PART ONE

Missing

PROLOGUE

Every story has to end. Usually on a happy note but sometimes the end isn't quite what you expected. The end to their story was obvious, if you were paying attention.

Sam Winchester, despite the demon blood thick in his veins, despite his mistakes and the darkness ever looming in his heart, was never cut out for the life of a hunter. Every turn his journey with his brother took, every chance he got, he longed and searched for a way out. A normal, non-supernatural life, was all he ever wanted.

It's not that he didn't want to remain close to his brother, or that he wanted to hurt Dean in any way, it's just that the lifestyle Dean wanted wasn't the lifestyle Sam dreamed of having. For Sam, the picture perfect family, the normal, repetitive routine, the stable home and 9-5 job appealed more than any adventure. For Dean, Sam was his picture perfect family, their life was normal and 9-5 sounded like hell.

It was inevitable that they would part ways.

If you asked Dean Winchester how he felt about his brother leaving the 'family business', Dean would probably shrug, make some dismissive comment and change the subject. Maybe he'd act like he didn't care what his brother did. Maybe he'd pretend he was happy.

The truth wasn't that easy. He cried the day Sam left. Not where anyone could see, not loud, not out of self pity, he cried because he knew things would never be the same. He cried because now, especially now, he was truly all alone.

They both should have known things weren't going to go the way they expected.

Sam wasn't going to have a normal life, no matter how much he tried to grasp one.

And Dean was never going to be alone.

-1-

|Blanchard, Louisiana|

People die all the time. Some deaths, however, are far more gruesome than others. Dean Winchester was used to seeing dead bodies. A little too used to it if you asked him, but that was the nature of the job. People died. He investigated. Rinse. Repeat. Recycle.

"Agent Cuddy," he flashed his badge as he approached the wary looking Sherriff, "what's the sitch?"

"FBI? This isn't really a federal case, Agent. Just two kids who decided to jump off a roof together." Sherriff Downing was a smart man, Dean could tell right away, he wasn't going to be easy to mess around with.

Keep it simple, straight forward. Dean nodded, "Wouldn't be federal if not for the roof they decided to jump from?"

Sherriff Downing looked at the old bakery and then at Dean. Straight. Keep it straight. Dean's lips tilted in a smile that probably came off as a smirk, not his intention but honestly he was losing his touch these days, "You didn't know? This is federal property now. These kids were trespassing. Let me get a look at the bodies."

The Sherriff didn't try to stop him. He stayed back, letting Dean proceed on his own. The fall had turned both kids into human hamburger. It wasn't pretty. Blood and bits everywhere. Dean checked the intact bits first then took a moment to comb over the... impacted, bits.

He found it, the clue he needed, mixed in with a stain of blood. Ectoplasm. It wasn't a huge surprise. Five suicides in one month, all lovers? What else COULD it be? This case had never been a proper mystery to begin with. Of course, the trouble now was figuring out the connection and finding the vengeful spirit. Honestly though, in a town like this he didn't expect that to be so difficult.

"Right, so, they're dead," Dean said as seriously as he could when he returned to the Sherriff's side.

Sherriff Downing frowned, "Was that supposed to be a joke?"

Dean shrugged, "If you gotta explain it, it's not a joke. Thanks for your time."

Back in his car Dean let out a soft sigh. Now to the mundane bits. The Impala roared to life with her usual fervor. He patted the dashboard, "good girl," he murmured. He slipped the gears into reverse and looked up to see the Sherriff watching him. Sherriff Downing continued to stare right up until he drove down the street and turned the corner.

Dean had what he needed to get this case going. Names, addresses and cause of death. Now for the hard work. Work he normally would have pawned off on Sam.

The chill in the hotel room inspired him to wear a thick sweater. Either the heater was broken or the thermostat was, Dean didn't know which and he didn't care enough to do anything about it. He could have fixed it, if he was so inclined. Apathy and laziness kept him from doing anything other than bundle up and hunker down to endure the cold.

The light from the laptop was the only light in the room. Working in the dark on a ghost case was probably an unwise choice but Dean liked the dark. Besides, it's not as if he was afraid of ghosts.

Light would only remind him that he was alone. Light would reveal all the things he hated about his life. In the dark he could pretend Sam was asleep on the spare bed. He could fall asleep and pretend Sam was with him.

The room had two beds. He always rented a room with two beds. This was the way things had been all of Dean's life and he wasn't going to change his habits now just because Sammy had gone off and gone normal.

