Disclaimer: All Credit to Kripke and crew!
It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves.
~William Shakespeare
A car whizzed by and Dean's leather jacket flapped in the wind created by the vehicles' velocity. The realization that he was in the middle of a highway hit him as he looked forward and was blinded by the lights of an oncoming car. Dean dove into the ditch in the nick of time. Sprawled out on the curb he watched the car fly by as its horn blared into the night. He raised his eyebrows as he pushed himself up on his elbows.
"Yeah? Well you try transit by angel juice!" Dean shouted out in challenge to the diminishing shape of the car.
Dean had been trudging along the country highway for hours now. An occasional car would zoom past him, ignoring the hitchhiker hand held out in the familiar gesture for assistance. Dean swore inwardly when yet another car passed. He heard Sammy's voice in his head say, they probably can't see you in the dark, anyway. They can't all be dicks.
"Sammy!" Dean said aloud, slapping his palm to his forehead. His brother was probably worriedly scouring the earth for him at this moment. Little did Dean know that at this moment Sam was sleeping contentedly in the motel bed right where Dean had left him.
Dean looked up at the sky, at the million points of light glittering like diamonds in a dark sea. It was then that he knew without a doubt that he was in Kansas. He'd recognize the constellations and their angle in the sky any "time". He'd studied them for hours as a kid from his bedroom window in the old house—not that he'd ever let on to Sam about that. It was almost as if even back then, before the horror of the yellow-eyed demon descended upon the Winchesters, Dean had known something bigger than himself was out there. The wonder he'd felt as a child at things big, beautiful and unknown had turned to a hate of things supernatural, deadly and all too familiar as an adult. With one last, lingering look at the sky, Dean heaved a heavy sigh. It was beautiful, and no matter what threatened it, no matter who told him it was expendable, Dean would fight for it, fight for what was good. Off in the distance a light glowed out of a farmhouse window. The sight comforted Dean for a moment. As long as there was something worth fighting for, they'd win. Just then the light went out and the revival of hope died in his heart.
But he kept walking.
Weariness tugged at his knees and his eyelids drooped heavily. He opened his eyes wider. There was a car parked ahead on the side of the road. Its hood was up and a figure was hunched over the engine.
Dean approached the vehicle and gasped when he recognized its familiar curves and lines. The Impala. He stood still as the hunched figure looked up and the greasy face of John Winchester became visible in the glare of the car's headlights. John jerked at the unexpected sight of Dean and drew his pistol. Dean instinctually responded by throwing up his hands and disarming his dad in one fluid motion—just like John Winchester had taught him. John thrust a knee into his supposed attacker's gut and finished him with a powerful uppercut. Dean fell on his back breathless and dazed, opening his eyes to the barrel of a gun.