NOVEMBER

"Go to hell, Sam."

"Come on Dean, just listen to me. I really think something's wrong with Dad."

Dean pressed harder on the Impala's accelerator. Maybe if he went fast enough, he would leave Sam behind. "No there's not. He's fine."

Sam stared at him, boring a hole into the side of Dean's head. "He hasn't been himself for a long time now and you know it. It started with the zombies in Iowa, remember?"

Dean ran a hand over his head, trying to school his anger. "You're still bitching about that? It was four freaking months ago, Sam! Get over it!" His shoulders tensed painfully and his knuckles turned white as they curved over the steering wheel.

Why demanding explanations Dean didn't want to think about?

Outside, pools of light slid over the black car as they passed under the streetlights. It was late and the roads were dark and empty. The Impala's engine rumbled loudly in the deserted streets.

Sam was staring at him. "He brought the wrong bag," he said slowly, the words icy. "We could have died in that basement. We would have become zombies and you would have had to blow our brains out. Literally. You don't think there's anything wrong with that?"

Dean flinched and quickly turned towards away, pretending to read the street signs. "So he's been preoccupied for a couple weeks. We just visited Mom. Give the guy a break."

"We visited Mom a few weeks ago. The zombie incident was a long time before that."

Dean lifted his hand from the steering wheel in exasperation. "What do you want me to say, Sam? Maybe Dad is just in a mood- you know, like the thing you're always in."

"Why are you defending him?" Sam raised his voice, his shoulders high and tight. "Dad only has one mood, and it's 'hunt'." He looked away, his own words seeming to upset him further. When he looked back to Dean, his expression was hard. "Talk to him. Figure out what the hell is wrong with him and fix it before he costs us a job."

"Dad's not the talking kind of guy, Sam."

"So make him. He always listens to you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what is sounds like. Come on, Dean- it's obvious that your opinion is always more valid than mine."

"That is such bullshit," he grumbled, feeling a headache begin to blossom behind his eyes. "Just stop talking, okay? Stop before you say something stupid. You're acting like an 18 year-old hormonal brat."

Sam opened his mouth to reply but Dean cut him off. "Look, we're here. Can you try and pretend to be nice, just until we get back to the motel?"

Dean turned the car onto the dark street. Sam crossed his arms. "Fine. Whatever."

Up ahead, John was waiting by the truck, his duffle bag on the ground next to the rear tire. As the Impala approached, he stopped pacing and looked up, a frown etched deeply on his face.

"He looks pissed," Sam noted flatly.

"The truck broke down an hour ago. You'd be pissed too if you were standing here, waiting."

Dean shifted into park and turned off the engine. Not sparing a glance at his brother, he pushed open the door and got out. "Hey," he greeted as he grabbed the jumper cables from the back seat.

"What took you so long?"

"Sorry," Dean offered. "We got here as fast as we could."

John shook his head. "Let's move. I don't want the cops coming around."

Dean nodded, forcing his father's fowl mood to roll off his shoulders. Sam stood quietly, leaning against the Impala. There really wasn't anything for him to do and for that, Dean was grateful. The longer Sam and John could avoid each other, the better.

John took one end of the cables and headed towards the truck as Dean lifted the Impala's hood.

"Positive," John grunted.

Dean attached the positive cable to the Impala's battery. "Positive." He then attached the negative. "Negative."

"Ready."

Dean leaned in through the driver's side window and turned on the Impala. It rumbled to life. Now, they had to wait while the truck's battery took charge.

He glanced at Sam, who leaned against the Impala with his arms crossed and his face stony- but his eyes burned with smoldering anger. Dean looked away, stifling a sigh. It was going to be a long night.

Dean turned his attention to his father instead. "You find the ammo?" he asked, moving to stand beside John.

"Yeah."

Dean nodded. "So we're good?"

"Yeah."

"Good."

John said nothing, just stared straight ahead.

Dean sighed. "So it just up and died, huh? No warning or anything?"

"Dean, just shut up," John growled. "It's an old truck. We've been running our asses off for the past few months. I haven't exactly had the time to play mechanic."

