"Awesome job missing that turn."

"Dean I swear to God. Shut up."

It was well past three in the morning. Buckets of rain poured down on the Impala; the windshield was thick with water, its wipers fervently whipped, trying, to no avail to clear Sam's line of sight. His large hands gripped the wheel hard enough to drain all color from his knuckles.

"You have no idea where we are." It wasn't a question. Dean glared momentarily at Sam, as his fingers rubbed carelessly at his tired eyes.

They were both agitated, not to mention extremely uncomfortable. Sam was pissed at Dean for making them leave their warm motel room to sit in the car for seven fucking hours, in the middle of a goddamn hurricane, to drive cross-country to work a hunt. A hunt that, mind you, wasn't even really that important. Yeah, lives were at stake, but they always were. They sure as hell didn't need to leave in the middle of the night like a demon was hot on their ass. I mean yeah it was an interesting gig, but then again they always were - just not interesting enough to sit in the cramped car with your ticked off brother, starving, exhausted, and with your ass numb. Sam was furious at his brother but even more so at himself for letting Dean drag him along in the first place. Though, lord knows, he had no clue why Dean was mad at him and acting like a complete prick.

"Why didn't you take that last turn like I told you to? You see this? It's called a map. When I say turn, you turn." Dean's words came out like a whip. His tone held that rough, authoritative edge that uncannily matched their father's. "You've got us so turned around." He shook his head in exasperation, and went back to starring out the window.

Sam hated when Dean got like this, like their father always did when he got himself into "drill sergeant mode". What he really wanted to do was to tell Dean to shut up with the attitude already because it wasn't helping anything. Instead, he decided against it and concentrated on keeping them from crashing into the nearest telephone pole.

"We're not lost." Sam cautiously leaned forward towards the dashboard with his squinted eyes intently focused on following the tiny reflecting lights as the road sharply curved. He glanced at his brother who was glowering at nothing in particular, his angled jaw tightly clenched.

Feeling Sam's eyes upon him, he turned his head to glare in response. "Quit staring."

"What the hell is your problem, Dean?"

"You."

Sam huffed and Dean scowled – frowning was fast becoming the only expression either of their faces held. Moments like this were steadily becoming routine. Lately each day seemed to consist of nothing more than arguments and uncomfortable bouts of silence. Sam hoped that this newfound unease was just because they'd spent too much time together – close quarters and all that - though lately there began to stem a nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach; something wasn't right.

Dean licked his lips then opened his mouth to speak. "Would have been there already if I was driving." He mumbled as another loud crack of thunder sounded outside.

"I said you could have drove, Dean…" Sam sighed.

"And what? Have you nag at me until we reach Georgia? No thanks."

"We should have stayed at the motel one more night. Should have waited 'till the weather cleared - like I said. "

"No way. Seven days in that hick town, every case we found was a bust; the TV was broken along with the fridge and everything else. I was starting to go stir crazy."

"Still don't understand why we had to leave in the middle of the night…" He trailed off as his eye caught the movement of something in the distance.

"Uh, because there are people out there that need saving and that's sorta what we do. And because Bobby asked us to do him a favor." His voice sounded with finality. He took a quick drink out off the coffee thermos that rested between them. "But mostly because I was sick of being stuck in the room with you." He smiled mockingly at Sam.

"Oh and us stuck here in the car is so much better."

"I'm so sorry." He began sarcastically. "How about you go and buy yourself a car that way you don't have to keep riding in mine. You know if you're sick of this whole hunting thing—"

"You're seriously going to bring that up again?"

"Let me know if you're done, Sam, and I'll be more than happy to drop your ass back off in California." He disappointedly threw the empty thermos into the cluttered back seat, which landed in between a wrinkled pile of button down shirts and a discarded fast food wrapper.

"So that's what this is about?" Sam rounded in on him.

"What?"

"You're upset because you think I'd rather not be here? Hunting with you? Is that it?"

