Dean hops out of the car, filling up his tank as he announces to Sam and you, "I figure we’d hit Tucumcari by lunch, then head south, hit Bisbee by midnight." Sam, on his PalmPilot, doesn't look up. Dean tries, "Sam wears women’s underwear."

You giggle, looking at Dean, then Sam speaks up, "Listenin’, I’m just busy."

Dean arches a brow, "Doin’ what?"

He finally looks up, "Reading e-mails. From my friends at Stanford."

You turn to Sam, "That's nice that you still keep in touch."

Dean scoffs, "What exactly do you tell ‘em? You know, about where you’ve been, what you’ve been doin’?"

"I tell ‘em I’m on a road trip with my big brother. I tell ‘em I needed some time off after Jess. Dean shakes his head. Sam argues, "What am I supposed to do, just cut everybody out of my life?"

Dean shrugs, "Look, it sucks, but in a job like this, you can’t get close to people, period."

You roll your eyes at Dean's comment, "You’re kind of anti-social, you know that?"

Dean steps back, now in the front seat, "Yeah, whatever."

From the passenger seat, Sam is still on his PalmPilot, "This e-mail is from Rebecca Warren, a friend of mine. Her brother, Zack, was charged with murder. He’s been arrested for killing his girlfriend. Rebecca says he didn’t do it, but it sounds like the cops have a pretty good case."

Dean's eyes widen slightly, "Dude, what kind of people are you hangin’ out with?"

He turns to Dean, with narrowed eyes in defense, "No, man, I know Zack. He’s no killer. They’re in St. Louis. We’re goin’."

Dean chuckles, Look, sorry ‘bout Zack, okay? But this does not sound like our kind of problem."

You pipe up from the back, "Dean, we've driven farther for less pressing matters than this."

Rolling his eyes, Dean groans, "St. Louis is four hundred miles behind us, guys."

You hit Dean with puppy eyes, wanting to help Sam out as much as you could. And besides, there were no other urgent hunts to get to. And before you know it, Dean's put the car in drive in the direction of St. Louis.