Sorry for the long wait again...I haven't really been up to par for the past few weeks and my creativity had sadly went down along with my mood. School isn't going all that well for me...and I'm feeling extremely homesick :(

But I'll try not to let that prevent me from finishing this story, b/c I'm anxious to since I already have another story idea in mind that I want to begin. I also have to work on my chapter of Mothman, the collaboration crossover of Ben 10/Supernatural I'm doing with Mothgirl13 of deviantART as well as Alienated, the crossover of Ben 10/Supernatural I'm working on.

But I hope you're still enjoying this story, because I'm having fun writing it :) Thank you all for your wonderful reviews!

This takes place between the season 1 eps "Scarecrow" and "Faith"

Supernatural: Eric Kripke

Sam sat at the desk in Bobby's library, hunched over the Grimoire that had belonged to the first witch; studying it so intently, John was sure an F-5 tornado could pass by and Sam wouldn't give a damn. It was well into dusk and John and Bobby had devised a rescue plan. But now there was the matter of locating where the witch had taken Dean.

Sam had suggested that they try the place where the first witch held Dean captive, but John brushed that theory aside, saying that that's what this witch would want them to think. Sam had wanted to argue, saying that it's their only and best lead, but Bobby had intervened, agreeing with John for the first time in a long time. John had then said that the witch would be throwing bread crumbs to lead them down a wrong path so it'd be impossible to locate Dean in time.

Sam had then huffed in frustration and resorted to the Grimoire to find a locater spell. That had been over five hours ago, and Sam had went through a hundred dozen pages of Latin, some of which he struggled deciphering, and odd drawings, coming up with nothing. He had a mug full of cold coffee that he hadn't touched since Bobby had given it to him two hours ago. John had turned in for the night, worn out from looking through texts all day. He was zonked out on the old couch by the window.

Clare had been sitting in the exact same position she had been in since earlier that evening, just staring outside with unblinking eyes. Bobby sat in the chair across from Sam, running a weary hand across bleary eyes. He then looked up at Sam; his heart breaking as he could see tears that had welled up in the twenty-three year old's hazel eyes. They threatened to fall any minute, but Sam refused to allow them. He would not show any weakness. He had to be strong for Dean.

Bobby sighed and looked at his watch. It was well past midnight and he was ready to call It a night. He knew that Sam wouldn't be so willing to give in. He was dead set on not resting till he had his big brother back with them, safe and sound. Bobby opened his mouth to say something, but Sam's low, fatigued voice interrupted him.

"Go and get some sleep, Bobby. I can hear you yawning. No use in trying to cover it up."

"I'm fine, Sam," Bobby lied, "I can keep going. You on the other hand…."

"I'm fine," Sam echoed Bobby's words, only with a bit more harshness then he meant. He then glared over at John and shook his head in disbelief. "He's only been looking through these damn texts for two hours and he's already passed out," he grumbled, mostly to himself. But Bobby had heard him anyways. He shook his head in exasperation and went back to the book he was reading.

Not five minutes later, a guttural growl left Sam's mouth as the Grimoire suddenly found its way flying across the room, slamming into the far wall with a thunderous crack before landing heavily onto the hardwood floor. John bolted upright on the couch, his hand automatically going for the blade he kept strapped to his ankle. He looked around with wide eyes for the danger, but became confused when he only seen a startled Bobby gawking at a frustrated Sam, who had both elbows up on the table where the witch's book had once been, his hands raked into his hair, his face resting in his palms. The only one who didn't seem disconcerted by Sam's sudden burst of outrage was Clare, who sat immobile in the same spot, her eyes having a faint, glowing green hue to them. But no one else in the room noticed.

"What the hell?" John growled, placing his knife back into its sheath. He swung his legs over the couch's edge so that his socked feet were resting on the floor. He glared at his youngest son, who wasn't responding.

"Sam!" He barked in a commanding tone. But Sam ignored him. He was about to shout again when Sam spoke up; his quiet voice muffled against his hands.

"Sam, move your damn hands," Bobby said. "We can't understand mumbles."