"Jeffrey Jones." This was another habit, one that was more embarrassing (in his mind) than the other. He always spoke as he typed. He was almost incapable of operating the computer silently. At least he could explain the two beds thing on expecting visitors or company or whatever. Talking to his computer? That wasn't exactly easy to explain away. If computers were voice activated and controlled he could get away with it, but they weren't. Not that it mattered if he acted like a freak, there wasn't anyone to witness his little idiosyncrasies now. Most of the time anyway. The odd time he would use his laptop in public but most of the time he did his research in dirty old hotel or motel rooms.

Rooms with two beds.

It took an hour to dig up dirt on Jeffrey Jones, another four hours to find a connection between Jones and Sarah Heely, and then the trail went cold. The other eight victims seemed entirely unrelated to one another. No social activities in common, no friends in common, as far as Dean could tell they had never laid eyes on one another. No small task in a town this size.

It was the ache in his eyes that prompted him to finally snap the laptop closed and crawl onto the nearest bed. Without that ache he might have continued the search all through the night. These days he didn't notice small physical discomforts, nor did he enjoy sloth, gluttony and sex quite as much as he had before. His entire world had taken on a pallor that he couldn't seem to shake.

In the silence, in the dark, he let himself relax.

"Night Sammy," he whispered before sleep took him.

He dreamed of hell. Of purgatory. Of a place that mixed the two together. Where he was both interrogator and prey. Tormentor and tormented. It wasn't a pleasant dream. It wasn't a restful sleep.

The last thing he saw before his brain thankfully jolted him awake was Cas' face. Contorted in pain. Torn up from the fight.

And then his eyes, dead, lifeless as he finally gave in.

"Cas!"

It was morning. Sun shone through the ridiculously thin curtains. The room, once cold, was warmer now. The heater hummed, a noise it hadn't been making when Dean fell asleep. A wary hand rubbed his face and then pushed through his thick, greasy hair. A shower was in order, but not yet. He needed a moment to sort out his thoughts and to push away the dream that had really been a mixture of memories.

The past would probably never let him go. He had accepted that a long time ago. That didn't mean it was easy. Didn't mean he could stop to ever, truly, think about all the shit that had gone down. If he stopped to think he might actually lose his mind.

/Keep moving. Don't think. Don't stop./ It was his motto, and how he got through life.

He swung his legs off the bed and got to his feet.

As he walked to the bathroom he didn't stop to check his phone. If he had, he would have noticed the ten missed calls, the voicemail and the series of text messages. They were all from the same person and said the same thing: Dean, I need you. Call me. This is Sam.

-2-

|Littlefield, Texas|

The last message had been from here. Dean flipped his phone open and dialed voicemail. After a series of annoying commands Sam's voice finally spoke, "Dean, I need you. Call me. This is Sam." He'd heard the message several times a day since he'd received it.

It hadn't been easy tracing the source of the call but he had. After that it hadn't been easy to go crazy while he drove down here, but here he was. Sane as he could manage and ready to find his brother.

He and Sam didn't talk that often lately. They hadn't parted on the best terms when Sam decided to go off and be normal but over time things had stung a bit less and Dean had been able to move on enough that they had a working relationship. He still felt betrayed but he didn't let that betrayal seep through. They spoke to each other every few months.

Sam returned to university when they parted ways. Eventually he met a girl, fell in love and these days he lived the kind of life he'd always wanted. Corporate job. Monday to Friday, 9-5. No excitement. No monsters. Nothing but his girl, his job and his home. That part really got to Dean. Sam owned a house. It was something he could hardly wrap his head around. He hadn't seen it, probably he never would. The last thing Dean wanted now was to disturb the cozy little life Sam had carved for himself and Dean's presence would definitely disturb things.

Things were different now. No demons, no angels, no marks on their heads. Sam could be happy now. He could pretend he wasn't a hunter deep down, where it counted. Dean didn't want to ruin that, much as he missed his brother he didn't miss him enough to ruin the little bit of peace that Sam had claimed.

Sam didn't know that Dean was alone. He didn't know that Dean teetered on the brink of depression. Or that maybe Dean had fallen over that brink a long time ago and was now so deeply immersed in the darkness of his own soul that he had succumbed to apathy. Sam didn't know that Dean had forgotten how to enjoy this god-forsaken life and Dean wouldn't be the one to reveal these things to him. Not if he could help it.

"Hey," the door jingled as he pushed it open, then jingled again as it closed behind him. Dean nodded at the young woman behind the counter. She smiled at him, her eyes taking him in. He still had it, the ability to attract attention from males and females alike, but he wasn't interested. She was what, 18? 19? These days he was too old for a kid that age. /When did I get old?/ he wondered idly.

"How's it going?" Dean didn't bother pretending to be here for anything other than what he was here for. Any other day he might have bought a few items, struck up a conversation while paying but today he wasn't in the mood for games. Sam was in trouble and every moment wasted beating around the issue was a moment risking Sam's safety.

