"Sam, we don't have time. If there's time after the case then maybe-" Dean was trying to reason with his brother. They were in the middle of a case and Sam was insisting on taking a detour to Palo Alto to visit Jessica's grave. Dean sympathized, but they had their priorities. They were after a spirit that had already killed five people and they only had a week before it was scheduled to kill again.
"No, Dean. I'm going. I can go today and be back tonight. I can take a bus so I can do research on the way there. It won't affect the case" Sam interrupted. He was really adamant about going. They were only a few hours away.
"Yeah Sam, it will. I can't have you all sleepy and distracted" Dean said, staring Sam down from across the small table in their motel room.
"I'm going" Sam protested as he stood and reached for his backpack.
"No" Dean said. He didn't want an argument from Sam. It had been a long boring day of following dead leads and research and he wasn't in the mood to argue with his brother.
"What? You can't just say 'no', Dean" Sam whined. It pissed Sam off when Dean thought he could just tell him what to do.
"Yeah, I can" Dean said as he stood, ready to physically stop Sam from leaving, if need be.
"Whatever" Sam said as he headed for the door. Dean grabbed his arm and stopped him. Sam looked at him then. Dean looked tired and Sam almost felt guilty for arguing with him.
"Sam" Dean warned as he tightened his grip on his brother's arm.
"Fine" Sam said dramatically. He shrugged out of Dean grip and threw his bag down on the table.
Dean plopped down on the bed and went back to the book he was reading. It was some boring account of the town's local history. He was surprised that Sam actually heeded his warning and was back on his computer doing research.
A few hours passed, and Dean was growing incredibly bored of reading. Sam watched him fall asleep. When the book fell out of his hand and he didn't stir, Sam grabbed the keys and sneaked out the door.
It was only ix pm, and Sam figured he'd be back by eleven. Dean would probably be awake by then, but he figured he'd deal with Dean when he got back.
Dean yawned and stretched out his body, ignoring the several cracks of his joints and the stale taste in his mouth. He hadn't meant to fall asleep but now that he was awake he wasn't too keen on more research either. Hopefully Sammy had figured out where the spirit's bones were buried so they could salt and burn the old hag already. Dean wasn't big on spending quiet nights in the motel with his nose in his book. That was Sam's deal.
"Please tell me you got something" Dean said as he rolled over. He didn't see Sam at the table or in his bed, and he could see into the bathroom. Sam was no where to be seen.
"Sam?" Dean asked as he slid off the bed. He peeked through the blinds and noticed an empty spot where his Impala should have been.
"Dammit" Dean cursed. He really hated when Sam took his car without asking. Sam probably went to get some food, Dean hoped as he pulled his phone out of his back pocket and dialed Sam.
"Hey, where the hell are you?" Dean asked through another yawn.
"Driving" Sam replied. Dean noticed something off in his voice.
"Driving where? Near any taco joints?" Dean said, still irritated but unable to ignore his growling stomach.
"M'not really sure. Somewhere on highway eighty three, or thirty eight or something" Sam slurred.
"Are you wasted?" Dean questioned, thinking Sammy better hope the answer to that question was 'no'.
"I'm not gonna answer that" Sam was, in fact, very wasted. When he go to the cemetery, he was overcome with guilt and other uncomfortable emotions. By the time he got back to the Impala, his hands were shaking.
He'd gone to a bar, originally planning on having a drink or two to calm down before he drove back. He ended up having quite a few more than just a few, and when he left the bar he wasn't thinking clearly. He decided he was okay to drive the hundred and fifty miles back.
"Dammit, Sammy!" Dean yelled. Sam's slurred response had confirmed his suspicions.
Before Sammy could respond, Dean heard what sounded like tires screeching, and Sam yelled.
Dean felt his heart skip a beat.
"Sam? Sammy?" The only response Dean got was the dial tone.
"Shit. Shit" Dean frantically redialed Sam's phone several times, but it kept going straight to his voicemail.
Dean tried not to think of all the horrible ways the scenario could play out before the night was over. Dean hot wired a car and took off down the highway at speeds usually reserved for supernatural emergencies. He felt his heart sink when he saw the Impala on the side of the road, facing the wrong direction, only twenty or so miles outside of town