"Oh God, don't start with the psychology crap again–"

"No, Dean, I'm serious. What's going on with you? I've put up with your bullshit for the past few weeks and I'm sick of it. You're tense, you're pissed about everything, you don't talk to me anymore –"

"I'm talking to you right now!" Dean's voice was sharp with anger, his eyes narrowed together. He did not want to talk about this right now.

"You're yelling! Not talking! So if shouting at me counts, then yeah you're real chatty!" His voice grew louder with every word; the fact that the road was steadily becoming more and more blurred wasn't helping his agitation.

Dean's eyes were fixed intently on his brother. "You done?"

He chewed angrily on his bottom lip and focused his eyes on the passing trees. "How many more miles after I-75? I don't even know if we've reached Tennessee yet."

He looked down at the crumpled map in his lap and loudly exhaled. "We should only be an hour or so out from here…"

Sam looked over at him, hesitant whether or not to continue the conversation. He cleared his throat and cautiously began, "Can I just ask, I mean, did I do something?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Would you stop already?"

"It just feels like you're keeping something from me." He peered over at Dean for any sign, any flinch of composure, that would give away whether or not he was hiding something.

"Stop talking and drive. Or better yet pull over and I'll drive. That way we'll get there before next week."

"So there's nothin' you wanna tell me?" His voice was patient and calm yet Dean could tell the question was aimed to go deeper than casual conversation.

"I dunno, Sam. What do I have to say to get you to shut up?"

The sharp crack of thunder brought their attention back to the road. Sam rubbed his hand over the fogged windshield in a circular motion. "Hey, can you tell what that says?" He pointed at a crooked road sign a few yards away.

Dean didn't glance up. "Ah, nope."

As a truck passed the Impala a huge wave of street water splashed across the windshield.

"This is ridiculous." Sam sighed and rubbed a frustrated hand through his hair. He quickly glanced behind him and spun the wheel causing the tires to peel and swerved into a parking lot. The place was a complete dump – not to say it was any different from their normal resting spots. The sporadic flickering of the muted orange lights that lined the rickety buildings had nothing to do with approaching spirits but more to do with the old age of the place. The almost empty parking lot consisted of nothing more than a few rusted trucks and an old Harley. Sam parked the Impala close to the building, the tires made a loud screeching noise as the rubber connected to the slick blacktop.

Dean turned to face him with wide eyes, "And we are…?"

"Staying at a motel." He jerkily put the car in park. The low growl of the car engine along with the steady pelting of rain was the only sounds amidst the silence of the night.

Dean searched Sam's face with a questioning look. "I said we're only a few hours out."

"So?"

"So drive."

"No." He knew he sounded childish but he didn't care. It was way too late and he was too damn tired. "I'm exhausted. You're exhausted. Let's just get some sleep and leave in the morning."

"I'm not paying for a room if we're only staying a few hours, Sam. We're getting back on the road and we're driving until we get there."

"No." He repeated with conviction this time, though even to his own ears he sounded like a bratty little brother.

Dean swiftly got out of the car and made his way around to the driver's side; throwing the door wide open. "Get out."

Sam looked into Dean's storming eyes like he was completely insane.

"Get out. I'm driving." He noted the urgency in his own voice.

"No. We're not driving any more tonight." He undid his seat belt. "Look at it out here, the wind is picking up, the rain is pouring down. I can't drive in this."

"Then give me the damn keys."

"I'm not giving you them to you when you're acting like this, Dean. We're staying."

Dean went to grab for the keys but Sam quickly turned off the ignition and pocketed them in his hoodie.

"You know what, forget it." He put his hands up in defeat. "I need to get away from you before I do something I regret." He slammed the car door in Sam's face and walked straight into the main building without another glance behind him.

