A/N – the prologue is far shorter than the chapters that will follow, so don't stress, they will be much larger.

- Please please please review so that I know somebody wants me to keep writing. - This chapter is rather dry in terms of content, and in chapter 2 I hope to relive that fateful night seven years ago, so that I can show my readers what exactly went down in the Winchester household that left the youngest member missing. The prologue was done more so that I could introduce readers to the context of the story, so that I can hopefully get into the interesting stuff pretty soon.

due to the fact that this chapter is tiny, and I'm already working on the next chapter, I will aim to have the next one uploaded ASAP, hopefully sometime today. Again, please review! And enjoy

Disclaimer – I do not own any recognizable characters, inc. the Winchesters. Supernatural and the characters within it belong to the CW and Eric Kripke.

X

Dean continued to stare blankly at the cold, still body of the boy that lay ahead of him, deceased, thought just moments ago to have been the body of somebody far more precious to him.

"Dean," John Winchester started quietly, standing slouched just behind his eldest son, reflecting the same sense of disappointment that Dean did. Amongst the myriad of emotions that spiraled through his head, John's overpowering disappointment was equaled only with a similarly bulky sense of relief.

Relief that the body that lay before he and his son was not that of his other.

"Dean," he continued, gently placing the palm of his right hand on Dean's shoulder, half to gain his attention and half to provide comfort. This was hard on John, God it was hard, but he couldn't even fathom how hard this must have been on Dean. "It's not him, Dean. Let's go."

Dean didn't speak, just forced himself to turn and follow his father out of the mortuary, his mind beginning to wander back to the image of the young, shaggy-haired brunette teenager, who's body remained on a tray in the mortuary, still awaiting his identification. Dean had been sure it was Sam, he was certain; when he first saw the tall, gangly body lay carefully out before him, or the long, wiry limbs that stemmed from the body, or perhaps it was the shaggy head of chestnut-brown hair that hung loosely on the boy's scalp. Whatever it was, Dean's heart stopped when he entered the mortuary and saw the body of what he'd assumed had been his brother. All these years of looking had come to an end, only to discover his brother dead, his life cut short by a speeding car.

But no, Sam was not dead. Or at least, this was not his body. The boy's facial features did not belong to Sam. Dean hadn't seen Sam in years, but he could never forget his face. The dead boy's eyes were brown, unlike Sam's piercing green. His nose too large, his lips didn't form the slight curve upwards that Sam's did. His skin did not freckle underneath his right eye, where Dean recalled a couple of light brown spots dotted Sam's face.

This boy wasn't Sammy, and Dean would have given anything for that thought to comfort him.

X

The drive back to the hotel from the mortuary was similar to the drive there; only the atmosphere was no longer laced with a sense of anticipation and hope, rather, disappointment and failure.

Dean figured that by now they should have been used to it, the disappointment. Sam had been gone seven years now – God, seven years – and still he and his father's hearts seemed to break more and more with each incorrect lead. Each time a new lead appeared, a new possibility, the Winchesters clung onto whatever hope they could find, whether it was false or not.

For the first few years after Sam's disappearance, Dean and John's lives were totally consumed by the need to find their missing family member. They stopped hunting altogether for anything besides Sam and his captors. But despite their efforts, nothing came up, nothing.

Just how the hell does nothing come up? How does someone just disappear off the face of the earth, leaving no trail to follow, nothing?

Dean had racked his mind with those questions since the day he lost his brother, and had ever since, and he'd be damned if he was going to have those very same questions swiveling around in his mind when he was old and grey. Dean was going to find his little brother, one way or another; he would leave no stone unturned, no doors unopened until his family was complete once more.

So, seven years later, here they were, the Winchester family minus one. Dean still as hopeful that he would find his brother as he had been a week after Sam was taken from them. John was not so hopeful. While he admired his eldest son's ability to retain hope despite the seemingly endless trail of disappointment and no answers that they followed, John feared that the hunt for Sammy would consume Dean's everything. Dean put away little time for himself; dropping out of high school once he was of age, only to use his newly freed time to search for his brother even more vigorously. Since then – Dean had dropped out of school four years earlier, when he was sixteen – Dean spent his time searching, searching, eating, sleeping, searching, drinking and searching, and if he ever had a free moment, he'd spend that searching, too.

John had tried to steer Dean's mind away from the search on the odd occasion, but he always failed. Dean would not allow himself distractions, not when it meant he could be spending that time finding his brother.

And so, eventually, John gave up on trying to give Dean something, anything to dedicate his life to other than searching for his long lost - quite possibly long gone – little brother. And, as John's life gradually began to function in the same manner that Dean's did, the search managed to engulf his mind, too.

Until eventually, the only thought that ever ran through the Winchesters' minds was,

Where the hell is Sammy?