"Sam? Sam!" Dean's throat was sore from days of yelling with no answer.

Blackness blurred the edge of his vision, stealing across his sight and dipping his hearing underwater. Forced to a stop, Dean paused in his tracks, fighting off the pull of unconsciousness. Whether it was from the past three days without sleep, or the lack of food in his stomach, or the overwhelming worry that had plagued him since Sam's disappearance, Dean couldn't say but there was no way he was going to faint. Fainting was for chicks. Not for older brothers whose little brothers vanished from their hotel rooms without a trace.

It was definitely related to the hunt. Dean had no doubts about that. The problem was, he didn't know what they were hunting. Spirit, shapeshifter, demon. Any one of about a thousand things that went bump in the night. This case had gone to hell in a handbasket before they even started. After driving for thirteen hours, Dean had called it a night, pulling into the first motel he found once they crossed the city's limits. The plan was to go to the police station first thing in the morning, get the local LEOs perspective before going and conducting interviews with the victims' families.

Only Dean had woken up to the sun in his face and an empty bed across from his, pillows abandoned and covers rumpled. He had wasted precious time assuming Sam had gone for coffee. Now whatever this was had, not only the element of surprise, but also a huge head start on him.

His low level anxiety had skyrocketed once the other victims started showing up one by one. All torn to shreds. He wouldn't let himself imagine Sam falling prey to the same demise. Sam, captured and alone, tortured and mutilated, and then tossed out onto the street like common garbage for the cops to find. As soon as it changed from a missing persons case to a string of brutal murders, Dean had begun the task of turning the city upside down for his brother.

But the hours dragged on and he had no leads. No clues. No witnesses. No idea where to start looking, other than everywhere. Offices and libraries. Cluttered warehouses and empty apartment buildings. Courthouses and grocery stores. And, once he finally worked up the courage, the hospital and the morgue. Dead ends at every turn. He called Bobby, but there was hardly anything the old hunter could do from eleven hundred miles away.

Desperation growing, Dean followed a suspicious tug in his gut. For all he knew, it could have been the hunger talking. But something told him to go to the cemetery. So there he was, in the middle of the night, stalking through the gravestones, screaming like an idiot while the wind punished him with bitingly cold blasts that cut straight through his jacket.

A rustling pulled his attention to the left. It wasn't the wind. Hope warred with caution in his mind as Dean swung his flashlight around, raising the gun in his other hand. The flashlight beam played over an ornate mausoleum. Carved angels pierced him with stone gazes as he stood waiting. There was shuffling, dirt scattering over stone. A figure rounded the corner and Dean aimed for the chest. Then recognition took over and the gun fell from limp fingers.

"Sammy," he breathed a second before rushing forward and enveloping his brother.

He drew back at Sam's quiet gasp. Maintaining a grip on his brother's shoulder, Dean ran his eyes up and down the tall frame. "Are you okay? Are you hurt? What happened?"

"I'm alright," Sam assured him, trembling in only his jeans and t-shirt.

"Here." Dean stripped out of his jacket, threading Sam's arms through it as if he was a child again.

Sam gazed at him with dewy gratitude. "Thanks."

"What happened?" Dean repeated, gripping Sam's elbow with one hand while scooping up his fallen weapon with the other.

"I-I don't...I don't really remember," Sam hesitantly confessed.

"You know what? It doesn't matter. The important thing is that you're back. Come on. Let's get you back to the motel. We'll tuck you in and watch Oprah reruns until we both cry. How's that sound, huh?" Dean babbled as relief flooded over him.

They began their trek back to where the Impala was parked at the front gate. When Sam stumbled, Dean pulled Sam's arm across his shoulder, taking his brother's weight and helping him the rest of the way.

"Hey Dean?" Sam said quietly, once he was safely bundled into the car and Dean was driving into town.

"Yeah?"

Sam licked his lips, twisted his hands in his lap. "Thanks for, you know, coming to find me. I knew you wouldn't give up."

Dean's eyes cut over to him briefly before returning to the road. "Yeah well. I'm getting real sick of waking up to find you gone," he complained gruffly to compensate for the warm feeling he got whenever Sam expressed his gratitude.

"I don't think you'll have to worry about that anymore," Sam smiled, eyes glowing in the headlights of a passing car. "I'm not going anywhere."