"Hi," she said. Her lips pursed, her cheeks puffed and a slim, pink bubble pushed past her lips. With a snap the gum popped and she took her time licking all the sticky pieces off her lips.

Was this supposed to be alluring? Dean watched her incredulously, when the show was over he leaned his arms on the counter, "I'm looking for someone. Bout this tall," he held his hand over his head, "brown hair, looks like a corporate douche. Answers to the name Sam."

The girl shrugged, "Lots of people come through here. Lots of them are tall."

"He would have been here two days ago."

The girl shook her head, "Sorry man. Doesn't sound familiar."

"Right, were you working two days ago?" Dean asked with super human patience.

She shook her head, "I was here yesterday. He wasn't."

"Who was working two days ago?"

"Can't say."

Dean reached into his jacket and tugged out what he thought was the FBI badge. He checked it real quick, it was the badge, before flipping it open for her, "Can you say now?"

She eyed the badge skeptically but then her eyes widened as she realized what it was. She stood a bit straighter, swallowed the gum and nodded, "Just a minute. He's in the back."

'In the back' turned out to be a kid just as young as the girl. He was also just as helpful. He came out with hands in his pockets, sullen expression fixed on his young, smooth features. "Dunno, haven't seen him." he answered when Dean questioned him. Too many customers. It was too difficult to remember one face in particular. Typical excuses when the real answer was: I barely notice my surroundings, I'm too busy goofing off at work.

In the end Dean gave up on interrogating the kids and asked to see their security footage. They complied only because of the badge, which he flashed one more time to get the moving.

Sam wasn't alone. Dean rewound the tape and watched the same two minutes over and over. He was alone in the manager's office, security televisions mounted on the wall before him and in one television in particular he watched footage from two days ago.

Early in the morning, around the time Sam had made the call, Sam came in here with a woman. They moved to the counter, Sam used the phone and then they left. That was it. It wasn't a lot, but it was something.

'In the back' poked his head into the room, "Found what you need, yet?"

Dean gestured at the screen, "Remember him?"

'In the back' had a name; Jesse, according to the nametag pinned to his chest. He watched the clip, "Woah... man. That's me at the counter but I don't remember any of this."

"You handed him the phone."

"I swear, I don't remember this at all." The kid, apparently, had been smoking some pretty serious weed, or something a little less nefarious and a little more supernatural. Which, Dean supposed, was his specialty.

"Do you remember what happened before?"

"I... I mean, I was... just working."

"And what happened after?"

"Yeah. I remember thinking; why's the phone off the hook?"

"So you remember the phone being off the hook, you remember what happened moments before this but you don't remember this?" Dean jabbed his finger at the screen.

"Yeah, man... I... I just don't."

"Thanks. That helps." This was definitely supernatural caused amnesia and not drug-induced black out.

The kid looked at him with that look people got when they realized they were speaking to a crazy person. Dean ignored him and flipped open his phone. A quick button and the phone was ringing. He walked out while he waited.

Garth answered on the fifth ring, "Heya Dean!"

"I need your help."

-4-

Clouds covered the sun. The meadow was damp and quiet. In a nearby field a tractor rumbled through a field of golden wheat. A single prairie dog rubbed it's nose into the ground. Overhead a flock of birds attempted to fly in formation.

They weren't there and then they were. If someone had been there to see, it would have been in the blink of an eye. There were no eyes to see their miraculous appearance.

The seven looked at each other, faces perfectly void of expression. The leader, the largest by at least two feet, held up his hand. He flicked his fingers and two were gone. He flicked his fingers again and two more were gone. One more flick and the last two disappeared. He was left alone.

But only for a moment. He stopped to run his hand over the prairie dog's back, it submitted to him without fear, without question, and then he too was gone.

Where they had once stood the grass and wildflowers they had touched turned to pure, solid gold and the prairie dog whimpered as it's flesh turned hard and cold.

Later, when the farmer rolled passed in his tractor, he stopped to gaze down in confusion at the solid gold prairie dog statue in the middle of his field.

-5-

"Got him!" Garth threw his arms in the air, nearly unsettling his laptop in the process. Thankfully his reflexes were better than they had been in the past and he managed to catch the silly thing before it tumbled to the floor. He couldn't afford to lose another one. Especially not like this, again.

"Got him?" Dean repeated through the speaker of Garth's phone.

"Managed to run face recognition on the cameras in neighboring cities and towns. He was in Lubbock earlier today." Garth said quickly and with a hint of pride. He wasn't proud of his work so much as he was proud of the technology.

"Face recognition?"

