"I don't understand why you can't come with me. Just… just pull over, turn around and take me back. We can get a place. Hunt. Work. Anything. Just come with me, Dean."

"You know I can't do that, man."

"Why not?"

"… Because."

They're driving down a dusty road and Sam's legs are naturally sprawled out as much as the tiny space allows in the passenger side of the Impala. It's not the first time Sam asks Dean to go with him. Or the second. Or the third. Sam has said it so many times within the last hour that to his brother's ears his voice has ebbed into a lulling hum of mumbled words. The words don't seem to have any anchor behind them but it calms him just the same; there's a strange comfort in hearing Sam ramble on, to know he's here right beside him and safe.

"Well, either way I'm not going back to dad. I mean it, Dean. With or without you, either way I'm gone."

Dean doesn't have to look over to know that Sam's stubborn chin is set. He reminds himself to focus on the trees flying past in order to stay awake. The drive to California wasn't an easy one and they've been out of caffeine for miles. It's been hours, long, hard hours since either of them has had any rest.

Dean knows that to Sam, the elaborate dream idea he cooked up is simple as pie: Sam can attend classes while Dean gets a job, maybe rent an apartment for the both of them, something cozy and close to campus… But it's just a pipe dream is all it is. Just one more thing that Dean can't do.

He can't let Sam continue the trek to the West Coast. Somehow letting Sam go is an insult to their father. Without both of them out there fighting the good fight, who is left to help inflict retribution on the ones that should suffer for their family's heartache? No. It's not right, taking the easy way out, living the "normal" life while their dad risks his life from town to town. And there's no way Dean's letting his little brother walk off into some unknown danger completely unsupervised; even school campuses can't be that safe.

Then again, making Sam go back home is even beyond Dean's control.

But what Dean can do is drive.

Maybe they'll never be three parts of a whole family again, maybe where they'll end up isn't exactly what Sam yearns for, but hey, at least they'll have each other, at least he can make Sam safe. Not Stanford but not hunting, just together in an in-between type of limbo that they can both live with.

"You hungry?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Stop if you want. I promise I won't bolt from the car or anything." With a curse word on the tip of his tongue, Sam jabs the toe of his scuffed sneaker against the glove box in a quick, angry thrust. Dean's about to call him out on marking up the interior but before he can utter a remark Sam's off again, scowling at the clouds outside. "It was dad that said if I was leaving I should stay gone. 'M just doin' what he said."

Dean hides a sigh under his breath as he turns down another side street. There's no use arguing the matter when he can't muster up enough energy to deal with a riled up Winchester. In his opinion it's sort of a moot point - that thing about their dad wanting Sam to leave. It's not true. Well, not entirely at least.

There's always two ways to decipher a dialogue and from Dean's standpoint it was obvious that half of what was shouted out between the two of them was just downright bullshit. What Dean was able to make out, what between the sheer volume and cacophony of cussing, was it all boiled down to the same damn thing: family. Both feeling like the other didn't care and yet wanting the other to care so much it hurt.

The memory of it alone has Dean shaking his head. 'They'll never agree on anything. With bullheadedness like that, either way someone's going to lose. A man prides himself on lack of emotional depth, but you give that same man I slash to the heart and suddenly you're left with a vulnerable mess.'

After Sam left it only took a little while for Dean to realize he couldn't sit around to pick up the pieces. No, he'd done that far too many times to know that progress would never be made. If Dad taught him anything it was thatfamily comes first. Always.

It was that particular conception that had Dean teetering near the doorway on his way to follow his brother; half in, half out – same as he'd always been. In-between.

Part of him wanted to stay, wanted Sam to come crawling back with a shameful apology and his tail between his legs. Part of him (though he'd never admit aloud) wanted to stay simply because he wanted the comfort of his father. To follow the orders, to be a soldier, to fight the good fight with his old man gripping the reigns. It was familiar. It was dutiful. It was right and important and everything he'd every known.

The one thing Dean learned from his father was that family came first. Always.

But if dad taught him anything it was this: to first and foremost, under every circumstance, no matter what, always, and I mean always, take care of Sammy.

And that's exactly what he intended to do. And that's exactly when he left.

Like a bat out of Hell, rubber burning tar, ass-crack of dawn with only an impulse and half a mind, racing down the road like every second counted, he drove. He drove until his white-knuckled hands couldn't grip the wheel any tighter, Welcome to California sign stamped ominously in the rearview mirror, beckoning him forward like a man on a mission.

He drove until he found Sam. Water trodden and worse for the wear, but he found him and that's all that mattered. While driving down the big Interstate 680 with a gruff pedal to the floor, west coast flying past without a second glance he found him.

He had to do a double take when chestnut locks caught under a purple hoodie – two sizes too big - snuck into his peripheral vision. With a smirk on his face Dean thanked whoever was listening for his little brother's odd attachment to that insanely bright sweatshirt with an equally luminous, white logo printed on the front. If it weren't for the shock of color in the midst of the desolate pit stop full of dirt and soot, he never would've found him.

It took a while to persuade Sam to get into the car, to convince him enough that they wouldn't drive back to dad, that Stanford could wait a few more days, that all Dean wanted to do was talk.

With Sam sitting next to him most of the unease of leaving washed away with the rain outside. With Sam by his side, safe, whole, they could figure out anything, anything as long as it didn't involve Stanford.

Sam wanted to get out and Dean could appreciate that. But miles away from each other wasn't going to be an option. His mouth ran dry just imagining what life would be like just him and dad. It wasn't doable. Hell, it wasn't even possible. He needed Sam close, needed that solid weight within arms reach.

"Dean." There's exasperation behind the word, like Sam's repeated himself numerous times without answer.

Dean clears his throat and snaps out of his reverie. "Sorry."

"If you're too tired man, just pull over and let me out. Either come with me back to San Antonio or drop me off and go back to dad." Sam's voice sounds strong but Dean catches the lie behind the words. Sam needs him just as much as he needs Sam.

"You're not going back there, Sam. You give me one more ultimatum and I will shove you out that door. It's a promise."

"Whatever." It's mumbled into his clenched fist and he turns to gaze out the window once more. "Where are we going, anyways? Back to dad? Home," he sneers. "A hunt? Where?"

"We're just… we're just going. Okay?" Like hell if Dean knows where their car is heading, all he knows is they're going away; away from California, away from hunting, they're just going. No pre-determined destination, just the blazing horizon and the rising sun of a new dawn that gets closer and closer with each mile gained. "Put your seatbelt on. Jesus. I swear, Sam, you're just itchin' to get out somehow."

There's a huff of breath from the passenger side, the fumbling of fingers on a clipped buckle…

And then suddenly the world tips over with a screech of weight against asphalt. Everything is ablaze with light and darkness simultaneously, screaming metal, a tornado of force and noise and it's all consuming yet there's nothing, a nothingness that takes hold while all else ceases to make sense. And then there's only pain. Pain so hot it burns bright.

An eye squints open and Dean sees himself, almost out-of-body, ten feet thrown from the car. It doesn't make sense and he almost laughs out of hysterical fear. He can't quite grasp the idea, how he's so far away from the burning lump of twisted black metal that stares back at him. There's a stabbing burn in his left leg but it's not as bad as the throb in his head.

And then there's an instance when reality clicks in and comprehension finally dawns. Car crash. A car crash.

His stomach drops like a lead weight plummeting to the bottom of the ocean and all Dean sees is the charred car blanketed under a puff of polluted smoke. Panic chokes off the painful break of his shin as he crawls over a forgotten hub cab towards the smoking heap all the while fervidly calling for Sammy.