Sorry for taking my time. I just rewrote this last night. It's kinda short, but since I'm sick, I get this awful migrane when i look at the bright, white light that is my computer screen. hopefully I'll post chapters quicker when i regain my health, lol.

Damn it, still wanna watch In My Time of Dying... hmph. dial up sucks out loud... Can't wait until this week's episode though, it looks interesting... hmmmmmmmmmmmm... (this time, i'll remember to record it, thank God)

Okay, i still don't own Supernatural. (sighs) Kripke is a master, and so are the Supernatural writers. If I tried to take that over... well... I can't, so I won't. lol

Please read and review, I looooove feedback.

It was late afternoon the next day when they arrived at the next motel in Utah. Dean happily fell back on his real bed. Sam had been right about that rug. It had not only resembled puke, but smelt like it too. The sheets on his new bed reeked of mothballs, but it was better than puke.

"So what are we dealing with?" he asked Sam.

Sam shifted uncomfortably—he seemed to be doing that a lot lately, for some odd reason…

Dean glared. "And don't you even try to say that I'm not well enough to do this hunt. I am perfectly fine! I have to do this, Sam, okay? I need to do this!"

"No, you don't," Sam protested. "I can't do this on my own. I'm perfectly capable."

Dean shook his head. "I know, that's not the point. I know you're more than capable."

Sam's face turned puzzled. "Then what is this about? You know you don't have to prove anything to me."

Dean was silent for a moment, looking down and scowling. "I… Just let me do that goddamn hunt! I'm not going to just sit on my ass and wait until you say I'm ready to hunt again!"

"But you need your rest!"

Dean put both hands over his eyes, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes and letting out a frustrated breath. "If. I stay still. For much longer. I swear. I am going. To go. INSANE."

"It can't be that bad," Sam tried, turning on his puppy eyes that usually got Dean to do something.

Dean didn't look at Sam, knowing that if he caught the puppy eyes look, he'd cave. "You know I can't stay here. I know I can't stay here. I just… Every time I'm alone, doing nothing… I just end up thinking… I keep thinking about…" His hands dropped to his sides.

"You keep thinking about what?"

"Nothing. I just want you to know that I'm going whether you like it or not."

"Why?"

"Because I'm older than you, and I get the 'ordering Sammy around' privileges," Dean replied, flipping his hand in a nonchalant way.

"Like hell you do!" Sam stated angrily. It was the 'ordering around' part that had him pissed now. "Give me the keys, I'm going to do this. Alone."

"Sam, you need me for this hunt," Dean remarked evenly. He kept his face impassive and waited for an answer—it seemed to take forever for Sam to say it, but it had only taken a split second.

"No, I don't!" Sam shot back.

The wounds underneath flared again, and Dean felt the weight back on his heart. If he weren't so skilled at hiding what he was feeling, he might've actually flinched at Sam's words. He kept up an apathetic front, keeping his emotions from Sam's prying eyes. He pursed his lips and glanced down for a second, trying to ignore the ice knives that pierced his insides.

Sam didn't realize what he had done. He held out his hand. "The keys, Dean," he demanded. He knew this was for his brother's own good. Better here and brooding than out there and getting killed.

Dean took the keys out of his pocket, but instead of handing them over to Sam, he clenched then in his fist. He stood up wordlessly and picked up his duffle bag, and then, slowly, walked out the door.

Sam stood there for a moment in surprised silence, and then ran out to where his brother still walked. The parking lot was completely empty, save for the Impala… Sam almost tripped over his own feet. This was the scene…the scene he had seen in his vision months before… "Dean! What the hell are you doing? I told you, I've got to do this one alone!"

Dean turned back to face his little brother, almost cringing at the sight of Sam's face. But he collected himself and forced his expression to be angry. "That's exactly what I'm going to let you do. It's just as you said, Sammy. It's just as you said. You don't need me for this. Hell, I know you don't need me, for any of this. You can hunt on your own, Sam, you don't need my help. And, hey, if you don't need me, why should I sit around and get in your way?"

