a/n Okay, here I go, hopping the fence and becoming a multi-fandom writer, never thought I had it in me. Praise be to Kim (kimonkey7, who is both awesome and NOT a pansy) for telling me otherwise, and assuring me that I am likewise NOT a gladiola.

This is a supershort, super-not-even-a-lil-bit serious, dipping my toes in the water and getting to know the characters one-shot and first SPN fic. A small scene after "Faith".


Roadside Casualties

Sam Winchester had thought that he was getting off scot-free.

He really did.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

For the last five days, there had been a small nagging voice in the back of his head, randomly popping up and telling him varying versions of "this isn't over", "you're going to get caught", or "you're going to be on the receiving end of the ass-kicking of your life", but he had tried to put it out of his mind. Tried to tell himself, with everything that they had gone through in the past week, this wasn't THAT big a deal, and Dean would understand.

He was dead wrong.

He actually had managed to not think about…the incident…on the way to Nebraska, mostly due to the fact that he spent the entire seven and a half hours shooting wide-eyed glances at his brother slumped in the passenger seat, in no position to notice, and overthinking until his head hurt and chewing his left thumbnail until he nearly drew blood. Nervous habit.

He had managed to not think about it the first day that they were in that little po-dunk town. But after he knew that Dean was going to be alright…the voice started to creep into his mind again. Because if Dean was alright, well, then Sam's ass was grass.

While they packed up the Impala that dusky Friday morning, Sam had started getting nervous again. Really nervous. So much so that he moved onto his right thumbnail while cramming his clothes into his bag. Dean obviously had something on his mind, he was being way too quiet, and that just meant that when the explosion finally came, it was going to be BAD. But Sam lived through the departure from the motel; Dean kept his head down, tossing his stuff into the trunk and sliding into the driver's seat.

It was that damn stop for gas.

Sam had been leaning against the passenger side of the car while Dean paid, soaking in what little bit of sunshine he could get from what the combination of an aimless road trip and a stop in Iowa could provide, when Dean had come trotting out of the station, replacing his sunglasses and ripping open a bag of Peanut M&Ms.

He tossed Sam his requested Snickers and made his way around the front of the car to resume his position and status as driver, when he stopped. Just stopped dead in his tracks. The yellow package of candy hung limply in his hands as he cocked his head and studied the front of the Impala.

And for Sam, the scene froze, time stopped, and all that there was was the inevitable ass-kicking.

"Sam?"

Maybe if I pretend I didn't hear him…Sam swallowed hard and rotated his neck lazily. He pretended to be very interested in the candy bar he was holding. Maybe I can run…

"Sam."

Sam winced. Look innocent. Turn around slowly. Keep it cool. Take your time…no sudden movements, and for the love of GOD, don't break eye contact. "Yeah?"

Dean's head was still cocked, and though Sam couldn't see his brother's eyes through his dark glasses, he knew that they were studying his every fidgety move. "What am I looking at here, Sammy?"

Sam squinted and scratched at an imaginary itch under his eye. Innocent. Look INN-O-CENT. "What?" He could already feel through the wrapper the chocolatey goo that his candy was becoming in his increasingly sweaty palm.

Dean's eyebrows became visible over the top of his sunglasses. Sam knew the look he was getting – are you shitting me?

And Sam knew that there was no hope for him.

"It's a scratch," he breathed, ignoring his own advice and looking away before Dean's eyes burned his own into charred little orbs in his head. It was a bit more than a scratch, and he knew it.

Dean nodded calmly. Too calmly. "Where is the scratch, Sam?"

Sam chewed the inside of his mouth, and wished that Dean would just eat his candy and be on a happy chocolate high. "On the car-"

"On the car, Sammy! On the CAR!"

A blonde woman at the next pump glanced over at Sam with a wouldn't-wanna-be-you-right-now look of sympathy, and she had three kids in the back of her soccer mom Ford Windstar. All looking to be under five, and all screaming.

Sam raised his eyes. "Dean, I-"

"What was this, Sam?" Dean pointed a finger at the offending mark on the front fender of his precious car.

"Mmtopsin," Sam mumbled.

"What?"

Breathe. "A stop sign."

Dean actually took a step back, raising his hands. Sam wasn't sure whether his brother was feigning shock, or if this drama-queenesque reaction was genuine. "Are you kidding me?"

"Dean-"

"What is the one thing that I ask of you, Sam?"

"Take care of the car-"

"Take care of the car!"

Sam knew that at this point, trying to explain was a lost cause, but he threw one for nothing anyway. He set the Snickers down on the hood of the car, earning himself another eyebrow raise, and wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans. "I'm sorry, Dean, but there were more important things on my mind than the CAR while I was speeding after the ambulance and your dumb resuscitated-at-the-scene-breathing-through-a-tube ass. They told me I had to follow in my own car-"

"My own car."

"I was worried about you, alright!" Sam threw his hands up in frustration. "And more so than the car."

Dean ignored the whole heart-to-heart moment. Sam could practically see him squint through the sunglasses. "You are NEVER driving this car again."

Sam sighed. It was never clearer to him that he was without a doubt the rational, logical brother, and Dean was the crazy one. He shook his head, daring to take on an annoyed tone. "I'm sorry, Dean," he repeated, "but at the time, the well-being of the car wasn't topping my list of priorities."

Dean frowned, then bent down and placed both hands on the hood of the Impala. "Oh, baby, he didn't mean it," Dean said in a soft tone. To the car.

Sam cast a quick glance around them. At least the mom-mobile had pulled away, and it didn't seem that there was an audience to his brother's brush with insanity. "Are we being serious right now?"

Dean's head snapped up, and he stared wordlessly at Sam.

Sam's mouth dropped open, at a complete loss for words. "Look," he finally said, "there's a Wal-Mart down the interstate. We'll get some touch-up, and make it…her good as new."

Dean shook his head incredulously. "Just get in the car."


They drove for nearly thirty minutes in complete and total silence, two plastic-wrapped nutty, chocolatey lumps on the seat between them. Sam contemplated turning on the radio, but was afraid to touch anything in the car. He was almost afraid to breathe in the car. Suddenly, Dean started laughing.

"What?"

Dean shook his head. "Dude, how did you manage to take out a stop sign?"

Sam raised his chin defensively. "Who says I took it out?"

Dean glanced at him, his grin widening. "A mark like that? You took that bitch down."

Sam shook his head as he started laughing as well, remembering the thunk and perfect ten swan dive that the sign had taken.

Dean stopped laughing just as abruptly as he had started and glared at Sam with a deadly serious expression. "You do it again with this car, and I'll kill you."


That's all. Any feedback is appreciated.