"Tomorrow after breakfast, I could-"

"No, I'll do it." John ran a hand through his hair, slowly turning away. "You worry about your own car. We've covered a lot of miles recently. I want you to change the oil and check all the cables, understand? We can't afford another slip-up like this."

"Yes sir."

"Good boy." John nodded towards Sam. "What's with him?"

Dean glanced at Sam, who was still brooding next to the Impala. Across the dark alley, Sam met their gaze, then looked away quickly.

"That time of the month, I guess."

"Well he better snap out of it," John muttered. "I need him sharp. We're getting closer to catching the demon everyday."

"He's always sharp when it comes to hunting," Dean replied, not liking John's overly condescending tone. "He pulls his weight."

"He pulls his weight when it's of interest to him," John shot back.

Dean felt himself sliding towards an ugly confrontation. "I'm going to check the battery."

He wandered over to the truck and away from the choking tension. Sam still hadn't moved and John was now searching the streets, his face hard. Dean sighed and loosened his shoulders, then casually peered at the truck's engine.

"What the…" he muttered, frowning. The battery terminals where his father had attached the cable were heavily covered in blueish-white corrosion- in fact, the cable didn't have any contact with the battery terminal. It was impossible for the truck to take a charge like this. The corrosion should have been cleaned off first.

Dean looked up at his father, who was still watching the road. John knew better than this. He was a mechanic and the problem was an obvious one. There was no way he could've missed something like this. Why were they standing here, wasting time?

"Let's try starting her up," Dean suggested, forcing his voice to remain steady. He headed back to the Impala, keeping his eyes on the ground. A storm of uncertainty brewed inside him and he moved delicately.

John returned to his truck and they removed the cables, throwing them to the ground. Without a word, John got in the truck and started it. The engine rumbled to life instantly.

Dean stared. It was impossible. There was no way the truck should have started… unless it wasn't dead to begin with. But why would their father call them out here if there was nothing wrong? Why would he risk an encounter with the police? Why were they wasting time?

"Great." John shouted over the engines. "I'll meet you boys back to the motel."

"Uh, yeah… okay," Dean replied numbly. He dropped the Impala's hood and got in. Sam was already in the passenger seat, playing with his cell phone.

"Is it going to hold out?"

"Yeah," Dean said absently. He shifted into reverse and backed out on to the main street. There had to be a plausible explanation here somewhere. There had to be. Their father didn't overlook details, ever. Car batteries don't die, only to come to life by themselves an hour later. Dean chewed his lip. It just didn't make any sense. He was missing something.

"Listen, Dean. About what I said before…" Sam trailed off, waiting.

Dean shook his head, lost in thought. "Whatever. It's okay."

Sam's eyebrows shot up. "It's okay? Who are you and what have you done with Dean?"

"What?"

Sam was staring at him. "Are you okay?"

He rolled his eyes. "I'm fine."

"You're fine."

"Yes, Sam. I'm fine. Just shut up, okay?"

Sam made an indignant sound. "Okay, mind filling me in here? What the hell happened back there?"

Dean sighed, glancing in the rear view mirror. "Nothing happened. I just think that maybe something is a little… off, with dad."

"Really? So you're saying I'm right?"

"I'm saying I think there's something not right," Dean growled. "Whether it's you or him or both of you, I'm not sure."

Sam was quiet for a moment, then, "What happened back there? Did he say something?"

"No."

"Well, what? Tell me."

"He didn't say anything, Sam! Just drop it." His bad mood was returning, fueled by Sam's insistence.

"You're the one that brought it up!" Sam shot back. "What'd he do?"

Dean shook his head, clenching his jaw. Sam did not need more ammunition to use against their father. Dean could figure this one out on his own. "I'll tell you later. I'm serious. Just drop it, please."

The seldom-spoken politeness silenced Sam. He looked out the window, saying nothing more.

Dean's appreciated the silence, despite the hard feelings between them. There was something going on, something big enough to distract John not only from hunts, but from everyday life as well. Sam was right- their father was getting sloppy. Details slipped past him more and more frequently. He was getting moodier. And now, there were things like this, which made absolutely no sense.

Dean pushed the gas pedal harder.

What the hell was going on?