Disclaimer: I am playing with Kripke's creations. I own nothing – well I guess in this case I own Bob….

Dedication: This story is dedicated to sylia91 who won me in the auction organized by K H Korossy to raise money for a fellow writer and publisher. In the end due to sylia91's generosity and the generosity of a whole bunch of other authors and readers, the auction raised over 1600. We truly have a fandom to be proud of!

A/N: It took me a while to find the inspiration for this story. It is based very, very loosely on a true story which I will share at the end of the fic. It took me even longer to find the time amongst my real life to put pen to paper. So, sylia91 deserves huge thanks for being so patient in waiting for this. It was supposed to be finished for today, but I will be posting just the first part today. It will most likely be two or three parts in total… Takes place in Season 2 after Nightshifter.

"I need pie!" Dean craned his head around looking for their waitress.

"Dude. What's that right in front of you? You've been shovelling into your mouth for long enough to have recognized the taste. Of course, considering you don't even seem to chew it..." Sam said rolling his eyes.

"Fine. Kill joy. I need MORE pie. Really Sammy, you should have a piece. This is the best pie we've had in a long time," Dean enthused.

Sam couldn't help but smile. He was pretty sure that the taste of the pie was directly linked to his brother's good mood. Not that the pie wasn't making its own contribution... Sam frowned slightly – this was one of those chicken and egg problems – which came first, Dean's good mood or the good taste of the pie?

Sam decided in the end, that in this case at least, Dean's good mood came first.

They'd just finished a pretty tough case. They'd managed to avoid any serious injuries and save those involved – well, almost all of them – but not any thanks to Sam.

Sam sighed. They'd fought like cats and dogs over this hunt. In the end, Dean had been right.

Sam had been convinced that they were dealing with either a vengeful spirit or a poltergeist. He'd been leaning more toward the poltergeist because they really hadn't been able to dig up anything on any mysterious deaths connected to the house or family involved.

Dean had been adamant that they were dealing with a wraith.

In the end, they had gotten the family out of the house after the Grandmother had been attacked. She hadn't ever woken from the coma she'd slipped into.

They had returned to the house after leaving the family still hoping at the hospital. Sam had armed himself with salt and gris-gris bags. Dean had loaded his pockets with a number of things, including a sharpie. He'd brought his sawed-off full of salt though, too.

As soon as the wraith attacked it was obvious that that was what it was. Sam had been busy sticking gris-gris bags in the holes he had punched in the walls of the house. Dean had been busy with his sharpie.

Sam managed to hold off the wraith and make his way back to Dean and his art project by using his own sawed off.

Dean had drawn sigils all around the living room. He was now standing in the centre of a salt circle. Sam quickly jumped into it.

"Bend down a minute there Sasquatch," Dean said cupping his hand at the back of Sam's head. Before Sam could stop him, Dean had his sharpie up and was drawing on Sam's forehead.

"What the hell, Dean," Sam yelped and tried to pull out of his brother's iron grip.

"Stay still, would ya? This is a protection sigil. It'll hold it off till I can banish it."

"I don't see you with one on your forehead!" Sam protested.

"That's cuz I did mine on my arm before we left the motel cuz I knew it was a wraith," Dean said smugly.

Of course, at that moment, the wraith made an appearance and Sam decided to let the matter drop.

When the wraith realized it couldn't get to the brothers because of the salt or touch the brothers directly because of their sigils, it decided to stir up a supernatural wind and started flinging the furniture around the room.

Sam tried to distract the wraith with the salt filled shotguns while Dean made his way through the ritual to banish it.

When it realized what Dean was doing, the wraith did try to escape, but the sigils Dean had written on the walls trapped it in the room. Of course that meant that the closer Dean got to completing the ritual the more desperate the wraith became.

In the end, they'd both been sporting some bruises from the flying furniture, and the house was pretty much trashed, but at least it was wraith-free and safe for the family to return to.

Sam rubbed absently at the chafed spot on his forehead. The damn sharpie wasn't just bragging when it said it was a permanent marker. Sam had scrubbed his forehead at least 20 times and the damn sigil was still there. He'd never been more glad to have bangs to hide it.

"Sammy?" Sam shook himself back to the present and smiled lopsidedly at his brother.

"Zone much?" Dean quickly masked the concern that Sam saw flicker across his brother's face. "Do you have a headache? You want some pie now? Marsha says the blueberry is just as good as the cherry."

"No, Dean. No headache, and I still don't want pie. Thanks anyway," Sam added looking up at their waitress who had apparently materialized out of thin air while Sam was lost in his thoughts.

