Dean exited the Impala and tried to swallow his fear. Ever since that weekend, Sam had rocketed downhill like a hapless skier trying to outdistance an avalanche - and just as ill-fated. Sam's prediction about Dad had come true - he wasn't returning anytime soon. And that meant a switch from the warm comfort of a seedy hotel to the cold reality of an abandoned house just outside of town. Dean had moved them there after an eventful phone call with Bobby who knew the guy who owned the place. The house was okay but far from nice. It had been on the market for some time until the owner finally gave up - it needed too much work to interest anyone in making the kind of offer he needed. So he'd planned to rent it instead. Sam and Dean were his first tenants - free because the guy owed Bobby a big one.

Still, a little central heat would have been nice.

But aside from their new accommodations, there were other big changes taking place in Dean's life. Reluctant to leave his little brother alone at night anymore, Dean had found respectable work at a garage not far from the school. He worked the same hours as Sam and was able to drop him off in the morning and pick him up in the afternoon. The boys spent their evenings together - playing cards at the metal and Formica monstrosity that served as a kitchen table or spending an occasional night out bowling or taking in a movie.

Still, Sam was in trouble.

Dean couldn't quite put his finger on it, but his brother had never bounced back from that single, wretched weekend. And it left Dean wondering if more hadn't happened back at that bar than he'd realized. And now, here he was, being called to the principal's office to relive old, bad times from his own high school years.

He waited outside the front office until someone finally noticed and buzzed him in.

"I'm Dean Winchester. I got a call about my brother, Sam." he informed the woman who looked ready to filet him for interrupting lunch at her desk.

She nodded and gestured to a closed door off to the right, "Go on in, Mr. Regent is waiting for you."

Dean nodded back and entered the tiny office that was smaller than the motel room they'd recently vacated. He shook the hand that the principal extended, and spoke, "I thought Sam would be joining us." He explained.

The man seemed taken aback, "Well, it would be nice if Sam could join us. Unfortunately, no one has seen him for a solid week."

Dean just stared, "What?"

Principal Regent's eyes narrowed, "You didn't know?" he asked gently.

"I've been dropping him off in front of the school every morning and picking him up every afternoon. Are you sure you have the right Sam? There seems to be a lot of that going around." Dean's wise-ass attitude was cranking up.

The principal only smiled, "Oh, I can assure you, I have the right Sam." He opened a file on his desk and began reading from it:

"Sam is a pleasure to have in class. He's eager to participate and asks appropriate questions."

"Sam is bright, inquisitive, and studious. His homework is always complete and his knowledge of assignments shows that he is absorbing the information."

"Sam has filled out more reading logs than any other student in the class. His knowledge of literature and poetry is impressive for someone his age. I wish I had 20 more like him."

"These are comments from a few of Sam's teachers." Mr. Regent smiled. "Sam's a good kid, which is why we're all so worried about him. That's why I called you here. I was hoping you'd be able to shed some light on why he's so obviously cutting class all of a sudden?"

Dean sat, unable to form a coherent thought. Sam cutting class? What the hell? He shook his head mutely.

'Well, if you've been dropping him off and picking him up out front, then he must be spending his days nearby, and I have a feeling I know where that is." The principal offered.

"Where?"

"I took the liberty of talking to one or two of Sam's friends before I had you in, Dean, and they tell me that Sam has been hanging out with a different crowd recently. Now I'm not going to talk ill of my students specifically, but a few of the names that came up are kids who have a history of being … troubled."

"Troubled? What the hell does that mean?" Dean was suddenly terrified.

"It means histories of drug and alcohol abuse, criminal records. One has served time in the local reformatory."

"Served time for what?" Dean barked.

The principal shook his head. "No specifics. I'm sorry. But I wanted to alert you to the situation because I don't think these are the types of kids that Sam needs to be spending a lot of time with. Not that people can't change." He clarified. "But I'd hate to see someone with Sam's potential toss all that away because he fell in with the wrong crowd."

"These friends of Sam's that you spoke to? You got names?"

The man paused, silently studying Dean, trying to decide how much information he should disclose, but in the end, his concern for Sam won out. He glanced at his notes. "That would be Bonnie Haliday and Bryce Kimble."

"And they told you that Sam has been hanging out with these guys?"

The man nodded.

"And you said you knew where?"

"I might know where." the principal offered. "Do you know where Half-Mile Bridge is?"

Dean shook his head.

"You probably crossed over it coming into town. It's the bridge that passes over Kiln River on the way to the interstate. It's actually a viaduct. Lots of places to hide and made yourself scarce from anyone looking. Some of the kids whose names came up are known to hang out there from time to time."

"Under a freaking bridge? What's fun about that?"

"Well, it's close to the liquor store, for one. And it's away from prying eyes of parents and teachers - a perfect place to drink or smoke or spray graffiti."

Dean's eyes narrowed. "And you think Sam is smoking and drinking?"

The principal hesitated, then nodded. "I had to call Sam into my office one day last week. His science teacher, Mr. Newburn, thought he smelled alcohol on his breath."

Dean stopped breathing. "And?"

"And he was right."

Dean seethed. "And you didn't think that warranted a call home?"

The principal looked contrite. "Yes. It did. You're right. I should have called you then. But Sam begged me not to. He seemed terrified that his father would find out - too terrified - if you get my meaning. And we all like Sam here. I let myself be swayed by his argument that it would never happen again."

The principal glanced at Dean with regret, "And no one here has seen Sam since."