AN: I have no idea why I wrote this chapter so quickly... Ok, ammend that. I might have quick updates and I might not. lol. Depends. School is starting back soon though so these might take a while. Hope everyone is gonna hang on for the ride despite that. I promise to never abandon these. This project is my baby! My precious! *Don't make do my Gollum impersonation...*

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not even the Christian Kane song I am listening to, Sad Day.

It was so dark that Dean couldn't see his hand in front of his face. His elbows bumped into wood as he fumbled his way into his pocket for his lighter.

The feeble flame illuminated his surroundings well enough to show him that he was in a pine box, probably underground. "Son of a bitch!" He was surprised at the sound of his own voice. It was more of a hoarse croak than anything else.

Taking very small, shallow breaths, he started prying at the edges of the lid, breaking his fingernails, ripping two of them clean off. His precautions were still not enough to keep him from choking on the dirt that rained down when he finally broke through the lid.

Dean dug his way out of his grave, laying on the grass and gasping for air when he was finally free, covered in dirt and sweat and so damn grateful to be loose that he couldn't think straight.

He lay there for close to an hour, just feeling the sunlight on his face. When he finally did stand, he looked around for the first time.

"Holy..." In a perfect circle around his grave, all of the trees were dead. They were all completely blown over, in the same direction, away from where he'd been planted. It looked like a bomb had gone off.

Even for Dean, that was spooky. It was a warm day so he tied his overshirt around his waist and started wandering through the wasteland until he came to a road.

It was just two-lane blacktop, but it meant civilization. And civilization meant a phone. And a phone meant hearing Sam and Rose, hearing that they were safe and sound. Because they had to be.

A couple of cars passed him, but no one picked him up. He was just as glad because he stumbled upon a slightly derelict gas station. The doors was a closed sign and the doors were locked.

That wasn't much of a deterrant for Dean. He just broke the glass and unlocked the door from the inside. He went straight over to the cooler and opened a bottle of water. He didn't stop gulping until the bottle was empty then grabbed a second one.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a newspaper rack. He picked one up gingerly, a little afraid of what he might see. "Four months..." he said, scanning the date. It felt like longer.

He tucked the paper under his arm and went over to the rack of candy bars. The Snickers melting on his tongue was the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted. He scooped up five more and moved to the counter.

The cash register was full. Dean grabbed a plastic bag from the rack on the counter and stuffed half of the money, the candy, and the water into it. He figured anyone with a heart would help a guy who had just gotten out of HELL, and anyone who wouldn't deserved to get ripped off. He wished he could leave a note.

There was a payphone outside. He used a few of the quarters from the bag and dialed Sam's number. The few seconds it took for the phone to ring three times felt almost as long as his time in hell.

Finally, Sam picked up. "Hello."

"Sam!" Dean nearly forgot everything. "Sammy, it's me. Are you and Rose ok? Where are you?"

Click.

"Ok," he mumbled. "Let's try this again." He dialed Rose's number, praying they were together, praying it was a dream. "Pickup, pickup, pickup."

It was a few more rings before he heard the answering click. "Rose! It's Dean!"

"Shut up!" Sam's voice snapped. "How dare you call this number? I don't care what you are; demon, shapeshifter. I'm gonna kill you."

Click.

Okay, so the phone wasn't his best option. Not stopping to think about why Sam had answered Rose's phone because if he did he felt slightly sick, Dean looked around and saw a couple of old cars in the gas station's parking lot.

He went over to the late 70s Ford and started stripping wires. He was surprised when the car actually started. "I'll be damned." It even had a full tank of gas and a working radio.

Since he didn't know where his siblings were, he decided to drive to Sioux Falls, South Dakota and Bobby Singer.

He only stopped once, to buy gas and a bag of Funyuns. He parked in Bobby's junkyard and walked up to the house on slightly shaky legs. This was just so normal.

He had to knock on the door until his knuckles hurt to get Bobby to answer.

The older man flung the door open. "What do you...?" He trailed off and stared. "Dean?"

Dean smiled. "I know. I look good."

"You, you better come in."

But, no sooner had Dean stepped through the door then Bobby was attacking him with a knife.

"Bobby, hold on!" Dean twisted out of range and put the kitchen table between them, "It's me. I'm not a demon."

"Then you're a shapeshifter!" Bobby lunged again, but Dean hauled him off balance and took the knife.

"Could I do this then, with a silver knife?" Dean pulled up his sleeve and, with a small wince, cut a gash in his forearm. The skin cut cleanly, no visible bubble of blood reacting to the silver. "Your name is Robert Henry Singer. You became a hunter when your wife was possessed. And you're about the closest thing I have to a father."

Bobby's eyes filled with tears. "Is it really you?"

"That's what I've been saying." Dean walked slowly back around the table and lowered the knife.

Bobby pulled Dean into a tight hug. "It's so good to see you, boy."

"You too, Bobby." Dean pulled away, restless suddenly, almost afraid. "Can you get ahold of Rose and Sam? I tried, but Sam thought, well, that I was something evil."

Something twisted behind Bobby's eyes, something Dean didn't want to identify because it looked like grief. "Yeah."

Dean was about to voice his thanks when his face and then the front of shirt were suddenly soaked with water. "I'm not possessed."

"Can't be too careful," Bobby said, patting his shoulder. "Dry off in here. I'll call Sam."

Dean nodded and grabbed a hand towel, abandoning it on the table as soon as Bobby turned his back, edging silently forward instead to follow the older man and listen in on his conversation.

"It's me, Sam... No, I don't have any information on Rose... Don't you hang up on me, I'm calling because of your brother... Yeah, I know. He's here... Sam, I ran every test I know. It's really him...I know, son, I know, but it is...See you then." Bobby hung up and turned, not surprised to see Dean dripping all over his carpet. "He's four hours away. Means three."

"Good." Dean nodded, tired. "Good. Wait, what do you mean 'he's' not far away? Where's Rose?"

Bobby didn't answer, but that grief was back and clearer.

Dean felt panic start to claw at him. He pushed it down but couldn't stop his blood from running too fast in his veins. "Is she okay? Bobby, is she okay?"

Bobby shook his head. "I don't know, Dean. She's been missing since you left."

"No. No, no, no, no. No!"