Sam smiled at Marsha as she refilled his coffee cup. Dean's constant flirting might be irritating, but it did insure that they always got the best service wherever they ate. And Dean was an equal opportunity flirter when it came to their food. Sam had been a little shocked the first time he'd seen Dean turn on the charm for a male server. He'd never done that before Sam went away to school – probably because he would never do something like that in front of Dad. Dean had just laughed and shrugged it off, saying it was a waste not to use a God-given talent. Sam couldn't help but feel bad for the server who had even less of a chance than most of their middle aged waitresses.

"Thanks Marsha," Dean added a lazy blink to his trademark smile.

In true smitten-waitress fashion, Marsha giggled as she scurried off to get Dean's second piece of pie.

"So. Did you dig us up a hunt yet?" Dean was all business again.

"Not really," Sam shrugged and rustled the papers in front of him. "There might be something a couple of town's north of here."

"Ok. Well, we'll just keep heading in that direction then," Dean suggested.

They'd left the town where they'd taken care of the wraith that morning, taking their time as they really hadn't gotten a solid lead on a new hunt. As always after a hunt, Dean's most effective way of unwinding was to let the Impala get some miles under her tires, preferably windows down (weather permitting) and stereo blasting the best of mullet-rock.

They'd been travelling for about a half hour when they happened upon a car broken down by the side of the road. There was a kid in his early twenties standing by the car with its hood up, obviously out of his element. The highway they were on wasn't particularly well travelled. It was pretty much between two little nowhere towns. There were other vehicles on the road, but nobody had stopped so far, apparently.

"Kid should have a cell phone if he's gonna be driving a hunk of crap like that," Dean muttered even as he started to slow down. Sam was already pulling out his cell.

"Wouldn't do him any good. No reception," Sam supplied, re-pocketing his phone.

Dean swung out of the car as soon as it had crunched to a stop on the gravel shoulder.

"What seems to be the problem?" he asked approaching the kid.

"Just stopped running," he supplied leaning in under the hood, one hand resting lightly on the edge of the hood the other braced in front of him.

Sam was leaning on his side of the Impala. Not much point in him joining the other two as his knowledge of cars was owed entirely to his brother and father. With the two of them in the family, it had just seemed redundant to spend a lot of time on the subject – they liked it, and they were good at it.

Sam had pulled out their Dad's journal and was absently flipping through it, so he wasn't watching and didn't see it, but he sure as hell heard the hood slam down onto his brother's back and head.

"WHAT THE HELL?" Sam was shouting as he pushed off the Impala to go to his brother's aid, but he never made it that far as two more guys came surging out of the ditch.

They grabbed Sam and used his own momentum to throw him into the reasonable substantial ditch beside the shoulder. He did see the original kid lift the hood of the car enough to pull an obviously dazed Dean out from underneath the hood and fling him to the ground. And then Sam was too busy trying to figure out which way was up as he tumbled haphazardly into the ditch, landing with an oompf on several very large rocks. He saw stars as his head made contact with one of them.

He must have been stunned for a minute because suddenly he could hear his brother shouting.

"Get the HELL away from my fucking car, you sonuvabitch!"

Sam got his feet back to the down position as quickly as he could.

Shit, shit, shit! He had to get to his brother.

Sam heard two engines start.

No, no, no, no, no, was all that Sam could think. Not the car. Please, not the car.

Sam's worst fears were confirmed as he crested the lip of the ditch. The bastards were trying to steal the Impala.

It had all been a set up.

"Dean!" Sam tried to call his brother off, even as he knew it was futile.

He watched helplessly as Dean flung himself in the driver's window grabbing at the wheel and throwing punches at the bastard currently attempting to steal his car. Unfortunately, the guy behind the wheel had all of the Impala's power at his disposal and he also had a passenger who was liberally pounding Dean. Dean was still tenaciously hanging on as the Impala fishtailed through the gravel as the thief made for the tarmac. The broken down car was already heading down the road.

Dean finally lost his battle just as the Impala hit the pavement, a combination of the punches from the guy riding shotgun and the violent swerving of the car serving to dislodge him.

Sam was powerless to stop his brother's headlong flight as he was flung off the car to bounce and slide through the gravel shoulder to come to a bone jarring stop just shy of tumbling into the ditch that Sam had just crawled out of.

As soon as Dean stopped tumbling, he was utterly and completely still.

Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. Sam's brain seemed to be on permanent stutter... and then he was scrambling across the space that separated him from his brother, even as he watched the only home he'd ever really known disappear down the road with a stranger at the wheel.

Sam unintentionally sprayed his brother with more gravel as he slid in next to him. His brother looked like a rag doll someone had just dropped haphazardly on the ground – limbs all pointing at impossible angles. His face was already a mass of bruises and scrapes. Blood covered the back of Dean's head – a side effect to having the hood of the car banged off of it.

