Five minutes after Wiley and Sam hit the road, Sam's cell phone dinged in with a text message.

On my way, Sammy. Watch your ass.

Tucking away his cell, Sam tried to hide his relief. Judging by the look on Wiley's face, he didn't succeed.

"Sam –"

"Don't say he'll be all right," Sam said impatiently. "This thing almost killed him last time. We should've found a different way. One that doesn't involve splitting up."

"Dean's gonna be fine." Skirting around a discarded trash bag, Wiley kept his eyes on the road ahead. "We're hunters. This is what we do."