Dean didn't reply to Bobby's barked order before he snapped the phone shut. The two men had long ago stopped butting heads. Or more like Dean had finally stopped fighting. After the death of his father, Bobby had been there. That had been enough for Dean.

Dean slid behind the wheel of his baby, his precious 1967 Impala, the very car his father had given him, and started the engine. The purr of the engine was unmistakable. He loved that sound more than just about any other sound he'd ever heard. Her voice came flooding back to him – as it sometimes did – unbidden and, right now, unwelcome. She still haunted him from time to time. Most of the time, he could shut his eyes really tightly and force her to go away, but there were still times when even that didn't work and he just had to let himself remember. Luckily, this was one of the former. She left his mind as quickly as she'd come into it. Dean threw the car into gear and peeled out, leaving a cloud of flying gravel and dust behind him as he sped towards the highway.

"What's up?" he asked as soon as he parked behind Bobby's beat up 2-door "Frankenstein" car and got out.

Bobby stood at the tail of his car, leaning against the trunk as he waited for Dean. He stood with his arms crossed over his chest as he most often did. He motioned towards the passenger side of his car as soon as Dean got out of his. "Come on. I think found 'tracks' like the ones you described."

The two men got into Bobby's car and an old Johnny Cash song poured from the speakers when Bobby turned the key.

Dean gave Bobby a raised-eyebrow look as the song filled the car. Bobby refused to look at Dean. "Don't say a word," he said as he put the car in drive and pulled away from the shoulder. They drove what felt like forever to Dean, but everything felt like forever to him right now. Bobby finally came to a stop and in an empty field and after killing the engine, got out of the car. Dean followed, but didn't say anything – yet.

Bobby walked about ten feet before stopping over a broken barbed wire fence that very nearly laid on the ground. Another twenty feet or so and he came to a stop and crouched down.

Dean stopped and crouched beside him, looking at the grassy spot before them. "It's exactly the same," he stated to Bobby as he took a pen out of his pocket and lifted up the bent over grass to check the blades below. "All bent over, not a blade broken." His eyes scanned the area to see if there were more.

Even as he did, Bobby spoke up. "The tracks go all the way into that corn field. I followed them in as far as I could, but they get harder to follow."

Dean stood up and pocketed the pen. "Maybe they're aliens. Like that movie with Mel Gibson and the crop circles." He looked at Bobby with a slight grin on his face. He was trying to keep it light – like this was nothing unusual to him – like Sammy being gone wasn't tearing him apart.

Bobby gave Dan a "don't be stupid" look and began to walk beside the strange imprints. As they got closer to the edge of the corn field, the prints became less visible. Once the two men passed through the wall of corn, the prints became more like whisps in the dirt. The imprint was unmistakable as being made by the same thing. It was hard to describe the way they looked. They looked both pounded down by a heavy force and like they'd been blown by a breath of air all at the same time.

Bobby had been right. The further in they went, the harder the tracks were to follow. Dean finally lost them in the same place Bobby had.

"What the hell is it, Bobby?" Dean asked in a frustrated voice.

Bobby motioned back towards the car. "Come on. I think I have an idea."