Warning: A little cussing. Very little.

A/N: Great big heaping thanks to Faye for her patient betaing and to Kaly for Arkansas (yep, the entire state). And thanks toeveryone who has read and so kindly reviewed.

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"You seen your brother?"

The question caught Dean off-guard. And awakened in him a fear he hadn't allowed himself to feel in weeks. "Not since this morning. Why?"

"I haven't either." Bobby gave him a pointed look and Dean was up and moving before Bobby could say anything else.

It took longer than he would have thought to find the small copse of trees set about a mile north of the cabin. Bobby's property was extensive and mostly undeveloped, and Dean had never tried to follow Sam or figure out where it was that he went. Then, too, walking wasn't exactly painless yet. Trying to cover a lot of ground in a short amount of time had him panting and pressing a hand to his chest.

He finally found Sam sitting with his back against a deer-stripped tree trunk, head clasped in his hands. As Dean rounded on him, he saw that Sam's elbows were braced against his knees and he was rocking, just slightly, back and forth.

"You all right?" Dean's voice was gruff and it occurred to him that it had been days since he had last spoken to his brother.

Sam nodded but didn't lift his head.

"You're a shitty liar, Sam."

Sam didn't answer and Dean lowered himself awkwardly to sit beside him. The ground was damp and cold beneath them, but neither seemed to notice.

Long moments passed with no other words spoken. Dean watched the sun slowly sink as it filtered through the tree-dotted landscape. He glanced at Sam occasionally, but Sam's eyes stayed closed. The rocking had stopped, though, which Dean took as a good sign.

He cleared his throat, not sure what he was going to say, and was surprised when what came out was, "I'm sorry."

"It's okay." Sam's response was quick and even, but he didn't look up and there was no ease in the space between them.

"I should have – " Dean stumbled over the unfamiliar words. "I shouldn't have said what I did."

"I'm not leaving, Dean."

"I don't want you to stay because of me."

Sam finally looked at him then, his expression a mix of disbelief, hurt, anger, and – if Dean didn't know any better – pity.

"Why else do you think I'd stay?"

Dean didn't know what to make of that. Sure as hell, it wasn't the answer he'd expected. He was defensive before he could even think about what Sam meant.

"I don't need you."

"Yeah? Well, what if it's me who needs you? You ever think about that?"

But Sam was lying. He had to be.

They don't need you – not like you need them. Dean knew – had always known – that what the demon had said was true.

The look Sam gave him now was unreadable. Or maybe Dean just didn't want to read it.

Before he could decide, Sam had pushed himself up and was walking back to the cabin with measured steps. A hand was still pressed to his forehead, and in the haze of the late afternoon sun, his shoulders looked slumped in defeat.

The next day, Sam was gone.

Dean noticed the absence of Bobby's truck before the absence of his brother.

They had not spoken at all after their conversation the day before, and Sam had gone to bed almost immediately after eating. Dean, for his part, went to the garage at first light and didn't emerge until Bobby called him for supper.

He realized then that the truck was still missing. He didn't want to ask but couldn't help himself.

"Sam went to town?"

Bobby eyed him over a piece of chicken that was so charred it was almost unrecognizable. He chewed for an inordinately long amount of time before answering.

"He's gone. Thought you knew." But Bobby's expression clearly said otherwise.

Acid pooled in Dean's stomach that had nothing to do with the pale imitation of a meal Bobby had set before him. You told him to go. You told him to go. The damning words swirled in his brain and for a few seconds, the world went white. He pushed away from the table and stumbled his way to Sam's bedroom, panic once again clawing at his throat.

But Sam's things were still there. His duffel was missing, his phone, his knife, his boots . . . but there were still clothes and books and the journal that Sam had kept since he first realized that the prophetic nightmares were more than just a one-time occurrence. Dean didn't understand. Why would Sam have left so much behind?

Unless . . . unless . . .

Bobby was still calmly chewing when Dean came back to the small dining room.

"Where did he go?" He hadn't intended for the words to sound so accusatory, but Bobby didn't seem to take offense.

"Arkansas."

No other information was forthcoming, but Dean still felt a curtain of dread settle over him. He leaned low over the table, his face mere inches from Bobby's.

"Why?"

Bobby speared another piece of chicken. "Had one of those visions or whatever you call them. Said to tell you he'd be back in a few days and not to worry."

And with those words, Dean's world again fell apart.