"Fucking jerk." Sam quietly hissed. The hard pelts of rain made popping noises on the roof. He roughly jammed the keys back into the ignition so he could keep the heat going until Dean came back. He turned on the radio and sat fuming in the silence, musing over the same worries that had been evading his every thought for the past few weeks. The wailing screech of metal guitars and pounding drums from one of Dean's old Metallica tapes bellowed loudly through the speakers. For some freakish reason the noise calmed his nerves- not that he would ever admit to Dean that he actually liked his damn rock tapes.

It didn't make any sense, this intense rage Dean had towards him lately. Nothing really happened to set him off. It's not like asking him would help. No, if he tried to get Dean to – God forbid – share his feelings all Sam would receive would be a glare, a smartass comment, and an excuse about how 'he's fine'. Sam was accustomed to dealing with Dean's sudden outbursts. Hell, it was engrained in his being. When things got stressful, when life got a little too uncomfortable, a little too uncontrollable, Dean got belligerent and Sam got moody. They'd get bitchy for a short while, find something to shoot and move on. This time was different, though. This whole pissed-to-the-extreme exterior with really no rhyme or reason, it didn't make sense. Sam couldn't help but notice that Dean's present actions seemed to be forced, like he was trying too hard at being angry. It seemed as if for some messed up reason he was putting on an act. Though that made absolutely no sense because what's the motive? What's the payoff of acting like a jerk to your baby brother?

With a glance at the rearview mirror he saw Dean walk out of the dumpy building dangling a set of keys in his hands. Sam opened the creaky car door and grabbed all the bags out of the trunk. His long legs walked swiftly across the slick blacktop coming to rest under the neon blue awning just as a bright flash of lightening lit up the sky.

"Here." Dean handed a key to Sam once he came to a rest in front of him. A few drops of rain trickled down his freckled nose.

Sam shook his hair like a newly bathed dog – drops of water shot out in ever direction. His wet bangs flopped down over his eyes. "My arms are full. You have hands, open the door."

"No" His hand gestured the key dangling on Sam's finger. "That's the key to your room."

Sam's stomach did a slight back flip then plummeted like a lead rock. Since when did they ever stay in different rooms? A month ago they were hunting some weirdo perverted poltergeist in the girls' dorm at Indiana University. Sam had been sick with the flu and coughing up stuff all over the place and even then they stayed in the same cramped motel room. Hell, he even retched all over Dean's boots that night and instead of kicking him out he went down to the nearest 7-11 and brought him back a crappy cup of soup. So what the hell was with the need of separation all of a sudden? Sometimes he wanted to physically pin Dean down and force him to explain what thoughts went on in that broken head of his. Pinning him down might actually work, he thought. He did have the height advantage.

"…My room?" The words came out slowly, incomprehension etched across the wrinkled lines on his forehead.

Dean winced slightly in reaction to the sound of Sam's hurt voice, but he quickly shook off the guilt, immediately recovering his impenetrable, guarded wall. "Uh, 215, right down there." He nodded towards second set of buildings.

"Thought you didn't want to pay for one room, so what? You get two instead?" Sam's head tilted to the side and his lips pressed out in an aggravated frown.

Dean ignored the question and quickly turned on his heels, walking off in the opposite direction. "Don't take off somewhere." He called over his shoulder. "I'm not in the mood to go chasing after ya."

"Dean, come on." Sam pleadingly called to his back, awkwardly shuffling the bags. "This is stupid. You're seriously this mad at me?"

"Night Sam." Dean disappeared into his room, the slam of the motel door flickered the broken light on the wall.

'Yeah, this is just great.' Sam thought to himself as the wet duffle bag slipped out of his fingers and onto the rocky pavement. He stood there for a moment contemplating whether knocking on Dean's door would be a good idea. But he knew he wouldn't answer. If Dean wanted to get away from him, he might as well leave him alone.

With a sigh he bent down to grab the dropped bag and begrudgingly walked off in the direction of his room. A final crack of lightening cast a sharp white glow across the sky as the rain continued to poor down.