CHAPTER 1

Dean drove without having to think, ignoring the setting California sun that shone in his eyes as he kept the Impala going sixty-five on the 91 Freeway. He kept his expression dull and empty; it wasn't hard to do since he was pretty much empty anyway.

His hands moving expertly with the steering wheel, Dean's mind was able to wander. It was easier this way, on the road, where Sam couldn't look directly into his eyes, where he had the excuse of driving to distract his body from reacting to his thoughts...or memories.

Made up my mind to make a new start, going to California with an achin' in my heart. . .

The radio played a familiar song, and Dean didn't waste time trying to fight the impact the lyrics made on him.

Someone told me there's a girl out there with love in her eyes and flowers in her hair. . .

He blinked once, but he didn't move otherwise. Sam was staring out the passenger window and bouncing the fingers of his left hand on his leg. He probably wanted to be driving; he'd gotten used to being the one driving.

I think I might be sinkin'…

The freeway wasn't thick with traffic, at least not on their side. The four lanes heading the other way were crawling inch by inch. Dean pushed the Chevy up to eighty.

Tryin' to find a woman who's never, never, never been born. . .

Hating himself, Dean gave into the need and reached over to slap the radio off. He felt Sam look at him, no doubt with concern and some measure of frustration. Dean ignored him.

He pulled the car to the right, exiting the freeway. There was business to attend to in Riverside, California.

* * *

Sam tried to stare out the window and not think.

It wasn't working out so well.

For some reason, he was hyper aware of every little thing; the sound of the engine growling in a constant rhythm, the way the car rocked slightly as they sped along the freeway, the steady cadence of Led Zeppelin coming from the radio's speakers, and the stillness of Dean as he seemingly drove without thinking.

Sam wished he could be driving.

It was strange to think that not too long ago it was rare for him to be allowed to drive; a lot of things had changed in the last five months. Sam had been getting used to being the designated driver, and had even come to appreciate the Impala in a new way since...well, since the events in Ohio.

Sam began to tap the fingers of his left hand on his leg, feeling antsy without having something to keep his hands and feet occupied. He really wanted to be driving.

It wasn't that he didn't want Dean to drive. It was good for Dean to be driving again. Sam had been relatively relieved when Dean had stridden to the driver's side two weeks ago and demanded the keys. It was a step forward, a step away from the lingering effects of that day, that motel room, that sight…

The radio was suddenly silenced and Sam turned in time to see Dean's hand returning to the wheel, his dull, empty expression still intact.

Sam restrained the urge to sigh, somewhat concerned, but mostly frustrated. He tried to remember what song had been playing that Dean apparently hadn't been able to take hearing anymore. What was it…Battle of Evermore? No, not that one, it was…wait, it was Going to Cali- oh. Sam recalled the lyrics to that song.

Made up my mind to make a new start, going to California with an achin' in my heart. Someone told me there's a girl out there with love in her eyes and flowers in her hair…tryin' to find a woman who's never, never, never been born. Standing on a hill in my mountain of dreams, telling myself it's not as hard, hard, hard as it seems.

Sam winced. He could understand why those words would be hard for Dean to hear.

Even just coming here of all places; it was more than a little weird. Sam could only imagine how difficult it had to be for Dean. This was where Anna had lived, in her own dimension. This unremarkable city of Riverside, California was symbolic of so much that went unexplained during the long passed month of April. Now October, it seemed simultaneously that it had happened just yesterday and centuries ago. All in all, it hurt just the same.

Dean's decision to head here had been a surprise to say the least. Sam had noticed he'd been on the computer alot lately; Dean had become the official job-finder, but until then they'd mostly stayed in the southern states, taking whatever hunts Dean suggested they take. Then, last week, Dean suddenly grabbed their stuff and said they needed to head for California, that there was a job to do there and they needed to go. He hadn't really given Sam any details, saying something about an angry spirit and orange groves, but Sam had decided not to push it.

Dean didn't talk much these days anyway.

"You hungry?" Dean asked.

Sam pulled himself out of his thoughts and looked at his brother before nodding.

"Yeah, sure."

Dean did that alot too; he asked if Sam was hungry, if Sam was tired, if Sam wanted to do this or do that. It was like Dean only ate or slept or did anything when Sam wanted to, like he had no desire anymore.

It was...sad.

At first glance, Dean seemed together enough. He still stood tall, he still took point, he still played the part of protector and brother, but he was just so quiet.

And secretive.

Sam tried to tell himself it was nothing at first, just his imagination; but more often than not Dean was shutting the laptop when he entered the room, taking off to undisclosed areas of the library during research lulls, and staring off into space in deep thought when he thought Sam wasn't paying attention. Sam was no idiot; Dean was hiding something.

They pulled up to a drive-thru and ordered the same fast food trash they always did. The drive down Van Buren Blvd was quiet as Sam thought and worried. They tooks a few streets until they came to the Woodcrest Airport Inn. The building was situated about fifty feet away from an old air force base turned museum. They pulled in and Sam went to get the room while Dean grabbed the stuff from the trunk. Out of habit, Sam picked a prime numbered room: 3. Room numbers mattered for them nowadays. He met Dean outside and grabbed his bag before leading the way to their room. When they reached the door with a gritty looking number three nailed in it, Sam put in the key and turned.

