"Dude, that part shop was definitely overcharging. We should have known just from the stuff on the shelf. I mean, five dollars for a quart of oil? Only if the oil has gold flecks in it, man! We can't afford this, what with the price of gas and food and lodgings and everything, stupid American economy, but yeah, it just had to be the only part shop in fifty miles. It was price-gouging. Isn't that illegal? I can't believe we let him do that to us. We should go back and salt and burn the place. Or just blow it up. I think there's an old marine buddy of Dad's living somewhere around here…we could go get some C4 and have our way with it…"

Dean had been ranting for a full thirty minutes, and wasn't showing any signs of slowing. Sam sighed, watching his brother drive and talk and gesticulate and vibrate with annoyance and tap his fingers to the music, all at the same time. It would have been impressive if it wasn't so annoying.

"Dean, c'mon, you gotta calm down now. It's not that big a deal. Not like we're spending our own money."

Dean scoffed and turned an incredulous stare to his brother, white all around his irises. "Of course it's a big deal! Just because it's not our money doesn't mean it's unlimited! And they're doing it to other people, too, helpless, innocent people who can't drive fifty miles for a quart of oil, and…"

Yeah, still going strong. Sam hesitated, because this power really ought to be used for good. But this probably counted—much more of this and Dean would drive them off the road.

He reached over, quickly so Dean couldn't stop him, and laid a hand on the spiky hair on the top of his brother's head, sticky with sweat and hair gel. Then he rubbed Dean's head, gently but firmly, in slow, even strokes from the front to the back.

Dean calmed immediately, flowing smoothly from agitation into relaxation. His limbs fell still and his head thumped back against the seat, eyes fixed ahead, slowly drooping. The words trailed off into incomprehensible syllables. He even made a happy little humming noise.

Sam kept it up for a little while longer, than pulled back, hand spread open in conciliation. Dean rolled his head over to glare at him for a second. "Dude. So not fair. Just because I was a mouse once and that still works…"

Sam smiled and looked ahead. The words were irritated, but there was no heat behind them. Dean returned his gaze to the road with a little sigh, still utterly content and relaxed, body molded into the seat, eyes drooping slightly.

Yeah, maybe this power should only be used for good. But it was an awful lot of fun, and it always, always worked.