Dean sat in the passenger seat of the Impala, reviewing the information his dad had given him. He shifted uncomfortably, the half-healed flesh wounds covering his chest protesting the movement. Dean was ecstatic; their father had contacted them twice in the space of a week, and they now knew for sure that he was alive. He didn't think he could have dealt with finding out he was dead. Not after all the searching and hoping. But still, John had ordered them to stay away. He wouldn't even tell Dean where he was.

Dean was pulled from his thoughts when Sam spoke. "Alright, so the names Dad gave us. They're all couples?"

Dean nodded. "Three different couples all went missing."

"And they're all from different towns? Different states?"

"That's right: Washington, New York, Colorado…. Each couple took a road trip cross-country, none of them arrived at their destination, none of them were ever heard from again."

"Well it's a big country, Dean. They could have disappeared anywhere."

Dean sighed silently. "Yeah, could've. But each one's route took 'em to the same part of Indiana. Always on the second week of April, one year after another after another."

"This is the second week of April."

Dean was getting mildly annoyed with his brother now. He suppressed the emotion and replied casually, "Yup."

Sam sighed audibly. "So Dad is sending us to Indiana to go hunting for something before another couple vanishes?"

"Yhatzee." Dean continued to study his map. "Can you imagine putting together a pattern like this? The different obits Dad had to go through? Man's a master." Dean looked up in surprise when Sam began to pull the car onto the shoulder of the road. "What are you doin'?" he asked, genuinely confused. Was it something he said? Usually pulling the car over led to uncomfortable and awkward conversations.

Sam shifted into park and turned off the car. "We're not goin' to Indiana."

"We're not?" Dean really wasn't following.

"No. We're going to California." Sam finally looked at him. "Dad called from a payphone. Sacramento area code.

Suddenly Dean could see exactly where this was going. He didn't like it. "Sam…."

"Dean, this demon killed Mom and Jess and Dad's closing in; we gotta be there. We gotta help." Sam said it as if it was obvious, as if it was the only thing they could do.

"Dad doesn't want our help," Dean replied, finally letting some of his frustration leak into his voice.

"I don't care," Sam challenged. It was a tone that had become increasingly familiar over the last years he had spent hunting with both his father and brother. It was the tone that screamed, 'You can tell me what to do all you want, but I don't have to listen.' It still got under Dean's skin.

"He's given us an order." Now it was Dean who was stating the obvious.

"I don't care," Sam repeated. Dean looked at him incredulously. Sam let out a huff of breath and continued. "We don't always have to do what he says."

Now Dean was getting angry. "Sam, Dad is asking us to work jobs, to save lives; it's important."

"Alright, I understand; believe me, I understand. But I'm talking one week here, man, to get answers. To get revenge."

And there it was. That hated word, the word that had driven both his father and his little brother to such extremes, had torn their family apart and repeatedly ruined everything he had always worked so hard to protect. He longed to scream, to pound it into his brother that there was more to life than revenge. Instead, he tried to calm him down. "Alright, look, I know how you feel…."

"Do you?" Dean blinked, his eyebrows furrowing. Sam looked away, then back at him. "How old were you when Mom died? Four?" Dean's expression didn't change as his brother stared him down. "Jess died six months ago. How the hell would you know how I feel?"

Something inside of Dean screamed out with an almost physical spike of pain. Barely forty-eight hours after Sam had shot him full of rock salt and tried to blow his brains out, he was lashing out at him again. And this time, there was no vengeful spirit to lay the blame on. Dean didn't know how much more of this he could take.

"Dad said it wasn't safe. For any of us." Dean could feel the anger building again, pushing the hurt to the back of his mind and clouding his judgment. Sam shook his head and looked away again. "I mean he obviously knows something that we don't; if he says to stay away we stay away."

Sam shook his head again. "I don't understand the blind faith you have in the man. I mean, it's like you don't even question him."

Dean allowed the anger to take over, completely drowning his pain. "Yeah, it's called bein' a good son." It was out of his mouth before he could think about it, and he knew it was the wrong thing to say even before Sam opened the door of the car and got out. But he didn't care. He climbed out of his side, turning to face his brother. He continued his rant as Sam opened the trunk and pulled out his duffel bag. "You're a selfish bastard, you know that? You just do whatever you want, don't care what anybody thinks." He was surprised by how calm he sounded, how little of his volatile emotions were detectible in his voice.

"That's what you really think?"

"Yes it is." Sam let out a small humorless laugh and closed the trunk.

"Well, then this selfish bastard is goin' to California." Sam turned and began to walk away.

Dean felt a surge of panic, but he pushed it away. "Come on, you're not serious."

Sam's steps never faltered. "I am serious."

"It's the middle of the night," he yelled after him. "Hey, I'm takin' off, I will leave your ass, you hear me?" Yet again, he covered his feelings with anger.

Sam finally stopped and turned around. "That's what I want you to do." Dean carefully schooled his features to appear nonchalant, a habit he had picked up during childhood. Sam continued to stare him down, and it was Dean who finally broke eye contact.

He shrugged and closed the trunk. "Goodbye, Sam." He could feel his brother's eyes on him as he climbed in his car and slammed the door. He started the ignition and drove away, seeing Sam's unrepentant gaze in the rearview mirror, watching him leave. Dean looked away when Sam did and continued driving, his grip so tight on the steering wheel that his knuckles turned white.

Barely five minutes later the anger had completely melted away, leaving him feeling hurt and guilty as hell. He couldn't believe he had just left his little brother in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night. He had to use every ounce of willpower in his being to keep himself from turning around and driving after Sam.

But Sam had wanted to leave. He had wanted Dean to drive away. Even if Dean chased him down and begged him to come with him, Sam would still leave. And that was what hurt the most.