A Snail's Pace

By: Will Scott

Disclaimer: Nothing, as usual, belongs to me. That pleasure is for the CW and Kripke.

Rating: T- harsh language

A/N: This fic is dedicated to some very special friends. The idea for the story is Leslie's. She made me smile and laugh from the sheer thought of it and I told her I would try and repay the favor. I hope the fic helps Ridley feel better. I know the head cold is a pain in the a... plus her job sucks this time of year. And for the rest of my crew... thanks. The thought of you guys makes my day bearable.


"This...is all your fault."

"My fault." Sam threw a look of pure disgust towards the man behind the wheel. "How the hell is this my fault?"

Dean took his eyes off the object in front of him long enough to give his brother a deadly glare. "Because, asshole, you are the navigator. You have the map. You're suppose to find us the simplest route from point A to point B!" Winchester's voice had risen to punctuate each word.

Sam huffed and then flipped the irate driver the middle finger, turning to stare out the passenger's side window.

"Damnit to fucking hell!" Dean twisted the steering wheel, picturing the article in front of him under his hands. "Shouldn't there be a law or something. I mean, look at it. It's not even... I can't even describe what it isn't!"

Sam sighed, begrudgingly glancing at the motor vehicle causing his brother such distress. True, it was a specimen like he'd never seen, but what did Dean expect him to do about it.

"What do you expect me to do about it?"

A low growl rivaled the Impala's as Dean's hands tightened on the wheel. "I expect you to find me a way AROUND THIS THING!" He punctuated his response with two long, drawn blows from the car's horn.

Sam rolled his eyes and grabbed for the map. "Well, I'll look again, but I'm sure it'll be just like it was the last ten times I looked." He snapped back, hating the man beside him for making him feel like a five year old again.

The Texas Panhandle map showed many historic spots of interest, but no roads more than two lanes for the next 150 miles. Normally, with the power under Dean's black beauty, they would have no problem passing the mythical beast dragging ahead of them. But for the last half hour, they had been plagued with mile after mile of tractors, cows, and horse drawn buggies. There was one point when Sam had been eye to eye with a long horned bovine. He shuttered at the thought of being speared by the sharp horn.

"Look. It shows the same thing it did before." Sam lifted the map and used his finger to outline the route they were currently traveling. "There isn't another stop for 25 miles and no roads intersecting with this one for at least 40." He tossed the offensive product into the back seat and gave a glancing glare toward Dean, before resuming his previous game of counting the bushes.

A mutter drifted from the other side of the car.

"What was that?" Sam slanted one eye toward Dean.

"I said," a deep breath, then, "it's an embarrassment."

Sam felt the need to bang his head on any solid surface. "It has as much of a right to be on this road as we do, Dean. Let. It. Go." He leaned his head back, giving up the one sided competition of bush watching.

"But...but." Dean threw a woefully pitiful look to his brother.

"Just say it." Sam reached over and patted his brother's shoulder, sliding his eyes open to slits. "I promise, it'll make you feel much better."

Dean looked from Sam, to the THING, then back to Sam. A suffering sigh, then Dean returned to it once more.

"A..." He gulped, then, "moped." The word was ripped from his throat and Sam was sure his brother would be coughing up blood soon.

Sam squeezed Dean's shoulder and then crossed his arms, trying to ignore the twitch beginning at the corners of his mouth.

"Who the hell even thought of making that bicycle wannabee?"

Sam rolled his eyes. Here we go again.

"It's an eyesore. It probably uses molasses for gas, which causes it to be so damn slow." Dean pointed, unnecessarily, to the slow-moving moped. "And to top it off, it's driven by some blue haired, 99 year old grandmother who's afraid to go more than 5 miles an hour to keep from beating herself with her wrinkles."

Yep, he was on a roll. Sam felt the twitch intensify.

"I mean, one good breeze will send her back to the Stone Age."

Sam started to point out, once more, that the woman wasn't THAT old and two, the moped was doing the speed limit. Which, was the main cause for his brother's torment. But just as he was about to open his mouth, something he thought would be impossible, happened.

The little old lady turned her signal on, indicating a right hand turn.

Miracles do happen.

"It's about damn time." Dean pressed down on the accelerator, all but pushing the bright red moped off the roadway.

Sam turned back quickly, making sure the woman and moped were still upright. What he saw made the twitch become a full-fledged smile, which was accompanied by a deep, rumbling laugh.

"What the hell's so funny?" Dean hadn't even thought to glance in the rearview mirror. He wanted to get as far away from the defect as possible.

"Grandma has something to say about your driving." Sam curbed his chuckles long enough to look at his brother.

"Well?" Dean spared a glance toward his brother.

Sam's smile split his face as both hands raised with twin fingered salutes. "Apparently, she's a hip grandma." The laughter completely took over as a sheer look of loathing appeared on Dean's face.

He could tell Dean was trying to come up with some sort of comeback, but really, what can one answer to that.

Apparently nothing.

Sam watched as his brother slowly reached over and upped the volume on the radio, letting Highway to Hell take over the air in the car.

Sam sighed, who knew a simple, two tired, red albatross looking moped could shut his brother up. This would definitely be something he would not soon forget.


The End

Jan. 2007