ability to laugh even when it would be more appropriate to cry or run or surrender.

"Hey it wasn't a bad legacy to leave behind….worked out good for the lone ranger." Like an awesome thought had just come to him, Dean looked to Sam, a new level of glee immersed in his smile. "Which makes you Tonto."

Instantly Sam refuted, "I'm not calling you Kemosabe, Dean." But his brother was already beaming with victory. "I'm not, Dean!" And Sam was going to stick to his guns this time because, honestly, who needed a guy hiding behind a mask when you had an awesome big brother as a traveling companion.

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The End (I mean it this time. REALLY)

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Gentlemen….turn off your engines. The race is over.

I just didn't feel that the story was complete until we knew if anyone at the track scored a contract. Hope this tag worked and if it didn't, just strike it from your memory like any good jury member would.

The last name Dean was using in his racing "career" is the last name of the main character from 'Grand Prix', a movie with James Garner. (OK I haven't seen the movie but Dean's pretty well versed in things I'm not).

Thanks again for all the support, the reviews and alerts for this story. You made this a "great ride" for me.

Have an absolutely wonderful day!

Cheryl W.