I am leaning against the window of the impala, deciding if pretending to sleep is worth it. Dean could turn the music up right about now, which he isn't. I close my eyes, Dean will know the difference, but at least he will know I don't want to talk.

"You're allowed to be with someone Sammy."

I know he expects me to respond with just too soon, or not right now, or the right thing to say, whatever that is. I keep my eyes closed.

"Sammy." His voice is warning, and I know he is looking over at me.

I open my eyes and look briefly at the ceiling of the impala. I glance at him, letting my head roll against the window. His eyes are fastened on the road ahead; his grip is too tight on the steering wheel. He knows this is about something more than Jess, and god, loosing Jess is more than enough.

Sam pulls one of those bitch faces of his as he looks over at me. At least he stopped pretending to sleep. For someone who always wants to talk about everything he hasn't said a word about what happened, didn't happen, with Sarah.

"Sammy, talk to me."

Dean is looking over at me while he is driving god knows how fast down a dark deserted highway to god knows where. There is pull to his lower lip, anger or concern, it's hard to tell in the half-dark.

"I need to tell you something." And my stomach flips over, as much as when I first made the decision, as much as when it was finally done.

He looks relived; his face opens up, his hand on the wheel relaxes its grip, he pats my knee. "There we go, that's my Sammy, ready to talk like a girl."

I look out the window, I don't know if he could have picked a worse thing to say.

"Dean,"I swallow. He looks at me, dammit I wish he would stop ignoring the road, with a frown, his Sam I am Genuinely Concerned About You Face. His eyes are so green in this light, and I can't look at him and say this. I deliberately look out the window and raise my voice slightly so I know I will be heard, "I had myself cut."

"Cut?"

I glance at him. He glances back at the road, and then turns back to stare at me with his Sam I am Going to Get to the Bottom of this Face. I see the glimmer of realization, maybe anger. I am too nervous to read him well. What if he doesn't get what I did? what I had done? what if I have to lay it out? use the word?

"Like a dog?"

God I nearly smile at that. I swallow and nod, I'm not going to be talking now.

"Castrated?"

Oh, god, the word.

"You had your balls cut off? Like a girl?"

Now what he says earlier hits him. "Sammy, I didn't mean it, you know," he awkwardly reaches a hand out—I wish he would steer with one or the other, maybe even both.

"Girls aren't men with their balls cut off." It was bitchy, it came out bitchy. I look across at him, straight at him, hoping this isn't some sort of end for me and him. "I just thought you should know Dean."

"Do you want be a girl Sammy?"

I can't answer. "Dean."

"Or did you have, you know, cancer or something, down," he waves his hand at my, not his, my crotch area.

God, I think Dean is going to cry. "Sammy, man,"

"It was a choice."

I turn up the music.

So Sammy was a bit off, a lot off. Not with the case, but with Sarah; and I knew wasn't just about Jess, and it is too much for him already when it is about Jess. I knew already this is some piece of serious Sam shit; the more serious his Sam stuff is the less he talks. This one was going somewhere, and I knew it wasn't anywhere good. Then he tells me, crap, I kinda wish I hadn't pushed, and I can't figure out what the hell I'm meant to say. Man, Sammy, I tried the obvious questions, I don't know what I'm meant to ask, ok? Sammy, that's all good, you didn't need those anyhow? Is that what I'm meant to say? It's ok Sam, you're still a real man to me? What the hell am I meant to say? My little brother has his balls cut off like a dog, because he wants to? Not even a dog wants to, especially not a dog. Sammy, what in the hell were you thinking? You can be ok with it if you like, just don't expect me to be. I can say that when we stop for gas again.

I get out and pump the gas, and he goes into the store buys pie and whatever men without balls eat, and crappy coffee. He doesn't seem all that different, not considering. Aren't guys, like that meant to get fat? We get back in, like hell I'm going to let him drive, like hell I'm ever going to let him decide anything ever again.