Sam realized. He saw it in Dean's eyes. It wasn't often when he would see raw pain in his brother's eyes—Dean was too damn good at hiding it. And now, it was either that Dean didn't care, or it was too powerful to cover it up. Sam knew it had to be the latter. "Dean, no—"

Dean ran a hand through his hair and turned his back on his brother. He closed his eyes for a moment, and took a deep breath. He shouldn't do this… He then opened his eyes again and glanced over his shoulder. "Goodbye, Sammy."

He eased open the door of the Impala and settled himself in the driver's seat, slamming the door behind him. For a minute, he just sat there, staring at the keys in the palm of his hand and wondering if he could go back now. Yeah, right, Dean scoffed.

Sam sprang to the door and pulled at the handle. It was locked. Desperate, he pounded the palm of his hand on the window. "Dean!"

Dean ignored him and started up the engine. He then pulled out of the parking lot and drove down the street, only half paying attention when he spotted Sam trying to sprint after him. He put on speed, and watched as his little brother disappeared in the rearview mirror.

Sam sunk onto his bed, burying his head in his hands. His breathing was heavy and his body ached from running after Dean for six of the longest miles of his life. It was useless to run, to try to catch up with a car, but Sam couldn't just stand there and do nothing while his brother drove away.

But he wouldn't just up and leave, Sam mused to himself. He's probably only going to go to a bar, maybe get laid, and then he'll come back tomorrow morning.

It was a weak attempt to reassure himself, Sam knew. He knew that Dean wouldn't have grabbed his duffle bag if he were merely going to a bar.

But then again, Sam really didn't expect Dean to stay away for that long. He knew his brother—or at least he thought he did—and his brother wouldn't leave him here, all 'unprotected'.

Even though Sam could protect himself just fine, Dean had always insisted on doing the job for him. It was like his way of life—he could just not protect Sam. That's why Sam knew…he knew that Dean would surely come back.

Sam nodded to himself. Yeah, that's right. He'll probably come back any minute now. He'll come through that door and say 'my bad'. Yeah… He'll come back real soon…

Dean gripped the steering wheel so hard, his knuckles turned white. His mind was racing, going out of control, and he found it extremely difficult to think straight.

It was right. I can't believe it was right, he thought quietly to himself. If I'm not needed by Sam, or Dad, or anyone, then why was I even born? Just so they could feel needed by me? That's a reason, I guess…

Dean shook his head. I don't care if they use me for their own selfish good, because I love them both like hell. But…I just…how could they…?

He squeezed the wheel even harder, if that were possible. He only took a hand off for just a second to push in a cassette tape and crank it up extra loud. He had driven in silence for much too long, and it was high time to drive the thoughts out of his head. Loud music was just the thing to do that, too. Metallica boomed out of the speakers, at a volume that Sam never would have allowed.

Dean gritted his teeth at the thought of his brother. No, there isn't any Sam anymore… There isn't any Dad. They're not here. It's just me and evil. Because even if my own family doesn't need me, there are plenty of people who do. Like all those innocent people, right now, being killed. They need me.

There was only one problem. Maybe his family didn't need him, but he knew that he needed them—more than either one of them would know. He knew he wouldn't be able to not think of them, or wish they were there alongside him. He just hoped that he would be able to go on without turning back. God, he really wanted to turn back… But the louder voice, the dude who usually didn't get to speak, in his mind, was telling him that if he didn't leave, and if he didn't leave soon…

He also hoped that Sam didn't think too harshly of him when he had left. Maybe he was pissed that he left—or happy he was gone.

Dean rubbed his forehead and turned up the volume more.

Okay, now before you kill me I just want to say... (knife flies from no where and kills me)

(glares) What part of "Before you kill me I just want to say" didn't you understand?

(is dead)

(someone forgets the ole salt'n'burn)

(comes back)

Okay...well, anywayz, please review. Don't worry about anything, cuz Dean and Sammy will meet up again. (Because you can't have a good Dean!angst story without lil Sammy there along with him.) Well, you could, but... yeah.