Sam couldn't believe how uncomfortable he felt simply by sitting next to his father on the pickup's bench seat as they traveled down highway 101 towards Coos Bay. After so many years and so many thoughtless remarks that could never be taken back he never imagined he'd end up in such close quarters with him again. The younger hunter swallowed nervously. He wanting to break the awkward silence in which they'd been traveling for the last ten minutes but rejected, as too volatile, every topic he thought of.

Noting Sam's reluctance to talk, John turned to glace sideways at his son and smiled. He himself had no such reservations when it came to asking questions or barking out orders and he broached a subject that had been on his mind since the moment he'd met her.

"When were you gonna tell me about Jess, Sammy?" John asked lightly and turned his eyes back to the dark ribbon of highway before them.

Sam heard the anger between the lines and thought, never, but knew better than to backtalk the mighty John Winchester. God, only ten minutes in his presence and he felt like he was ten years old again, afraid and mad all at the same time. "I didn't think you'd be interested," he replied flatly, his voice trailing off.

"Since when am I not interested in what you're up to?

"Since you haven't called me once since I left for Stanford," Sam spewed out and quickly wished he hadn't.

John just sighed, a pensive smile on his lips, and said, "I was just mad...and hurt."

"Why? Because I couldn't be the good little soldier Dean was? Because I didn't want to hunt?" Sam blurted out and surprised at his vehemence he wondered when his verbal diarrhea would stop.

"Sam, I know you're nothing like your brother. Dean was born for this, lives for this..." John tried to explain. He actually puffed up with pride for his first-born and a wide smile split his handsome face until Sam added.

"And maybe dies for this?" His father's face turned dark and Sam sighed, determined to spend the rest of his quality time with his father disguised as a mute.

"I don't really think Dean's dead; I just wanted you on board," John explained clearing his throat, "But he has been gone for three weeks and it's not like him to just leave a crappy cryptic message on my phone. Maybe it was a crocotta."

"No, that was Dean," Sam assured his father knowing his brother's voice as well as his own, "And maybe this one time we should just take what he said at face value. He doesn't want us to look for him and he doesn't want to come home."

The truck started to pick up speed and Sam knew he was pressing his father's buttons and that his anger was manifesting itself in a lead foot but he couldn't help himself. It seemed to him that whenever he was around his father he always said the wrong thing at the wrong time.

"Dean would never say something like that," John countered trying to keep his temper in check, "He knows I need him, that I rely on him."

Sam knew it was true and that the only reason he'd been able to leave home was because his dad still had Dean, his soldier of the first line. But every time he had caught Dean in an unguarded moment and really looked at him Sam could see that his brother had given up everything, every dream and aspiration he'd ever had and now every time he looked in the mirror he saw one of the main reasons Dean had done it.

Not helping his father look for Dean was never an option. It was totally screwed up but if he were put in the position of having to save one or the other Sam would choose Dean, the father John Winchester had never been. His older brother had always been the mediator, his primary caregiver and his friend and he would be forever grateful and, at the same time, forever guilt ridden.

"Maybe that responsibility's too much. Maybe that's why he's never coming home," Sam pushed again and John slammed on the brakes.

The pickup swerved off the road and came to a sudden stop on the shoulder. Sliding his arm across the back of the seat John turned and just stared at Sam who sat ram-rod straight, his eyes focused on the road's guardrail, his teeth clamped tightly together, his jaw working furiously. Lifting his hand John placed it on Sam's shoulder and he knew it took all of his son's resolve to not physically flinch from his touch.

"Sammy, I know we've been at odds...well, most of our lives," John started and squeezed his son's shoulder, "But I want you to know that I love you and that I'm so very, very proud of you."

Turning his head to the left Sam saw tears shimmering in his father's eyes. His throat constricted as his old companions, sadness and guilt, reared their ugly heads as John continued.

"I don't blame you for not wanting any of this, the killings, the salt and burns, the monsters. Hell, I don't even want it. But your mom, she left more than just you two behind. She left a legacy of hunting that started generations ago and to honor her memory and her sacrifice I carry on that tradition. And with Dean following in her footsteps, I guess it'll carry on long after I'm gone," he said and blinked back his tears as he paused to gather his thoughts, "So it's okay, Sammy. After we find your brother and you're one hundred percent sure he's doing this because he loves it, you can go back to your girl and your life. Just make sure to invite us to the wedding, okay?"

Sam just stared at his father. This was more than the man had said to him the whole last year they were a family and if he'd said those words at that time then just maybe he would have stayed. But he suspected that at the time pride wouldn't let his father speak his heart or maybe, in his heart of hearts, his father hadn't really wanted him to stay.