Sam quickly and efficiently catalogued Dean's injuries. He carefully felt along each of Dean's arms and legs, straightening each as he ruled out any serious breaks.

Dean's breathing was rapid and shallow, but Sam couldn't find any evidence that he'd punctured a lung, though there were certainly some broken, cracked and bruised ribs.

Sam slid himself under his brother pulling his head into his lap after ascertaining there didn't seem to be any trauma to his spinal cord or neck.

Sam gently patted Dean's check, wincing as his hand came away sticky with his brother's blood.

"Dean? Bro? Can you hear me? Open your eyes for me, man." Sam pleaded.

True to form, Dean couldn't deny his baby brother anything and his eyelids fluttered until Sam was rewarded with slits of green staring at him blearily, trying their best to focus on the worried face hovering over him.

Dean's attempt to speak came out as a groan.

"It's ok, Dean. Don't try to talk. But stay with me ok? Stay awake?"

"You... 'k?" Dean slurred.

Sam huffed. He'd known that would be Dean's first concern.

"Yeah. Barely a scratch," Sam couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice.

"Hmmm. 'S good." Dean's mouth twitched as he tried to smile, his eyelids starting to flutter closed.

"C'mon, Dean. You said you'd try to stay awake," Sam patted Dean's cheek lightly.

Dean groaned. "Don't ... member saying ... that."

"You did. You promised," Sam wasn't above lying when it came to his brother's safety. He needed to keep him awake.

"Liar." There was no heat in Dean's voice and the half smile tugged at his lips again. Sam couldn't help but smile back. Nobody would ever know him half so well as Dean.

"My car?" Dean suddenly struggled as if trying to rise.

"Dean! Stay still. It's too late. I'm so sorry. They took her," Sam said softly, hating having to tell his brother that.

Dean went limp. Sam thought he might have passed out, but he had just completely stopped struggling.

Sam rested the palm of his large hand gently on Dean's chest. It was meant to comfort the both of them. Sam tried to gather his thoughts.

What the hell was he going to do? They were stranded in the middle of nowhere. Dean was badly hurt. They had no means of escape. They couldn't go to the police to get the car back. Hell. They couldn't even go to the hospital.

Sam's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of tires crunching in the gravel shoulder. He looked up startled, only just realizing that he had been hearing the sounds of other cars. That had simply passed by. While the car was stolen. While he sat on the side of the road with his badly injured brother. No one wanting to get involved.

A blue SUV crunched to a halt about 6 feet from where the two brothers were. A man of average build with short slightly greying hair, dressed casually, jumped out.

"Are you boys ok? What happened? Do you need help?" He walked quickly over to them and crouched beside Sam. He gave Sam a penetrating look and then shifted his focus to Dean, drawing his breath in, in a hiss. Dean was unconscious again.

"We had our car stolen. My brother got pretty badly hurt trying to stop them." Sam's voice wavered.

"There's no cell reception out here," the man was obviously a local. "Look. I live just up the road. Do you want me to go and call the police and an ambulance for you?"

"NO!" Sam shouted before he could stop himself.

The man recoiled slightly and looked at Sam open mouthed.

"I'm sorry. Please. Don't call anyone. Maybe you could just give us a lift to the nearest motel?" Sam tried his best to put on his best puppy-eyes, but he knew it was falling flat.

"You're the fellows that have that big black Impala, aren't you?" Recognition crossed the man's face.

"How..." Sam was uneasy that this man seemed to know who they were.

"Sorry. Small towns. And that's a hell of a nice car," the man smiled, trying his best to put Sam at ease.

"Look, son. I'm no threat to you. Your brother is badly hurt, and the nearest motel is farther than the nearest clinic. The hospital would be a bit farther yet. I think you should let me help you. I won't call anyone you don't want me to."

The man's face was so sincere and Sam wanted so badly to be able to trust him. His gut reaction was to trust him. To let someone else help them for a change.

"Ok. I promise we aren't a threat to you either. Our situation is just a bit ... complicated at the moment."

"Alrighty then. Let's get your brother in my car and back to my place," the man smiled encouragingly at Sam.

"My name is Sam, and this is my brother, Dean," Sam offered, still somehow not believing he was about to entrust both their lives to this complete stranger.

"My name is Bob," he reached out and lightly gripped Sam's shoulder by way of greeting.

So not a stranger exactly anymore, Sam thought disjointedly to himself.

"It's nice to meet you Sam, though I can think of better circumstances. You ready to get Dean out of here now?"

A/N2: So? Please leave a review? They are like chocolate – which I haven't had in months…. They also guilt/spur me into writing faster….