"Where's Sam?"
As soon as Dean had walked through his door and he had confirmed it was really Dean, Bobby knew that was going to be the man's first question. Where was his baby brother? Not that Bobby blamed him. The last time Dean had seen Sam, Lilith sicked her hellhounds on him and Dean had no choice as his life left him, leaving Sam alone with the wicked bitch.
"He isn't…?"
"No, Dean, no," Bobby whispered and grabbed his hat from his head, threading the worn fabric between his calloused hands. It was a nervous habit and he hated it, but it calmed him somewhat. Taking a seat, Bobby waved for Dean to also take one and let out a long breath. "At least, from what I'm aware of."
Dean barely made it into the worn leather of the old couch before he leapt up in shock. "What you do mean? You haven't talked to him?" He seethed.
"He ran out," Bobby recalled back to Dean. "He was real quiet, boy and understandably so. We had just buried you. He waited for me to leave him alone for a few hours, smart kid he is, and left a note. One word. Sorry. I've searched high and tall for him, Dean, but the damn kid just doesn't want to be found."
Dean stalked across the short room, his breathing quick and short. He was livid, angry that Sam would just walk out on Bobby and disappear just as quietly. Yet, he didn't blame his brother. He was sure that he would've done something, if not more, dramatic than Sam. Without a word, he called the last phone company Sam had and got his GPS location. Pontiac, Illinois.
"That's where I was," Dean whispered. The evidence was adding up now as they dug further and further into Sam's location. Sam must've done something to bring his big brother back from the pits of Hell. "I was buried only a few miles from there. God dammit." Dean punched the table, cursing his little brother.
"Let's go. We'll track that idgit down and… well, we'll figure everything out from there. Now, scoot," Bobby, gentle and sturdy, guided his son to one of his junky cars he had running and sat Dean down into the worn leather passenger seat. With a speed that even surprised dare-devil Dean, Bobby had made it to Pontiac and to the exact location of where Sam was in less than five hours.
Dean stormed up onto the 4th floor of the motel, pounding on the last door on the end of the hallway, expecting Sam to open up. He imagined wrapping his brother in his arms, smelling home, and finally being back together, as brothers and so much more. But his hopes died in vain as a beautiful girl stepped out asking where the pizza was. Both hunters were sorely confused, even more so when the bathroom door opened and out walked a man. He resembled Sam in height and stature and long brunette hair, but the man had mild blue eyes that seemed to be hazed with alcohol and not the weight of the world. He stared at them, almost fascinated, before he continued over to the bed that was situated in the middle of the room.
"We, uh, we got the wrong room, sorry," Dean waved and walked back outside with Bobby, fists clenched and his breathing rough. "Where the fuck…" He stalled as he saw his baby sitting in the field of cars and he smiled wide. Maybe Sam was-
Blood. A lot of dried blood surrounded the tires of the Impala and Dean knew, just fucking knew, that that was Sam's blood on the black asphalt. The signs of dreary motels reflected off of it and he barely kept in his choke of surprise. "Sam!" He called out as he ran to the car, searching in vain for his little brother. While there was no body, no other signs that Sam even had the car, Dean had found a folded note titled in his name. It was a simple white, although the paper looked like it was soaked in the dry blood. Dean held his breath as he opened the folded paper and dropped it just as quickly as he picked it up. It fluttered from his fingertips, landing straight up so that Bobby could read Sam's slanted writing from over Dean's shoulder and even he could barely contain the harsh breath he tried to conceal.
I had to.
It was hot. Sweat glistened off of olive toned skin as the man moved slightly. He was tired and dehydrated, his soul even more so. Sam sighed as his hand brushed up against the burning iron wall he was contained in and slowly wretched it back, not caring that it was burnt. He could barely feel at all as he rolled back onto the amazingly cooler floor. Most imprisonments were cold, but of course, everything about his were opposite. The torture, the emotions, the god damn hallucinations and visions. Everything was wrong and so was Sam. Sam felt all kinds of wrong, but smiled despite it. Dean was free, he could feel it in his bones, and he sighed as peace washed over him. It would be the last of feelings for him in the weeks and months to come and he would soon enough allow his soul to finally be sucked into oblivion, wherever the demon was keeping it. But for that moment and that moment alone, his eyes fluttered shut, escaping his isolated hell if only for a few moments.
