Sam Winchester woke up in a ramshackle warehouse. He looked around not knowing where he was or remembering any part of his morning. What the hell happened? He remembered Ruby, and then everything went dark.

Sam looked around the room; crates dotted the room here and there, a stranded sofa stood in the middle of the room. Something else caught his attention. It was behind the sofa. Sam, suffering for a raging headache, managed to crawl on all fours towards the sofa. There, directly behind that tattered old plaid sofa, was the body of a little girl.

Sam stared at her for a minute, he checked her pulse. There was none. He sighed and closed the girls eyes. Why the hell was he there? How did this girl die? What happened?

Sam could not answer any of these questions. He slowly and painfully got up, grabbing a hold of his torso. He could feel that he had broken a few bones in his rib cage. As he walked to his car, he could feel his bones scraping against each other. With every step, he gritted his teeth. Sam opened the trunk to the Dean's Impala--his impala now. He pulled out a canteen of gasoline and limped over to the warehouse. He dumped some of the gasoline onto the warehouse through the broken window frame.

Sam pulled out a set of matches from his pocket. He struck a match against the sand paper on the side. He spoke in quick Latin as he said a sleeping ritual for the dead girl, hoping her body would not come to haunt him. That was one less thing he need on his agenda. Another person he could not saving coming back to haunt him. He sent the match flying into the warehouse; simultaneously flames started to flare up. Sam stood there for a moment, watching the house before limping back to the impala.

Sam drove off a safe distance away from the warehouse before stopping at the side of the road. He grabbed his cell phone and looked through the contacts. Dean. Dean would have been the first person he would have called in a situation such as this. Sam grunted in frustration and pain. He went down his contact list, it wasn't very long. They never stayed in one town to make friends with people. And even if they did, most of their friends ended up dead.

Ruby. Sam sighed. What choice did he have? He had to call her. Sam hit the green dial button on the left side of his phone. It rang and rang and rang and rang, but no one picked up.

"Please leave a message after the tone," said the machine.

"God damn it, Ruby! Where the hell are you!? Call me back when you get this!" Sam sighed and hung up in frustration. He looked at himself in rearview mirror. He was in no condition to wait for a call back. Sam went back through is contacts list.

Bobby. He hadn't talked to Bobby since Dean died. Sam knew Bobby would be pissed, but he was in trouble. Sam pushed the talk button.

"Sam Winchester! About damn time you called! Where in the Sam heck have you been, boy?"

"Sorry, Bobby. I've been busy," mumbled Sam.

"Busy my ass. What do you want?"

"I'm in a little trouble, Bobby," Sam took a deep breath; even talking hurt.

"What did you do?" asked Bobby. Even though he was angry at Sam, he wasn't cold-hearted enough to leave a man who had just lost his brother out there to die.

"I don't exactly know. I woke up in this warehouse. There was a dead body, but no sign of anything else," explained Sam, "I think I've got a few broken ribs and bad cuts, but other than that I'm still alive."

"You eejet! Where are you?" asked Bobby.

"Too far to drive to a hospital," answered Sam.

"What road are you on?"

"I'm on Route 29."

"The one near the Stake house?"

"I think so, I haven't exactly stopped for a bite to eat, Bobby."

"Well, drive down to the Stake house. I'll meet you there," answered Bobby. Sam heard police sirens in the distance. He put the Impala into drive again.

"Thanks, Bobby," Sam answered as he turned back to the road.

"Yeah, so little thanks I get these days for saving your ass......." mumbled Bobby before hanging up on the phone call. Sam sighed and put the phone down.

---

The sun was high in the sky over the deserted forest. Sunburned leaves scattered the dirt floor. The only thing that stood out in the forest was a wooden cross that had been planted into the ground to mark the grave of Dean Winchester. Dean Winchester had been dead for four months; his grave left totally undisturbed.

A muffled sound was heard from six feet below the wooden cross in the ground. Six feet under, a very alive and very panicked Dean Winchester pounded on the door of his crate like coffin.

"HEY! LET ME OUT OF HERE!" Dean yelled. He pounded hard on his coffin. The flimsy wood which had been eroded from the moist ground had broken easily. Dean dug his way out of the ground slowly until one of his hands broke through the dirt. He gasped for air; it was cool, clean, and very welcoming compared to his musty coffin. Dean dug the hole bigger and bigger until he could fit his torso into it. He pulled himself out.

Hunger. Undeniable hunger. That was all he felt. He got up off the ground and began walking; he had no idea where he was headed too. But he knew he had to go somewhere that offered food.

Dean found a road dotted with potholes and weeds all around; it seemed uninhabited now, but he could tell it was once a very busy road. Dean followed the road north, hoping it would lead him somewhere. A McDonalds, Burger King, Dairy Queen, hell anything at this point!

He walked about a mile and a half, examining everything around him; not knowing if any of it was real or not. His prayers for food were finally answered after about a mile and a half of walking down the road. He could see the gleaming neon lights of the Rocky Stake House and Grill just a few yards across the road.