For the first night in nearly a week, both brothers slept well. Dean woke up in the morning, hungry as hell and rested. He looked over and saw Sam was still asleep, his stomach pressed into the mattress, holey socks dangling off of the end of the bed, one of the few possessions Sam had left after the fire. Poor kid had been carrying his ass for almost a week now, least Dean could do was get them coffee. Not that it was completely selfless, Dean mused as he tugged on the same jeans and layers from yesterday, because damned if he could wait to get some blueberry pancakes, or cholesterol-laden eggs, or a pile of bacon into his gullet – right-the-fuck-now.

As he began tying up his boot laces, he noticed Sam had one eye open.

"I'm getting breakfast, Sam. Food, coffee, right now. You can come with me – but no stretching for ten minutes, no shower. We gotta go."

Sam yawned. "Shuddup 'n' check the fridge."

"We have a fridge?"

Sam pointed blearily across the room, toward the closet. Dean finished tying his laces and walked over to the closet, where – sure enough, there was a mini-fridge tucked inside. Tucked inside the fridge were a tall pink box and a half-gallon of milk.

"Sam?"

"Yeah?" Sam, who still had one eye pressed into the pillow, could hear the gleeful smile that was on his brother's face.

"Not that I'm complaining, because I'm so not….but why did you put a box of Frankenberry in the fridge?"

Dean heard his brother huff out an amused laugh.

"And I quote, 'We have a fridge?'" Sam said knowingly."If I didn't hide it – it wouldn't be a surprise and it would be all gone. So, surprise."

Dean sort of half-hugged the box to his chest, hooking his fingers around the handle of the milk, feeling the cold condensation drip down his hand.

"Bowls? And how did you even find this, anyway? Isn't it only supposed to come out around Halloween?"

"Been out year round for awhile now. Bowls are in the duffel with the camping gear, I think."

"Right." Dean stomped around the room – his body quivering in anticipation of the sugar rush soon to be had. He grabbed one of the sturdy plastic bowls, terrible 70s plastic guaranteed never to biodegrade – also guaranteed to never match a kitchen unless it is garish orange or dull olive. "You want some?"

By this time, Sam was sitting on his bed, both feet planted firmly on the floor, a stupid smile plastered on his face at the sight of his happy big brother. This morning, this moment, it confirmed everything that Dean had been saying all along – that they could do this, they could find dad. Adjustments were needed, sure, but since when were the Winchesters bad at adapting to the needs of a hunt?

Dean held a spoon out to his toward his gawky sibling, his face expectant – content. "C'mon, Sammy, milk's not gonna pour itself."

Sam stumbled over to the small dinette table, carting his laptop with him. True to form, Dean had already laid out his bowl, poured the milk. Sam snagged the spoon from him and plopped his long frame down in a chair.

"Wass the Geek-tron 3000 for?"Dean began talking around a mouthful of pink milk and cereal. He'd started mowing down so fast, Sam didn't even know when he'd had time to get the spoon in his mouth.

"I think I found a hunt."

Dean eyes widened in disbelief, not the doubt that Sam could find a hunt – but that he was willing to. "Seriously?"

"Yeah, mostly sounds like a vengeful spirit, but there were some animal mutilations the week before. Coyotes, mostly."

"Sounds good. Might even be something dad would've looked into. Where?"

"Fort Sumner, New Mexico. I figure after your appointment, we'll have a little bit of time to contact Dr. Darwin – stock up the miracle shit of the century – and then pick up I-81. You in?"

"'Course, Sammy, who else would be driving?"

"I'll remember that the next time I buy you cereal. I foresee a lot of bran in your future." Sam's mouth quirked, slightly annoyed at the implication that now Dean didn't trust him behind the wheel.

"I foresee that bowl on top of your head in a second."

Yeah, it was going to be a long haul.

Good.

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