I'm totally in love with the fact that I'm not the only one who opposes Dean getting with Jo. Basically, I'd only support it if the relationship ended with her on the ceiling. Unfortunately, that doesn't happen in this story. So sad.

Thanks for all the positive, anti-Jo reviews :)

The diner was small, the only employees a burly waitress and a red-faced chef. Dust was collecting in piles in the corners of the building, and various small bugs scurried across the floor, all racing for the kitchen, trying to get there first to find the best crumbs. The two customers, brothers, watched the race with mild interest, the elder rooting for what appeared to be a roach with only three legs, while his brother cheered on the tiny centipede.

The diner was quiet, the only noises the scurrying of the insects and the sizzling of the grill. "You're sure you're all right?" Sam asked for the fifth time since they'd arrived.

Dean turned from the race, frowning as he watched his favorite to win suddenly lose an antennae. "Look, Sam," he grinned, "I'm a womanizer. It's what I do. I'm never going to stop doing it, no matter what. I'm sorry if that bothers you."

Sam rolled his eyes, but accepted the answer. Truth be told, he'd been a little freaked out by his brother's silent, broody episode in the car. It just wasn't like Dean to sulk, especially after spending time with a member of the opposite sex.

That was another thing that bothered Sam, as long as we're being completely honest. Ever since they'd met, Jo had been all over Dean, practically fawning. Dean, needless to say, had been a little preoccupied with his own issues and hadn't paid attention. In fact, there were times when he had gone out of his way to avoid her. So why suddenly take an interest?

Sammy leaned back in his chair and began to ponder, just as a resounding crash came from the kitchen and Dean fell out of his seat, a muffled grunt escaping his lips. "Son of a bitch!"

"What?" Sam asked, holding out a hand to help his brother to his feet.

Dean struggled up into a sitting position on the floor, holding his right arm and biting his lip. "Burns like hell," he responded, as if the answer made all the sense in the world.

"What are you talking about?"

Before Dean could even open his mouth the reply, the waitress came running out of the kitchen, her face flushed, hands trembling. "I don't suppose either of you two knows first aid?"

"Yeah, why?" the elder asked, finally getting to his feet, still favoring his right arm.

"It's Mike," she explained hurriedly, grabbing Sam's hand and pulling him back into the kitchen, Dean tagging along behind, "our chef. A pot slipped while he was making pasta, burned his right arm all up. Think you can help?"

Sammy nodded, asking her quickly for a towel. He turned to his brother, about to ask him to grab the first aid kit from the car, but found him gone.

o0o0o0o

Dean slid in behind the wheel of the Impala and closed his eyes, gingerly rubbing his sore arm. He started the car and flipped on the radio, letting the mind-numbing rock rush over him.

He could feel the invisible burn on his arm throb with each harried beat of his heart. Why did it hurt, why was he panicking? He'd been hurt worse than this before, had been electrocuted by his own stupidity, been gutted by a demon, nearly died at the hands of a beautiful reaper. So, why was this particular injury so terrifying?

oo0o0o0o

"You could have at least brought the kit in," Sam muttered as they stumbled into the lobby of a run-down motel, "that guy really could have used the help."

"Yeah, well, guess I didn't hear you," Dean replied gruffly, pulling out that week's credit card and passing it over the counter to the middle-aged clerk.

"King or two queens?"

"Two queens," he answered, glancing angrily at Sam as a little girl ran into the lobby crying.

"Jacki, honey," the clerk cooed, walking from behind the counter and dropping to her knees beside the child, "what happened?"

"Joey stoled my dolly," Jacki yelled loudly, making it apparent to everyone in the room that her tears were neither those of sorrow nor joy, "make him give her back!"

Dean swallowed, turning away from the child and her mother, who was trying desperately to calm her down, and towards Sam, who was apparently very uncomfortable witnessing the whole situation. The elder understood, it was an intimate moment between family, but that hardly gave Sammy permission to slink toward the door and out to the car. "Don't you walk away," he warned, feeling that now-familiar anger rising up again.

"What?"

"I said, don't walk away."

"Dude, what's your problem?"

Dean shook his head, trying unsuccessfully to escape the sudden, unbidden anger. "My problem? You're the one getting ready to walk out and I'm the one with the problem?" His voice was rising steadily, causing the mother to momentarily ignore her own child's angry complaints, but he couldn't help it. Where is this coming from?

"I wasn't going to leave," Sam said softly, as if speaking to a small child who was having a tantrum in the middle of a crowded supermarket. It had taken him a couple of weeks, but he had finally started to understand the sudden mood swings and incessant anger that had recently begun radiating from his brother at all times. "I was just getting out of their way."

"Sure you were, College Boy," Dean snapped as the clerk hugged her daughter and his anger finally began to inexplicably ebb, "I'm not falling for that one again. You were just trying to get out of dad's way, too, weren't you? I remember."

"I'm not going back to Stanford," the younger said, finally beginning to understand what the rant was about, "I'm not leaving again until this de-" he glanced at the mother and daughter- "until this thing is gone. Got it?"

Dean blinked, shaking his head, as the little girl skipped from the room and yelled for her brother. Just as suddenly as it had appeared, the rage was gone, and he was left looking at his very concerned brother. "I'm sorry," he muttered, stalking from the room.

"So am I," the clerk smiled, turning to Sam," kids, you know?"

"Yeah," the hunter nodded, looking out the window as Dean leaned up against the car and scrubbed a hand over his face.

o0o0o0o0o

Warm water ran over his body in small streams, falling from a slightly clogged and rusted showerhead. He'd locked himself in the bathroom, effectively avoiding his brother, as soon as he'd gotten into the room. Now he stood in the shower, trying desperately to clear his muddled head.

"What's happening to me?" he asked, running his hands through his short hair and spitting out the water that had started to pool in his mouth. Ever since his father's death he'd felt so angry, but then he'd finally broken down, finally told Sammy everything (well, almost everything) and then he'd just felt kind of empty. Empty, but somehow even more conflicted. It wasn't a good feeling.

He hung his head, letting his eyes slide shut, letting the quickly cooling water run over him as the confusion and concern that had plagued him off and on all day slowly faded, giving way to understanding and a kind of guarded happiness.

"Seriously," Dean demanded, unable to keep an awkward smile off his face as he flipped off the water with a quick snap of his wrist, "what the hell?"