They drive in silence for days, just trying to get as far away from Chicago, and presumably their father, as possible. Sam doesn't know what to think. He's relieved his father is alive, relieved beyond words his father doesn't hate him, misses him. He's furious at having let him go. He's angry with Dean for insisting they go their separate ways, but he can't keep it up.
I want us to be a family.
It's the first time in his life that Sam hears Dean actually ask for something, for himself. Sam supposes he could count Dean's coming to get him at Stanford, but it's really the same thing, isn't it? And anyway, two requests in one lifetime instead of one, like there's a difference. Sam finally understands that all his brother wants, all he's ever wanted for himself, is his family. Around him. It's like all the affection, all the love, all the security he's ever had is tied up in these three bodies and their proximity to each other. And still, after all these months, finally having them in one place, Dean sets aside what he wants for whatever greater good he perceives is more worthy. So, as angry as Sam is for Dean's complicity in his father's demands, for letting the old man go, Sam can't really be all that angry for long because just like always, Dean puts himself second.
It makes Sam feel like a colossal idiot. Selfish. Even more angry for feeling selfish. Just because Dean doesn't demand things doesn't mean that he's not entitled to want what he wants, does it? What does he want anymore anyway? Revenge then a return to his normal life? Seeing his father again throws it all up in the air, confuses him. And even when he's sure, his wants pale when he looks at Dean. He wavers between guilt and duty to the brother who's never put himself first, who's never so much as voiced his wishes, let alone acted on them, and resentment for the same thing. For feeling like he doesn't measure up to Dean's martyrdom to John's cause. Back and forth. It makes him uncharacteristically quiet.
They finally stop in Seattle. No job has brought them here, no leads are popping out and Sam's grateful just to rest for a day or two. He wants to call Lilly. They aren't that far from her. He wants to tell her everything that's happened, but for the first time since he's met her it occurs to him that talking to Lilly, connecting to her, hurts Dean.
I want it to be like it was.
It will never be like it was. I don't want it to.
Colossal idiot is right. Selfish little bastard is right. Dean's resistance to her finally makes sense to Sam. She threatens Dean's sense of family, even though, technically, she's part of it. These last months, Dean's irritation every time Sam has been on the phone with her, Dean's shutting down every time Sam tries to talk about her, it finally makes sense and makes Sam feel like an ass. So he tries to make amends in the only way he can think of right now. He tries to take a page out of Dean's book and not talk. Not push Dean to talk, not call Lilly and spill his guts to her. But he's not used to this silence, to hearing only his inside voice. It makes him moody, sullen and it makes the atmosphere in the Impala worse and even more tense.
So to say that Sam is surprised when, on their second night in Seattle, Dean doesn't jump at the knock on the door, doesn't look shocked to see Lilly on the other side of it, is a freaking understatement.
