SAM: We're not going to Indiana.
DEAN: We're not?
SAM: No. We're going to California. Dad called from a payphone. Sacramento area code.
SAM: Dean, if this demon killed Mom and Jess, and Dad's closing in, we've gotta be there. We've gotta help.
DEAN: Dad doesn't want our help.
SAM: I don't care.
DEAN: He's given us an order.
SAM: I don't care. We don't always have to do what he says.
DEAN: Sam, Dad is asking us to work jobs, to save lives, it's important.
SAM: Alright, I understand, believe me, I understand. But I'm talking one week here, man, to get answers. To get revenge.
DEAN: Alright, look, I know how you feel.
SAM: Do you? How old were you when Mom died? Four? Jess died six months ago. How the hell would you know how I feel?
How the hell would I know how you feel? 'Cause I've been there. Lived it. Still livin' it.
But how the hell do you know how I feel? How can you possibly know how I feel?
Because you never lost your mother at four. Four years old. For four years I had a mother. Then I didn't. Not anymore.
It's different for you. 'Cause you never knew her. She was gone before you could know her. Or remember her.
But I remember her.
I remember her hair. Her smile. Her touch. I remember how she loved me. Loved Dad. Loved you.
But then she was gone. Gone forever. Never to come back.
But how could I understand when I was four? That the person I loved the most in the whole world just vanished. Disappeared. Left without me. Without you. Or Dad.
I remember that night. She held me so I could kiss you good-night. Dad took me to bed. Mom came in to kiss me goodnight. Told me she loved me. She'd see me in the morning. The next thing I knew was that Mom and Dad were screaming. And I didn't know why. Why they were screaming. But I was scared. So I ran down the hall. To find them. I found Dad. Or Dad found me. I'm not sure which. But he had you. In his arms. He handed you to me and said, "Run. Don't look back."
So I ran. Carried you outside. I didn't even know why. Except that Dad told me to. So I did.
But what was I supposed to do? Once I got outside. Where was I supposed to go? Where was I supposed to be? I didn't know. I only knew I was scared. Confused. And alone.
Well, not quite alone. I had you. And that was good. So I smiled at you. And I talked to you.
I remember what I said to you. I said, "It's okay, Sam." But it wasn't okay. It was never okay again.
Dad came. He scooped us up. Carried us away from the house. Before the windows exploded. Then he took you from me. He held you.
Mom was supposed to come. She was supposed to come and hold me. Comfort me. Like Dad was comforting you. But she didn't come. She never came. Not then. And not in the morning. Like she promised she would.
Why didn't she come? I couldn't understand. She said she would. But she didn't.
Why would she tell me that she would see me in the morning and then not come? Never come? Why would she leave? Not say good-bye?
How could she leave me? Leave you? Leave Dad? Leave us? It didn't make sense. Not when I was four. And probably not when I was five. Or six. Sometimes it still doesn't make sense.
But you're right.
I don't know how you feel.
I can't possibly know how you feel. Because I was only four. How could a four year old know how you feel? Or a man – 22 years later – be able to remember? Remember how it felt? And know how you feel?
Because it was so long ago. Too long ago. Too long ago to remember.
Maybe for you. But not for me.
Because I remember. I'll always remember.
Just like you remember Jess. Can't forget Jess. Probably will never forget Jess.
And I'll never forget Mom.
Oh, I know how you feel.
Because I feel it too.
We both lost something.
You lost your girlfriend.
I lost my life.