A/N: Hello all! The hunt begins…but not before the boys have some angst-inducing encounters.

Contains Chick-Flick moments-don't tell Dean. ;)

( ) ( ) ( )

A couple days later, Dean was 48 hours into feeling strong and good and he was jumping out of his skin at the idea of leaving the bunker. Sam spent the day packing the car and turning down the blaring music emanating from Dean's room. Happy to have Dean be so Dean, Sam began to smile, and slowly started becoming more and more like Sam. While both brothers were beginning to fall back into their personalities, it meant that their more negative natural tendencies were also creeping back. Dean was becoming restless and pushy-waving off Sam's offers of help and snapping back that he could do it himself. Likewise, Sam's anxieties were exponentially rising and he was obsessed with making all kinds of plans. How many pit stops should he plan? Would the trip need two days? It was a six hour drive straight there but he knew they'd have to stop. Though they'd both done their share of long trips, six hours of driving wasn't fun and Sam wouldn't have a reliever. On top of that, Dean's leg wouldn't do well being cramped for too long and if he had a seizure they'd have to stop driving all together. So Sam planned for any and all scenarios and on top of that, planned for multiple contingencies. His biggest concern, though, he didn't know how to work around.

Dean hadn't been out of the bunker in months and it's not like many people had stopped by. Sam was afraid that he and Dean would both have some social shock when they finally stepped foot outside. Even ignoring that potential disaster, where would they go? Despite the Winchesters' countless road trips there was always a destination. Sam considered going to Jody's and if he could make sure that Alex and Claire would be away; the boys loved those girls like family but Claire's filter wasn't exactly impermeable. Sam, at the moment, didn't trust her not to say the wrong thing to Dean. But risks aside, the Sioux Falls girls would be the best option, Sam hoped. If he could convince his brother to take the trip, it would at least give them a destination, a focus, and a familiar face. One familiar, friendly face, he was hoping they could handle.

Despite all this, however...despite the detailed planning and foresight...there was one reality that Sam could not bring himself to face.

Baby.

Dean hadn't driven since before the accident. And they both knew he would probably never drive again. Seeing the Impala...being in the Impala...he wasn't sure what that might do to Dean. He was equally convinced that it would lift his spirits more than anything else, and that it would launch him into an insufferable, possibly unsurvivable depression. To say that Sam didn't know what to do was an understatement. Instead of roominating in his own head, he decided that the best course of action would be to bite the bullet and just ask Dean. Easier said than done, he soon learned.

"Dean? I gotta ask you something and I'm sorry that I have to bring it up but I don't know what else to do." Sam was across from his brother-the carvings of their initials in his peripheral vision.

"Y'eh?" Yeah? Dean barely looked up from his laptop-clearly not as worried as Sam was.

"If we take this trip, are we taking the car?"

Dean looked up, relatively expressionless with only slight confusion lingering on his face.

"Wh't el'se w'ld w' t'ke? A b's?" What else would we take? A bus?

"Are we taking the Impala, Dean? C-can you… … are you gonna be ok with that?"

Sam's voice faltered a bit, asking the question itself was enough to flood his veins with empathy and sorrow. Dean shut his computer, leaned onto the table, and looked at his younger brother with pride; Sam had the biggest heart of anyone he knew and anytime it swelled, Dean was proud of how they managed to keep some of Sam's innocence alive.

"S'm. T'h c'r h's be'en s't'ing in t'at g'ar'ge f'r m'nt's."

Sam. That car has been sitting in the garage for months.

"W'hen you m'ke a s'pp'ly r'n I k'ow you t'ke an'th'r c'r. It's w'rse t' h've h'er s'ittin' t're be'in i'gn'red l'ke sh's l'vin in a j'nk'rd."

When you make a supply run, I know you take another car. It's worse having her sitting there being ignored like she's in a junkyard.

