"Well, look on the bright side, Sammy. Two Horsemen down, two to go!"

Sam glared up at his brother, somewhat murderously. He was pale a gaunt – the hours in the safe room had taken their toll. Bobby looked likewise exhausted, but the indefatigable Dean was clomping around, arms spread wide, and a bright smile on his face.

"Dean. . ." Sam sighed, rubbed at his face. Everything was still a jumble. He tried to find that niggle in the middle of his belly, the yearning for more demon blood. But his gut was just. . .empty. As abruptly as the thirst had come, it had disappeared. "Don't you think that we should talk about this?"

His brother screwed up his face, looking for all the world like he smelled something horrible. "Seriously, Sam? You really think I want to talk?"

"Some things never change," Bobby growled.

"You know what I do want?" Dean asked, rubbing his hands briskly together. "I want a hunt. A good one. You know, shovels, cemetaries, salt and fire. Get us back on our feet."

"Is he still avoiding it?"

Sam's voice momentarily clenched. He caught his breath, exhaled, drew breath again. Dean's angel still had an irritating habit of just popping up places, and while normally it unnerved Dean more than anyone else, this time he had popped up frighteningly close to Sam's face.

"Yup," Bobby said. Sam cleared his throat, uncomfortable. Castiel turned around, observed that he was nearly sitting on the younger Winchester, and without even an apology moved aside. Sam's lips twitched as he fought a smile. Like Bobby had just said. Some things never changed.

"Avoiding it?" Dean glanced back and forth between Bobby and Castiel. "Avoid what?"

"The Apocalypse," Castiel said. He was staring at Dean again, and yet again, Dean was staring back. These long gazes that they shared bugged Sam. More than bugged him. They were just irritating. The two of them staring like that. Sam didn't know what the angel was looking for when they engaged in staring contests, but he was pretty sure that the strangeness of it just banished all thought from his rather obtuse brother's head. Especially since Dean never had anything to say after the angel, inevitably, looked away.

"I'm not avoiding the Apocalypse," Dean said finally, when Castiel had shifted his body a little to look at Bobby, instead. "I'm not! I just don't see the point in running around looking for it. I mean . . .as long as Sam and I keep saying no, we're stopping it, right?"

Sam really didn't like his brothers' new mode of operation. Ever since his little angel-inducted foray into the future, and even more so since Ellen and Jo's deaths, Dean seemed to have decided that the best way to destroy Lucifer was. . .to ignore him. As far as Sam could tell, that plan had done absolutely nothing to weaken the devil. If anything, the appearance of Famine should have been a sign that Lucifer was growing stronger, not weaker.

"That's not exactly how it works," Castiel said.

"Anyway," Dean seemed determined now to ignore not only Michael, but all angels, as he scooted around Castiel, placing himself directly in Sam's line of sight. "While you were locked up in the panic room, screaming out for Ruby. . ."

Sam blushed. "I was not," he said. He was pretty sure he hadn't called out anyone's name, demon or otherwise.

"Sure you were," Dean said, grinning even wider now. "Oh, Ruby, please, I need you so bad." Sam was getting ready to punch his brother in the face. "Oh, Ruby, yes, you know what I like."

On the one hand, hearing his brother tease him was good. It was the ultimate forgiveness. On the other hand, the whole situation was intensely humiliating.

"Okay, fine," he said. "what's your point, Dean?"

"Right," Dean coughed. Dammit, Sam thought, would he ever stop smiling like that? "While you were locked up, Bobby and I found ourselves a case. Sounds pretty open and shut. . .people dying, all in the area of this cemetery."

He pulled a map out of his back pocket, waved it enticingly in front of Sam's face. "Salt and burn," he said in a sing-song voice.

"Doesn't that sound kind of boring?" Sam asked. "I mean, after everything else that's been going on? Killing Famine, meeting Cupid. . ."

That was finally enough to wipe the grin off Dean's face, replaced immediately with a shudder. "Dude. Don't remind me."

Sam grabbed the map, opened it up to take a look. One eyebrow quirked. "Paradise, Michigan?" he asked. Dean coughed.

"Yeah. . .uh, ironic name, huh?"

Over Dean's shoulder, Castiel and Bobby exchanged what Sam was almost certain was an amused glance. Had it been anyone but the angel, he would have been sure. As it was, he was mildly hurt. The angel could engage in staring matches with Dean, apparently had inside jokes with Dean, and still barely spoke to him.

"Fine," Sam stood up, ignored the brief rush of dizziness that accompanied the motion. He'd been out too long, obviously. Though the hours blurred together, he knew that he'd been in the panic room for almost a week this time. He'd seen the calender, strewn almost haphazardly across the messy worktable in Bobby's den. No wonder Dean was practically skipping around the room. He got stir crazy after a day in a motel. Sam could barely imagine the impatience he must have suffered, a straight week cooped up at Bobby's. "Let's go."

Castiel nodded and stepped forward, two fingers raised on each hand. Sam took an involuntary step backwards, and Dean practically ran to the opposite side of the room, his hands raised. "Whoa, no no no!" Dean said. "No! This isn't time travel, this is space. Back off, Wonder Fingers, we're going the old-fashioned way."

Sam wasn't a fan of the angel transport himself – it may him woozy and mildly sick – but neither was he looking forward to a twenty-four hour ride in the Impala. Dean might complain about the burritos, but in Sam's opinion he had way more to bitch about on their frequent road trips – onions, greasy burgers, loud mullet rock, and the irritating clunking noises that the Impala made among them.

"Dean, come on. . ." he knew he was whining, but didn't really care. He knew he looked pathetic after his week downstairs, and decided to use that fully to his advantage. Because as much as he knew his brother needed the call-back to their old, relatively stress-free hunting days, he also knew that he would never survive a twenty-four hour race across the country. "Please?"

Dean still looked determinedly against the idea. Sam sighed. Time to play dirty. "I guess we could always fly. . ."