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Adam showed up the net day while Dean was going through the things in the Impala's front seat. He'd just made it onto the third page of a suspiciously truncated journal when Adam tapped on the window, barely allowing it to stand as a courtesy before opening the door and dropping into the seat. "Still alive, then?"

"Could say the same to you," Dean said. "What happened yesterday?"

"I got lost," Adam said. "What are you doing?"

"Ahh." Dean shrugged it off. "Nothing. Looking through my stuff. Cleaning stuff up. You know."

"Looks clean to me," Adam said.

"I can't find half my stuff."

Adam looked taken aback. "Like what?"

"Just stuff," Dean said. "Notes, papers, things. There should be a box of fake IDs in here."

Adam gave him an odd look. "We don't keep them, Dean. Do you have any idea how much trouble we'd be in if anyone ever searched the car?"

"Yeah, and we wouldn't be in trouble if they found the great pile of weapons in the trunk?" He flipped the glove compartment closed and opened it again, shuffling through papers and candy wrappers and at least two parts of purloined library books. "And we won't be in trouble if they turn up in the trash and someone ID's us? They should be here, okay, I'm not that crazy."

Adam reached over to him. "You're having a bad day," he said. "Guns we can pass off, impersonating Homeland Security is serious. We burn the IDs."

"Will you stop touching me?" Dean snarled, slamming the compartment shut. Adam removed his hand, and Dean groaned. He pushed the heels of his palms against his eyes, exhaling. "Maybe I am going insane."

"We all have our bad days," Adam said.

"Yeah. Whatever." Dean dropped his hands, and stared at the dashboard.

"What is it?" Adam asked.

"Nothing. It's nothing." He wiped away a smudge on the speedometer.

"Dean, come on." Adam shifted closer. "I'm the one you talk to."

"I don't need to talk."

"But when you do--"

"I talk to Sam, all right?" Dean said. "And he doesn't go all touchy-feely on me. Not as bad as you do, anyway."

Adam's voice dropped to a minor key. "You fuck him, you don't talk to him. I'm the one you tell things to, Dean, you can tell things to me."

Dean stared. Whatever warped universe Adam had been living in for the past few years, it was totally at odds with his gut and whatever portions of his brain were deigning to weigh in. Adam was--yeah. Adam was a friend. Something. Good third person to have in a fight, anyway, but Dean didn't need a confidant and even if he did, Adam wasn't it.

"Get out of my car," he said.

Adam rolled his eyes. "Dean--"

"Get out of my car or I'll jack you in the face," Dean said, making a fist. "And you know I will."

Adam's eyes hardened, as if he was considering fighting back just for the hell of it. Just as Dean was about to make good on the threat Adam pulled the doorhandle, sliding out of his seat.

"It's not gonna last forever, Dean," he said. "You'll get your memories soon enough."

"Yeah, yeah." Dean said.

"You going to stay here for a bit?"

"And put together my car, yeah," Dean shot. "This thing's a goddamn mess."