"N-o. 'M n't g'nna d'rv a'g'n. B't y'ou c'n. Th'ts go'od 'nugh f'r me."

No. I'm not gonna drive again. But you can. That's good enough for me.

As much as Sam was heartbroken at his brothers' capacity for accepting tragedy, he too was also proud. Trying to bury the conversation and save Dean from having to think more about it, Sam nodded and gave a stern, accepting affirmation. Dean leaned back in his chair once again, adjusting his ever-tense arm.

"D'nt t'nk 'm not g'nna r'de y'r ass 'bo'ut h'ow y'ou h'ndle 'er, t'ough."

Don't think I'm not gonna ride your ass about how you handle her, though.

( ) ( ) ( )

"S' y'ou c'll'd J'dy?" So you called Jody?

"For the 17th time, Dean, yes, I called Jody."

"A'n sh's c'oo'l w' 's c'm'n?" And she's cool with us coming?

"Man, you gotta relax. It's Jody-she loves us, Dean. I called and she couldn't be happier we're making the trip. She offered to come to us but I said we wanted to get out anyway."

"Y' d'nt t-tell me 'at 'fore." You didn't tell me that before

Sam looked over to Dean in the passenger seat and his cocked head met his rising shoulder-a mild shrug.

"I didn't want you to think that she was assuming you couldn't travel, she just...she was trying to make things easiest for us. Cause she's awesome like that-and she won't have any problems, Dean. I promise."

"H'w m'ch y' t'll 'er?" How much did you tell her?

"She already knows. Nobody thinks it's a problem other than you."

"S'm. P'ls 'jus s'top. E'vr'y h'nter 'kno'ws I 'c'me b'ck w'rong. No one k'nows h'how b'ad 't is. S' j'ust be s'tr't wit me and t'll me w'hat sh' kn'ws." Sam, please just stop. Every hunter knows I came back wrong. No one knows how bad it is. Just be straight with me and tell me how much you told her.

"She knows about the accident. About...you know." Sam knew it was an unspoken agreement that Michael's name was forbidden. "She knows how it happened. She knows that you don't move great, that you sometimes have seizures and that your speech is impared. But she also knows that you're still the man she knows and loves and respects and admires and there is nothing that will change the way she treats you."

"S'ure."

Sam gave up on trying to convince Dean because he knew that the tension and anxiety pouring off his brother wouldn't be able to be combated with any kind of reasoning or logic. They both needed to get back into the world; to start living in it again. Seeing people, dealing with problems…

They had always been used to improvising-to be the right men for when things go wrong. They'd become so accustomed to having no feat be too great; no challenge too big; no problem without a solution; no trap without a MacGyverism at the ready. Now?

Now they had lost their touch. They'd fallen out of practice. They avoided obstacles and challenges at all costs. Their routines were created on the sole creed that every action should be made as painless as possible. And coming back into a world of unpredictability and seeming chaos appeared overwhelming. Sam couldn't help but be reminded of his time addicted to demon blood. He feared the same phenomenon unfolding again. It all seemed so simple when he was addicted and only in his brutal detox did he start to realize that without the demon blood as a scapegoat solution, the world seemed too big and too scary. Sam and Dean had both been using Dean's condition as an excuse to ignore what was too hard to face: adapting. This trip, though, would shock them out of it and force them back into having to roll with the punches.

And that was a good thing.

Sam hoped.

( ) ( ) ( )

Sam pulled into the relatively empty parking lot of the Founders Creek Diner after two hours in the car. Things had gone well so far and Dean seemed to be settling in. While he knew it was killing his brother not to drive, he was still getting a kick out of listening to his music. Not a moments' thought was given to Dean's rule from so many years ago: Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole. Neither brother acknowledged the now insensitive statement and Sam was perfectly happy to listen to Metallica and Bob Seger for six hours straight if it made Dean smile. Needing a meal and a break from the confines of the car, a stop seemed in order and Dean had agreed; he even added that his leg could use a stretch. But as Sam parked, the look of fear on his older brother's face did not go unnoticed.

