“Dean!” said Sam behind him, and Dean shook himself out of his trance.

“Sorry. Um.” He blinked a few times and shook his head, feeling like he was still caught up in the vision. “I know where we have to go.”

“Dean, are you sure you can trust these dreams?” said Sam. “Since we don’t know where they’re coming from or why all of sudden you –” He stopped himself, embarrassed. “I mean, uh –”

“Why I’m special, all of a sudden?” Dean said wearily. He yanked off the hospital gown with difficulty and tried to balance on one leg to put on his jeans. He swayed and nearly fell over.

“Dean, sit,” Sam said in an exasperated tone and pushed a chair to him, so Dean sat and pulled on his jeans. “I don’t mean that,” Sam said. “Just, you’ve never — and now you’re — it’s just –” He sighed.

“Mostly it’s Castiel,” Dean said as he pulled on his t-shirt, socks and boots, wincing as the movement strained his stitches. “But maybe not always. I don’t know, maybe I’m tapped into the angel news network too.” He smiled to himself, a little sadly. Castiel said that Anna was well, fully powered and on their side, but he still wished he could see her, see that she was all right for himself.

“Great, giving them more reasons to come after us,” Sam muttered picked up the duffel bag. “How are you holding up?”

“Don’t expect me to run anywhere. We need to go north.”

Sam looked at him, nodded shortly, and swung the duffel over his shoulder. “How far north?”

“I don’t know. I’ll know when we get there. It’s up in the mountains somewhere, where there’s a lot of slate rock.” Dean took a deep breath and pushed himself to his feet, pulled on his jacket, tossed Sam the keys and picked up the briefcase. He limped after Sam to the desk and signed the forms, acknowledged that he was checking out against doctor’s orders, got his prescription for Percocet and settled their bill with a credit card that matched the names on their insurance.

He jittered impatiently as an intern pushed him out of the hospital in a wheelchair, and felt himself light up when they got to the Impala in the parking lot, even though he knew he’d be in the passenger seat for the next couple days. “Hello, baby,” he said softly, running his hand over the roof.

When Sam opened the truck and tossed in their duffel, Dean hesitated. “I think we ought to keep it in the front with us.”

“It’ll be fine in the trunk, Dean. It’ll be perfectly safe.”

“I’ll feel better if it’s where I can keep an eye on it.” He got into the passenger side and set the briefcase at his feet. He stretched out his legs, knowing this was going to be an uncomfortable ride no matter what he did.

Sam got into the driver’s seat and started the engine, peeled out of the parking lot and was soon on the highway, northbound. After a few minutes he said, “Put in a tape?”

Dean smiled and put in a tape.

Without having to concentrate on driving, he could think, or at least watch the countryside. There wasn’t much to look at out there, though — muddy or snowy fields under a gray and sullen sky. “Sam,” he said after fifty miles or so, “does anything about that strike you as weird?” He pointed out the window.

“It’s just farm country. Hey, what about we stop for breakfast in the next town?”

“Sure,” said Dean, “but doesn’t the farm country look weird to you? I mean, shouldn’t people be out planting and stuff? It’s March.”

“It’s also cold out,” Sam said. “The ground is probably still frozen and they’re waiting for it to warm up.”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “Guess so.” Always winter and never Christmas . . . He worried his lower lip with his thumb, watching the countryside again.

***

The diner where they stopped for breakfast was called Queenie’s, and had oversized framed playing cards hanging on the walls — four queens, one of each suit. The place mats on the table were printed with a simplified map of the eastern seaboard, with starred landmarks in several surrounding states. Dean put the briefcase between his feet and leaned his head on his hand, looking at the place mat. It was like a child’s map of Weird New England.

The waitress came to take their order, saying cheerfully, “Good morning, I’m Maya. I’ll be looking after you.” She was round and brunette, her curly hair in a ponytail high on her crown, her lips painted with bright red lipstick. She winked at Dean and he grinned back.

“That’s a pretty name. Maya.” She smiled, pleased, and Dean said, “Hey, Maya, what’s worth seeing on this?” He gestured to the map.

“Depends on what you consider worth seeing and how far you’re willing to go.”

“Pretty far,” Dean said. “All the way.”

She smiled at him again, a little more secretly, as if it was all she could do not to call him a naughty boy.

“Something up in the mountains,” added Sam. “We want a hike.”