Feeling the cold rain trickle down the collar of his jacket and drip onto his neck, Dean decided to call his rather effective calming walk to an end. His fury that had gripped him as he had stormed from the motel room had all but dilated. He was still angry as hell, of course, but it wasn't all consuming. He could control it.

And not it, him.

The evening light was beginning to dwindle as he turned on his heel and began making his way back to their temporary abode. His mind still whirred with thoughts of Sam, and how close he had come to losing him. Since their father had gone AWOL, and since the gut feeling had firmly settled within him that they were close to losing him forever, his brother had become even more important.

He was all the family he had.

It was just so out of character, he mused as he squelched through the mud strewn non streets, Sam was always the cautious one. The level headed one, hell he was the sensible one. Tearing off after some unknown entity, on his own, on a whim….was much more like him than it was his brother. Frustration threatened to overwhelm him again, and he shook his head firmly.

He needed to be calm, for him. For both of them.

Ignoring a duo of gawping locals, albeit with gritted teeth, he kept his eyes downcast and continued to slowly make his way home. The rain was picking up momentum now, and it spattered harshly across his face as he walked. Thrusting his hands deeper in his pockets, he prayed Sam would either be calm or asleep when he got back.

He was going to have to talk to him, and it wouldn't be pleasant. For either of them.

Not for the first time, he fervently wished his father would quit his mind bending cat and mouse game and help him the hell out. Of course, he'd always been left with Sam, since he was old enough to even say Sam. But now…now, he felt like he was out of his depth. Now that his little brother had stepped one foot so fiercely off the rails, he feared desperately that the other was not long in its wake.

How in the hell was he supposed to get through to him, when he was still grieving, that that wasn't ok?

That wasn't a job for him. That was a job for their freaking father, should he miraculously decide to grace them with his presence. How was he supposed to…how was he supposed to do that? Of course, he had done it once or twice, maybe more, but that was before the kid had left for college. Then they'd spent a couple of years apart, which made the possibility of what he knew needed to be done even more tenuous.

He was the older brother, and he was basically like a co parent to Sam, but…could he really do that?

His jaw clenched as he thought of it, and he began feeling mildly sick. He hated always having to be the one to bark orders, to issue instructions and not take no for an answer. That, however, was how he was taught. Therefore, that was all he knew. And like it or not, that was all Sam knew. Even if he bucked against it, even he spiralled angrily against he knew the underlying reason, the founding methodology.

It was to keep them all damned alive.

Sighing, he took the poorly signed turn off that led to their motel, and continued his inner, pensive, monologue. He mightn't be able to show it as well as college boy, but he did love him. Deeply. It tore his heart in two to see the kid struggling with the death of his girlfriend, and trembling under the onslaught of his nightmares, that were rapidly turning into sunlight bound premonitions.

Terrifying, horrifically detailed and true, premonitions.

He hated standing by and not being able to do anything as Sam would whimper in his sleep. Or sitting in the car anxiously as the boy would buckle over, seeing untold horrors flitting across his eyes that he couldn't drive away. He hated standing by and watching both the past and present tear his little brother apart.

There was very little he could do about that, but there was something he could do about his brother actively trying to get himself torn apart. That something was as unpalatable as all hell, but he knew what his father would have done if he were here. From much, much, experience in such matters. He could practically here his father's furious voice in his head.

…and he could practically feel his father's controlled, level, corrections elsewhere.

Sighing, he made it through the last part of his journey with a slightly faster gate, telling himself it had absolutely nothing to do with the flaming rednecks that had actually parked their truck mid-road to get a better look at him. If he didn't know any better, he'd think that this whole frigging town was not only cursed with a supernatural presence but an overwhelming disregard for common courtesy.

Looking forward to some semblance of privacy, even if he had to share it with one pissed off little brother, he barrelled into the motel's dirt driveway, momentarily blinded by the garish sign that had obviously been switched on in his presence.

He nearly fell flat on his face.

The car, his car, his pride and freaking joy, was gone. Vanished. Not by some ghostly apparition either, oh no, the tire tracks still evident in the soft mud pointed to a much more humanly culprit. Forcing himself to remain calm, and telling himself that perhaps Sam had just moved it in response to local staring and pointing, he flew up the stairs to their dilapidated room. Hoping against all hope that his younger brother would be exactly where he left him.

It was a good thing he didn't have all that much faith in any form of higher power.

The kid was gone. The chair was empty, save for the cell phone he had obviously decided to leave behind. Feeling nausea swoop throughout him, Dean frantically looked for the spare key he used to lock up their weaponry arsenal.

It was also gone.

This wasn't just a drive to calm down, to chill out or to get some space.

This was a hunt.

Flinging himself across the room, and wrenching open the door as if seeking divine inspiration, he breathed in the rainy mist and fought to keep his last meal firmly in his gut.

It was a hopeless fight, and what once was a relatively delicious curry, landed on the dirt road with a sickening splatter.

Wiping his mouth with his sleeve and straightening up, Dean closed his eyes and murmured rhetorically in utter despair.

"God damnit Sammy…."

….

TBC

…

A/N: Ok, so having successfully binged through to mid season two levels, revelations about John etc are known, but with the setting of this story, his absence needs to be played out some more. This story mightn't show it, but I actually thought John was a pretty cool character.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed, will update soon!

-Inks