"You sure you wanna do this?"

"N-no."

"We don't have to, Dean. Not yet. I can go in and get us something."

"F'not n'w th'n w'hen, S'm?" If not now then when, Sam?

"Okay, then. Let's go."

"M'gna g't 't m'sef." Gonna get out myself

Dean twisted his torso so that his left arm could reach the handle and open the door. Successfully popping the lock, Dean bent down to use the shoulder of his bad side to force the door open. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sam leaning against the hood of the car. He was waiting patiently, giving him space, but staying close enough to help. Progressing, Dean concentrated on getting his leg outside the car which he successfully achieved. Moving to the second leg, he did the same. He rested for a moment, contemplating how with only one useful arm, he could balance while also pulling up his own weight. Never had he so considered the mechanics of how one gets out of a car. Deciding that he didn't particularly want a face full of asphalt before whatever hell awaited him inside the diner, he resigned to calling Sam. From his position at the front of the car, the taller man silently came over and offered his hand to Dean.

"M'de 't h'lf'wy." Made it halfway

"Didn't take you that long either."

Sam kept his arm offered to Dean as they stepped towards the front door but Dean politely ignored it. Glancing back at Baby, Dean didn't see any trace of the loathed blue card. As much as he hated the handicapped spot and the handicapped permit, he didn't want Baby's windshield degraded by a freakin' ticket.

"S' p'ut th' p'rm't-" Sam, put the permit…? Sam cut him off and spared him from having to finish the sentence.

"It's sitting on the dash."

Relieved, Dean followed Sam to the top of the ramp. Holding the door, Sam had Dean enter first and he was immediately accosted by a bouncy maitre d.

"Table for two?" She asked. Nerves tingling, he remembered that he didn't have to speak-he could nod. Doing so, he let out a held breath and let Sam be the first to trail behind the brunette. Thankfully, she led them to a booth and departed before Dean had to clumsily lower himself onto the cushioned seat.

"Everything good, man?"

"Y'h." Yeah

Dean wasn't sure he meant it.

They both sat in silence, looking absently at food choices and listening to the snippets of conversation from the tables around them.

"You find something to eat?"

"M'good, S'm." I'm good, Sam.

"Okay…"

Breaking the tension of Dean's nerves and Sam's apprehension was a bubbly waitress who was quickly approaching.

"Hello, boys! How are we doing today?" Thankfully, she looked to both of them and Sam responded.

"We're doing alright, thanks."

"Can I start you off with something to drink?" The redhead was peppy but professional and Sam spoke first again.

"I'll have a Coke, thanks." In the moment the waitress was writing, Dean shot Sam a questioning glance.

"And for you?" She asked. Dean's mouth went dry as his brain tried to remember how to properly form words.

"Uhh..w'tr." Water

Luckily, the pronunciation of the word was so widespread in its laziness that the waitress didn't give it a second thought. As she departed, Dean felt a tension in his shoulders fall away-one he hadn't known was present. Sam made no commentary and continued their conversation from the car.

"So we're about four hours from Jody's-maybe a little more if we hit traffic…"

Sam continued but Dean wasn't listening-he was too busy pronouncing words in his head...trying to match the easiest thing to say with a food he'd be able to most easily eat. It felt like a second grade activity-matching categories and drawing lines and finding which one didn't belong. He was starting to think the outcast thing-the term that didn't belong- was him.

At the sight of the red-headed waitress returning, Dean's hooked arm clenched in instinctual fear though no actual danger was present. Placing the Coke in front of Sam and the water in front of Dean, she turned away promising to be back in a minute for their order. Silently, Sam unwrapped the two straws, placed them in the glasses, and swapped the drinks: the soda now in front of Dean and the water in front of him. Staring at the new drink before him, Dean spoke quietly.