Sam did, and the two older hunters felt their hearts clench at the sight of red, teary hazel eyes that was glaring back at them. The eyes moved down to the Grimoire as he repeated what he had said last.

"That damn book can tell me how to mix a potion for walking in someone's dreams, but not tell me how to locate someone? It's useless!"
"Sam, now just calm down," Bobby took a slow step towards him, his hands held out placatingly. John stood up, his old knees cracking and was ready to face the outburst from Sam that was sure to come.

Sam swiveled his head to glare at him, and he inwardly flinched at the hatred that his youngest son seemed to be throwing at him. He opened his mouth to say something when a sudden, loud meow interrupted him. The three hunters looked over at Clare, who was now up on all fours and staring back at them.

She quickly hopped down from the windowsill and bolted across the room, heading for a stack of books with scrolls of paper lying on top of them Bobby had placed haphazardly near the fireplace. Sam turned in his chair to keep his sight on her.

"What the Sam Hill has gotten into her?" Bobby wondered, watching as Clare stopped behind the stack, staring at it as if she was sizing it up, her tail twitching excitedly.

"I have no idea," Sam shook his head, not taking his eyes off of the tiny kitten. He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head in curiosity as Clare stood up on her back legs, placing her front paws on the books. Sam's eyes widened as he seen what looked like the cat pushing the stack till it started to topple over.

"No!" Bobby yelped, jumping forward to stop the downfall of the thick, heavy volumes. But it was too late. They clattered to the floor nosily, pages fluttering open, some tearing a bit as they descended. The scrolls rolled off, a few unraveling to reveal maps of different parts of the world. Soon, the whole library floor was blanket by books and maps and bits of paper that had flown loose from their confinement between the dusty pages.

"Damn it!" Bobby growled, whirling to face Clare. "Bad cat! Bad!" He reached to pick her up but she arched her back with a growl, hissed, and swatted at his hand with a lightning quick paw. Luckily, her claws were retracted, as she had only wanted to give Bobby a hearty warning, not injure him. But the older hunter had quickly leapt back away from the kitten, who suddenly bolted across the floor, bounding from one book to another until she reached the pile of unraveled scrolls and began pawing through them frantically.

"Sam, you know that cat better than any of us," John said. "What in the world is wrong with her?"

Sam looked up at him with a puzzled expression and shrugged his shoulders. "Honestly, I have no idea! She's been acting weird since we found her!"

"Where did you find her, anyways?" Bobby asked, turning his attention from the inquisitive feline to the young hunter.

Sam pursed his lips together and looked up at the ceiling as he recalled a few weeks back.

"We were leaving the movie theatre when Mini-Dean had torn away from me and ran across the parking lot. I found him kneeling by Clare's tiny form. She was so starved and frail that I couldn't say no to letting Dean take her back with us."

"You happen to just stumble upon her?" John's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

Sam rolled his eyes and glared up at his father. "We were in a city, Dad. Stray cats are known to roam around them."
John shook his head. "Just seems a bit strange to me that she happened to be in the exact same lot you two were in and that Dean somehow knew where she was since I'm betting that he didn't have an exact clear view of something as tiny as her and had dark fur."

It then dawned on Sam that his father had a point. It was a bit odd, now that he thought about it. He looked back down at Clare, who had just picked up one of the maps in her small jaws and sauntered towards the table, crouching down before leaping elegantly on top of it and dropping the map in front of Sam. She mewed and pawed at Sam's shoulder, looking at the map and back at him insistently.

Sam then realized that she was trying to get him to look at it. He looked up at Bobby and John, who both shrugged and helped him unravel the map. Bobby set down some books as makeshift paperweights and the three hunters then peered down at the map.

"You've got to be kidding me!" Sam gasped, his eyes widening as he saw what the map was of.

"I guess we should have known," Bobby growled, feeling disbelieved.

"What? Someone wanna clue me in?" John asked irritably.

Sam huffed and slumped back in his chair, running a frustrated hand through his unkempt hair. "It's where the first witch had kidnapped Dean three months ago."