"It's real handy technology, especially if you're a hacker. Real easy, you run a photo through the program, it scans any available video for a match and wha-la. It's only wrong, maybe, 60 percent of the time but this time it's right. I'm looking at the video right now, Dean, this is definitely Sam."

It had been awhile since Garth saw Sam Winchester face to face but it was difficult to forget one of the most famous hunters in the game. Especially difficult because he saw Sam and Dean as family.

"Where was he last spotted?"

"Sleep Inn and Suites. 84th St. If you book it you can be there in just under an hour."

"Thanks Garth."

"No problem. I'll keeping running this program, see if he pops up anywhere else."

"Do that."

Garth definitely had his uses. Dean disconnected the call and swithed lanes so he could take the oncoming exit. These days he was far more useful then he would have been if Sam was still around. Some days Dean could hardly believe he trusted Garth for anything but the kid was good and he was hard working and despite being weird he was decently intelligent.

More weird than intelligent but intelligent still.

Right now Dean would have kissed Garth if he could.

He pressed speed dial and waited for the ringing to cut off. "Leave a message." Sam's voice spoke seconds after the ringing stopped. His voice was followed by a loud beep.

"Sammy. Call me man. I'm starting to get worried now. Garth spotted you in Lubbock, I'm headed there." Dean sighed, "Don't know why I'm leaving this message. You probably won't get this. But if you do... call me."

Awkward. Sam probably didn't have the phone on him.

"Ah frick..." Dean terminated the connection.

The highway blurred before him. Whatever this was, he didn't like it. Hadn't he lost enough? Hadn't he sacrificed enough? Why the hell was this happening?

It was bad enough not having Sammy with him but if he was hurt... if something had happened... Dean couldn't think about it. He couldn't contemplate it.

The music wasn't loud enough. He grabbed the volume and cranked it as high as it would go. The noise drowned out his thoughts. And his fears.

-6-

|Lubbock, Texas|

"Yes, Mr. Winchester was here earlier today. He and his companion rested a few hours and then left," the hotel staff at Sweet Inn and Suites were more than willing to help when Dean flashed his badge but then most people were, "would you like to see the room where they stayed, Agent Cuddy?"

"I sure would."

The fact that Sam was using his real name, Sam Winchester, left Dean feeling cold. Of course he'd wondered if something was wrong, now he knew for sure. Sam Winchester was a dead convict. Not someone you willingly pretended to be. Sam's new name was Foster. He wouldn't use any other names anymore, certainly not the one he'd been born with.

The room the concierge led him to was empty. It had been cleaned already. Dean sat on the bed, he stood by the window. He touched anything he thought Sam might have touched. The TV remote, the coffee pot, everything.

"Sammy," he murmured, "Sammy, where the hell are you?"

-7-

"Where are we going?" Sam Winchester had not been having a good few days. He'd been kidnapped, roughed up and forced to endure ... well, he didn't even want to think about that. Whatever that had been. Singing? He shuddered at the memory.

His companion, the woman, ignored his question. She had been doing that a lot. She didn't speak much, just a word now and then if she had to. He hadn't figured out just what she was yet. Not human. Not a shifter. Probably not a vampire, though it was hard to say for sure. If he had one guess, just one thing that felt right, it was demon.

Thing was, demon's were supposed to be gone.

The gates of hell had been closed for a good, long while. Demons weren't exactly possible anymore. Or at least they weren't supposed to be.

A few days back, at the convenience store, she'd let him make that phone call. It was almost like she wanted Dean to come after them. Back at the hotel she'd let him use his real name too. Something he'd done deliberately to leave clues for Dean.

He hated dragging Dean into this. What other choice did he have though? This was Dean's life. This is what Dean did. He figured monsters out and he killed them.

And he always, always protected Sam.

"Are you after Dean?" Sam asked.

He didn't expect an answer.

"Dean?" her voice startled him.

"Is he who you're after?"

She turned to look at him. She hadn't looked directly at him before. She blinked, strange green-brown eyes dilating. For a moment, just a moment, he felt like he knew her.

"Dean Winchester."

"My brother," Sam said. No point keeping it a secret. If this thing was after Dean it would know already. And if it wasn't, it would have figured it out anyway.

"My brother," she repeated.

"What are you?"

"Dean."

-8-

He hadn't tried this in so long that he almost forgot how to do it. He sat on the end of the bed and rubbed his hands against his knees. "Castiel..." his throat seemed to close. He swallowed and tried again, "Cas... I don't know if you can hear me anymore... seems like I spend a lot of time talking to you without any answer... but Cas if you can hear me now, please... please let me know."

He closed his eyes.

He waited.

"Cas..."

Silence.

"Please."

The silence remained unbroken.

Dean was alone.