"Y' n'vr 'rder s'da." You never order soda

"And you never order water." Sam raised his brows in a playful defense.

"T'o'ch'e" Touche

Dean used his good arm to slide his drink closer to the edge of the counter and he leaned down to sip from the straw-foam and carbonation mostly filling his mouth as opposed to the actual drink.

"So if you're feeling up to it we can try to get two more hours in today and then I'm gonna need a rest so we can get to Jody's by tomorrow morning." Sam spoke while still perusing the menu but looked up to see blank eyes staring back at him.

"Dean?" Sam asked.

His brother ignored him and continued looking off to some non-distinct point behind Sam.

"Dean? What's going on?"

"N'thin." Nothing

Sam looked behind him in hopes of seeing whatever his brother had been staring at but found nothing remotely interesting. Suddenly, Sam was concerned that Dean was seeing things...things that weren't really there. God knows their psyches and souls had been through enough that hallucinations weren't exactly out of the question.

"Dean, what do see?" Sam asked a little hesitantly and Dean immediately knew what Sam must be thinking.

"See 'b'g g'l'win li'ght 'n a r'ly p'ssed 'ff P'g'sly 'Dms. T'hat's n'rmal, r't?" See a big glowing light and a really pissed off Pugsley Addams. That's normal, right?

"Pug-did you just say Pugsley Addams?"

"N't g'nna 'pol'gize f' l'vin 'tat 'wil g'uy. I'cnic." Not gonna apologize for loving that little guy. Iconic.

The would-be bizarre conversation came to a screeching halt when the waitress came back, ready to take their order. The dry, heavy lump returned to Dean's throat and his arm throbbed but he decided that if he stared at his menu, he could choke the words out as long as he didn't have to embarrassingly look at her, as if she was the reason he couldn't speak. He tuned out Sam's voice and waited patiently for her to finish writing and turn to him.

"And for you?"

"B-b-r-g-e-r. M'd'um." Burger. Medium.

Dean waited in a state of panic to see if she'd understood, but the brief pause of her writing seemed to indicate that she had.

"Do you want cheese or pickles?"

Dean shook his head-avoiding any other prompting or decision making. Unfortunately, it was never that easy.

"The burger comes with either bacon or we can do an egg instead, if you're feeling fancy. And then it usually comes with fries but we also have mozzarella sticks today if you wanted to substitute that instead…?"

She waited politely for an answer but Dean was beyond overwhelmed. He was seething that she had made this more difficult than it needed to be. Amidst his anger, he caught what he'd been staring at over Sam's shoulder: a reflection of himself. There he was, bum arm and all, captured perfectly in the window. He couldn't stand to look at it and he couldn't stand the waitress' stupid, goddamn questions. He debated sending Sam a desperate look-the look that said 'please do this for me'. But the reflection was still staring at him, daring him to give up. So Dean Winchester sat up a little straighter and attempted to slowly make his way through the information.

"B-a-c'-n. 'N f'r-i-e-s 'fne. 'Anks." Bacon and fries is fine. Thanks.

And miraculously, she tapped her pen on her pad for a final time and skirted away.

"Dean?" Sam interrupted his brother's moment of relief, but had nothing but motivational two cents. "I keep telling you that you're getting better. You really are. And not for nothing but she was checking you out the whole time you were staring at that menu."

Sam allowed himself to imitate his brother for a moment-missing the fact that it was something that Dean would have said, once upon a time. Before Dean could respond to Sam's remarks, they both paused at the voice of an older woman sitting nearby, though she wasn't speaking to them.

"It's nice that they have programs these days where slow people can still try and be in the world. All these nice volunteers who take the simple people out and make sure they don't have fits, try and teach them how to understand everybody else. That poor boy over there...I don't think he understands much but it's so nice that someone is willing to take him out and show him the town, you know?"

