Dean stood in the shower, letting the hot water work some of the soreness from his body. His head hurt and his mouth felt full of cotton, but those were pretty standard side effects of industrial strength painkillers and a 36 hour nap. Unfortunately, the long rest had allowed the muscles in his chest and arms to stiffen. Dean was now uncomfortably aware that the chest muscles played a part in almost every motion of the human body. He turned to face the spray, wincing as the hot water hit the bruises and abrasions on his upper chest. The momentary pain helped distract him from the rising feelings of panic that had been bothering him in the weeks since Sam had told him they had to go to Kansas.

For once in his life, Dean felt out of control. He'd always been in control; well, as much as anyone could be in control when living a nomadic life and fighting unseen forces. He'd prided himself on always knowing what he was up against and how to take it down, how to watch his father's back and protect his little brother--on being the dependable one, the rock. And now, within the space of a couple of weeks, his brother was having visions, he'd been forced to confront his deepest fear and see his mother destroyed all over again, and his father was still AWOL.

Dean was running out of ideas. Sammy's abilities made him even more of a magnet for supernatural nasties, dad's trail was stone cold, and now Sam was beginning to resent Dean's giving orders--or maybe Sam had resented Dean all along. Dean pushed that thought away, reminding himself that his brother had been affected by a spirit, that he hadn't been himself. "So why did he hesitate before denying that he meant what he said--you know, after he tried to kill you?" asked the still, small voice that had lately come to plague the older Winchester with doubt.

But if their dad was still out there, sending coordinates...Dean latched onto the mysterious coordinates like a drowning man latches onto a rope. Maybe these would lead them to their father and some explanations. "And he has some explaining to do, don't you think? Ignoring you when you needed his help," said his inner voice again. Dean shook his head to clear it. At the very least, he could hunt. And hunting was all about control.

Dean emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, feeling a little more like himself. Sam was sitting cross-legged on his bed, staring intently at the laptop. He glanced up, brow furrowed.

"Did you leave ANY hot water?"

Dean just grinned at him, though Sam noticed that it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Nope," said Dean, heading for the medical kit and grabbing the ibuprofen. His careful movements didn't quite match his casual tone. Sam tried to count the number of pills Dean shook out of the bottle, but his brother anticipated him and cupped his hand, obscuring the view, then tossed the pills into his mouth and chased them down with a swig of bottled water. Dean indicated the laptop with a wave of the water bottle.

"Whatcha got?"

Sam spun the laptop to face Dean. "While you were taking a leisurely sauna, I decided to check out those coordinates--"

"Great, Sammy! Where are we going?" Dean stopped at the look on Sam's face.

"It's Charleston, Dean."

"Yeah, so?"

"Charleston is nowhere near anywhere dad's ever been, Dean. Why would he be making us drive from Illinois to South Carolina in the space of a week? This doesn't make any sense."

Dean merely blinked at Sam. "Since when has anything we've ever done made sense, Sam? We kill monsters wherever they turn up. Maybe dad needs an extra hand. Maybe he decided to go hang out at the Battery and take in the local belles--who cares? Is there a job or isn't there?"

Sam's gaze darkened. "Yes. Haunted swamp, a few disappearances." The younger Winchester paused and drew in a breath. "Doesn't this bother you at all?" he asked quietly.

Dean looked at him sharply. "Do you have some kind of hinky vibe about this job, Sammy? Something telling you we shouldn't take it?"

Sam shook his head. "No, but --"

"Then no, Sam. Nothing about this bothers me. Dad is the de-facto CEO of this corporation, so when he says jump, we jump."

"Just like a good little lapdog," Sam couldn't resist adding.

Dean managed to stop himself from crushing the water bottle in his fist. "We aren't talking about this now," he said firmly.

"Then when?" Sam challenged. "'Cause you know, if you think we can just go on like this forever..."

"What?" snapped Dean, staring down at his brother. "You won't? And what exactly will you do instead? What's the grand plan I'm missing here, college boy? What's the solution? If I'm doing such a piss-poor job, then please share your wisdom, because I'm getting more than a little bit tired of your constant bitching!"

Sam stood, getting in his brother's face. "It's not bitching. It's thinking! Dean, why would dad want us to run all over the country? Why won't he meet up with us? Don't you ever think about this at all?"

Dean stayed still for a long moment, then sighed and stepped back, sitting heavily on his bed. He ran his hands through his hair and looked up at Sam. "It's what we do, Sam. If dad is staying away, we have to trust that he has his reasons." When Sam started to protest, Dean held up his hand, placating. "Please, Sammy. It's all we've got."

Dean never said please. That, coupled with the look in his eyes, stopped Sam's reply.

"Okay, Dean. We'll go to Charleston. But if dad's not there..." he didn't say the rest. He didn't have to.