John's eyes widened as he looked at the map with dumbfounderment. It was of Massachusetts. The town of Salem had been circled with a red Sharpie. Sam had remembered that when they were looking for a hunt back then, they were staying at Bobby's for some downtime not long after the scarecrow incident. Dean had been the one to have stumbled across the witch case and had shown Sam the very same map. They had decided to take up the case and set out that night.

Sam now wishes that they hadn't. His gut clenched with queasiness and he swore his face lost all traces of color. Tears welled up in his eyes. He then felt a swell

of anger rise inside of him.

"Sam, you alright?" John asked worriedly, noticing his son's pale complexion.

"No, Dad," Sam growled, standing up so that he was face to face with his father. "I'm far from fine! We've been sitting here for hours, trying to find out where Dean was and he happened to have been in the one place that we freaking swore he wouldn't be in this whole freaking time!

In fact, you were the one that said the witch wouldn't be sloppy enough to take him somewhere we knew her sister had took him before!" Sam jammed a finger hard into John's chest. "We hadn't even bothered to check to be sure; instead throwing the idea out and because of that, Dean could be dead! And it's because of your damn theory!" Sam slammed his fist down on the table so hard, the reverberations were strong enough to shift the books a few inches and made Clare mew in surprise.

John opened and closed his mouth, making a good impression of a fish out of water, struggling to find the right words to say. But right now, he found that impossible. Sam's tears were cascading down his reddened cheeks by now as his hate filled eyes bored into his.

"Dean could be dead," Sam repeated with less ire and in a whispered tone. He then bowed his head and let out an angry sob, turning away from his so-called father, clenching his fists on the desktop and leaning down over it as his emotions took over him. His bangs fell over his eyes as tears dripped down onto the old wood, sobs shaking his whole body. Clare meowed and began licking his face, her tongue drinking up the salty water on his face, trying to comfort him. But it just made Sam cry even harder. He fell to his knees and buried his face in his arms.

Bobby and John watched him with sunken hearts.

"Sam," Bobby began hesitantly. "We're not sure that your brother is…gone." He couldn't bring himself to say the d-word. "He could still be there and sitting there crying about him sure isn't doing nothing to help him. If we want to save Dean, we have to get going, now!"

Sam suddenly gasped and lifted his head as Bobby's words sunk into him. How could he have been such an idiot to assume a preposterous thing? He could only hope that Bobby was right and that they weren't too late to save Dean. He angrily wiped away his tears and stood up on Jell-O legs, not daring to look at John, who felt a pang of remorse overwhelm him.

"Oh my God, Bobby. I-I'm sorry. Y-you're right. We have to leave, like right now!" He looked around for the Impala's keys and looked up as a jangling metallic noise sounded, seeing that Bobby already had them.

"You know what they say about people being too upset to drive, boy. I'm going to be the designated driver this time. You two just get your asses in the car. We're wasting enough time as it is!"

Sam was already out the door before Bobby could even finish his sentence. Clare jumped down from the table and scurried after him. Bobby turned to follow, but stopped when he saw that John made no move to head out.

"John, get your head in the game!" Bobby growled, grasping his old friend's arm roughly and dragging him towards the door.

"Bobby," John finally spoke, his voice choked with grief. "Sam's right. I should have…."

"Save it for later, John." Bobby snapped, dragging him to the Impala's passenger door. Sam and Clare sat in the back, looking extremely anxious and worried. "We've wasted enough time with these pointless trivialities. It's a damn long trip back to Salem, and you best hope we make it there in time, or it won't be just Sam's wrath you'll be facing."

Bobby then opened the door and unceremoniously shoved the old hunter onto the seat before running around to the other side and getting behind the wheel. The Impala roared to life, tires spinning on the gravel road as she tore out of the Singer Salvage Yard, as if she, too, was fervent to save her owner.

It was a day's worth of driving, but with the speed Bobby was doing down the highway, he was sure he'd make it there in half the time. He just prayed hard that they wouldn't be too late.

TBC...