Without pause, without hesitation, or fear or stutter, Dean's gaze burned holes in the back of her head and he said,

"~H-he~ c'an u-n-d-e-r-s-t-a-n-d y'ou j'us f'i'ne." He can understand you just fine.

The woman turned a bit, catching sight of Dean's bitchy smirk and sheepishly sunk a little further into her chair and looked away.

Sam made no comment, letting Dean do and say whatever he needed to. As much as Sam was desperate to jump in-it wasn't his place unless Dean gave him the go ahead. They sat mostly in silence until the food came, at which point Dean shoveled in the burger and fries and thankfully didn't have much difficulty eating. Eventually, though, the tension that had been in his cramped arm all day was becoming more and more painful.

"G' nee'd D'z'pm f' m' a'rm." Gonna need Diazepam for my arm.

"You also want Depakote then?"

"G'ss c'n't aff'rd not to." Guess I can't afford not to.

Sam stood, and left the table to get Dean's medications from the car. The remaining hunter was undisturbed by anyone else in the diner, other than his own reflection. Dean attempted to relax his shoulder, and use his working arm to force the crippled one away from his chest. Succeeding only in hurting himself more, Dean gave up and nodded to his double in defeat.

Despite the fact that Dean was exhausted and angry and defeated (what a Winchester trifecta), he was proud that he and Sam had managed to hold together some semblance of normalcy and the old routine. The old hunting routine. Stop into a town here, grab a bite to eat there, impersonate, stalk, save, and get the hell out of dodge. While the last four things weren't exactly on the agenda, it was as close to their old life as they'd been in a long time.

So by the time Sam came back inside with the medications, Dean sent his window-self a challenging look. A look as if to say: I dare you … tell me what I can't do.

( ) ( ) ( )

The highways were unpopulated for the next few hours of the drive. Dean fell asleep, and Sam let his brother rest without nagging or interruption. Beginning to stir, though, Dean made a few unconscious moans and shifted in his seat even though he was clearly still out of it. Worried, Sam kept glancing over, making sure that nothing was wrong. Well-that nothing was worse.

"Dean? Man, you good?" Sam's question went unheard and the younger of the two started to worry that their little field trip was beginning to descend into the dark abyss of a bad idea. Dean had been feeling pretty well for a few days now. Except in all their preparations and excitement, Sam had forgotten that Dean became so easily exhausted. He doubted how much longer their lucky streak could last. Answering Sam's fears was Dean's sudden consciousness.

"S'mmy? Th'nk g'na … s'z'" Sammy? Think I'm gonna seize

"I'll pull over right now. I'm here."

"W'y 'nt D'p'kte w'rkin? B'ls'it" Why isn't the Depakote working? Bullshit

Sam pulled over to the shoulder, his eyes moving to Dean as frequently as he could manage without crashing.

"You still ok?"

"G't a'n'hr min." Got another minute

"Ok, let's move you to the backseat so you can lie down."

Sam speedily moved to the passenger door where Dean was already reaching out his arm to be pulled up by. Wedging himself under Dean's shoulder as he'd done so many times before, Sam counted to three and lifted. Shuffling back a few steps but still upright, Sam paused the motion to check in with Dean.

"I'll slide you in the back when you're ready." Sam felt Dean's hand grip his shoulder and maneuvering himself so he could see Dean's face, Sam noticed the furrowed brow and the painfully shut eyes.

"Dean?" Sam attempted to maintain a calm tone and remember that Dean could begin seizing at any point so he shouldn't be surprised.

"S'o d'zzy." So dizzy

On cue, Dean lost what little balance he had, and keeled over, puking just short of Sam's shoes. Pitifully patting his brother's back, Sam waited for the spell to subside. When Dean's spitting seemed to slow, he meekley stood again, eyes still closed. Practically whispering, Sam checked in.

"Can I get you anything?" Dean was silent, thickly swallowing. Moving to a more pressing question, Sam didn't wait for a response.