"Why'd you pick this one?" Dean asked. Sam turned to see that Dean was staring at the number three. He wasn't angry or upset, but his expression was almost...defensive. It was weird.

"What?"

"I mean, did they pick it for you or did you ask for it?" Dean was talking fast the way people do when they're giving an excuse for saying something stupid. Sam blinked.

"Why?" Dean gave the tiniest grunt and then hitched his bag higher on his shoulder, his face an unintelligable mask.

"Nevermind." Dean reached around Sam and shoved the door open before heading inside and leaving Sam confused on the thresh hold.

The younger hunter shook his head and followed him.

Dean was ansty the entire night.

Sam could tell when Dean was anxious about something, and it was obvious that something was eating at his big brother; he was sharpening his knives. Usually, Dean cleaned the guns or counted ammunition when he was relaxed. He only ever sharpened his knives when he was nervous or hiding something.

The problem was that it could've been either, and Sam couldn't decide which it was. He knew that being in California could easily be making Dean nervous; Jess had died here, Anna had sort of lived here, more than one job had gone awry here. Yet Sam couldn't shake the feeling that there was something he was missing, and that made him think that there was something Dean wasn't telling him.

So Sam sat in the quiet with his brother until nearly one o'clock, researching their hunt while Dean shaprened his knives. It was twelve after when Dean suddenly dropped everything and grabbed his jacket.

"I'll be right back," he said. Sam leaned back in his chair and half lifted his hands in question as his brother started to head for the door.

"Wait - Dean!"

"I'll be back Sammy." He hadn't even turned around, just kept walking. He grasped hold of the doorknob.

"Dean, wait," Sam was seriously concerned now; Dean didn't just take off like this, "just hold on a second already," Sam was standing in the middle of the room now,"where are you going? What's going on?"

Dean stopped with his hand on the door, but he still didn't turn. He just stood there, like he was fighting something. Sam stared at him, and he saw Dean shoulders fall as he lost the fight and turned around.

"Sam..." he began, then just kinda stood there.

And it was the strangest thing, but standing there in a stupid motel room with bad lighting and off-white towels, Sam and Dean stood five feet away from eachother and Sam knew something big was coming. He looked at Dean who was averting his eyes and looking angry at himself, and he suddenly knew that he had to say something and now, because he might not get a chance to later. It was the strangest and strongest feeling Sam had felt in a while, and it scared him more than anything had in just as long. He wanted to ask his brother what he was hiding, because he knew now that there was something he didn't know, that whatever Dean was keeping from him wasn't menial or insignificant, but drastic and dangerous. He knew without a doubt that the reason Dean didn't want to look at him was because he knew Sam would see through him, and Sam was scared, scared that something was beginning that Dean wasn't going to let him help with. Sam tried to say something, but he couldn't figure out exactly what to say. It was Dean that spoke first, however.

"I want you to know something, ok?" Dean was talking quietly, like he had to push himself to say this and restrain himself from saying too much at the same time, "I want to tell you something and I just, I just want you to hear it and that's it ok?" Sam felt the air thicken, and whether it was with tension or emotion he couldn't tell. He nodded even though Dean still wasn't looking at him, and he listened while his brother continued.

"You...you're my brother. And-and my best friend. And I'm always going to take care of you, and I'm never gonna let anything hurt you. I just," Dean took a breath, and Sam found it hard to keep standing when he heard the tremble in that breath, "I just want to tell you...just once that-that I..." Sam could feel his eyes getting hot, and he suddenly wanted to tell Dean not to say anything else, that he didn't have to, that Sam knew and that he did too. But Dean seemed unable to say it, and he kept going as if he hadn't been about to, "and I'll never just leave you alone," Dean suddenly lifted his gaze, and if Sam had been less of a man he might have had to step back from it, because Dean's eyes were so filled with every kind of meaning that it was hard to see, "and I will always, always come back. Ok?" Dean was looking at him, waiting for a response, and all Sam could do was nod, even though he wanted to say something, even though he wanted to shout and yell and demand Dean explain what the heck was starting, where the heck he was going, and what the heck did he mean he would come back? Sam just nodded, and before he could find it within himself to do anything else, Dean had turned and left, shutting the door behind him and leaving the room much too quiet.

It was about thrity seconds before he started to panic.

Sam felt like the world was whirling around him, and he didn't bother to grab a jacket, only his gun before he burst out of the room, expecting to hear the rumble of the Impala driving off into the night.

Outside, it was quiet. The Impala was where they'd parked it. In fact, Sam reached into his pocket and realized he had the keys.

With a sudden burst of inspiration, Sam dashed back inside and pulled up his online history, scrolling down as far as it would go and settling on the very last recorded visit, a mapquest link from just over five months ago. He clicked on the link and saw the address that Anna had given him before they'd known she was from another world. The number itself didn't exist here, but the street did.

Sam didn't even turn his computer off before he ran out and jumped into the Impala. He tore out of the parking lot, certain that he would find Dean somewhere along the street named Norwich.

The street where Anna used to live in a dimension they could never hope to reach.