"Want me to lay you down?" Clearing his throat, Dean responded,

"Dn't 't'hin g'n h'v 'un. Ju's n'au'sus I g'ss." Don't think I'm gonna have one. Just nauseous I guess.

"Sorry."

"B'tr t'en al'tr'n'tve." Better than the alternative

"Not gonna argue with that."

"S't'pd 'dep'kt 'kes me ss' s'ck." Stupid Depekote makes me so sick

"Arm any better though?"

"F you c'ount a'ch'in 'n'stead of c'rmping, t'en yes." If you count aching instead of cramping, then yes.

Looking up at the nearby tree line, Dean cocked his head gingerly observing something that Sam had yet to notice.

"M' n't hal'c'nt'ng, r't?" I'm not hallucinating, right?

Mimicking Dean's line of sight, Sam attempted to notice anything that seemed noteworthy.

"..Depends. What are you seeing?" Sam's words were nervous, but not yet paranoid.

"Y'u see 'clw m'rks on 'grp 'ins t' 'ft?" You see claw marks … …? Sam couldn't decipher the latter half of the sentence.

"Where?" He clarified.

"P'ns. 'ft." … … Sam still had no guesses.

Disappointed in himself, Sam gave Dean puppy dog eyes and a serious pout in attempt to make up for his lack of understanding. Thinking for a moment, Dean was quiet before executing his plan.

"C'r'sm's. Y'u d'ance w't two f' th'se."

"Christmas? And I dance with two of these…?" Sam pondered.

Dean, proud of his clues, desperately awaited Sam figuring it out.

"C'mn S'mmy." C'mon, Sammy

"I'm trying, Dean. I feel like I'm playing charades!"

Silence dropped like an iron curtain-a line crossed.

Dean's face dropped-the smile wiped clean off.

Sam felt the hot rush of shame flood his body but he ignored the moment, still trying to piece together Dean's clues. Now was not the time for a roadside argument. Taking one more glance, Sam figured it out though he felt no pride or reward from his decoding.

"Christmas time...oh-Pine trees...and I dance with two left feet. Pine trees on the left. I got it."

Still shameful, Sam awkwardly held out a hand to Dean who batted it away, instructing Sam to just go check it out.

Dean leaned against the car, trying to determine if there was really anything there. He knew that it was likely that he was seeing what he wanted to, and not what was actually there. Losing sight of Sam amongst some of the brush, he called out.

" 'A'ny'ing?" Anything?

Sam's higher voice echoed through the woods as Dean once again caught sight of him-his tan jacket visible through the greenery.

"Well…"

"S'sp'nse 's k'llin me, S'mmy...w'nna s'are w' t cl'ass?" Suspense is killing me, Sammy. Wanna share with the class?

"It looks like… I don't know. It's definitely some kind of claw mark but it's not a werewolf, not a bear...I'll take some pictures and bring it back!" Sam shouted back to Dean, took an extra minute to take a few pictures, and then began the short trek back to the car. Emerging from the woods, Sam held the phone in front of Dean who was still relying heavily on the car for balance.

"L'ks l'ke 'wlf c'laws...a'ny dis'p'rences?" Looks like wolf claws. Any disappearances?

"Nothing I read about, but I'll do a quick search."

Sam took his phone back and promptly typed away-searching for anything out of the ordinary. His face scrunched up and he let out a confused sound after landing on a particular article.

"A couple towns right outside of Sioux Falls have had old men wander away from nursing homes...they're saying the three men all suffered from dementia."

"T'hree old m'n?" Three old men?

Sam nodded.

"S'm? Y'ou b'ttr c'll J'ody. I th'nk I 'know w'as g'o'in on." Sam? You better call Jody. I think I know what's going on.

"You know what this is? This is a hunt?"

" we 'btt'r g't a m've on, S'mmy. W're huntin an A'dl'et."

We better get a move on, Sammy. We're hunting an Adlet.