I'm nervous. I'm nervous about where I'm going and why, and it isn't a feeling I'm used to. It isn't a feeling I like.

"Come on Winchester," I mutter to myself under my breath. This isn't like me. Even my baby isn't as calming as usual, the soothing rumble of her engine grating rather than helping my nerves. I realize too late that I missed the turn I needed to take. It's not as if I don't know where I'm going, I've been there more times than I can count, but I'm so distracted that I manage to miss it. Pull yourself together, Winchester!

Cursing under my breath, I swing a U-turn, a pretty difficult feat in an Impala, and apparently one that the driver behind me does not appreciate. I pull to a shuddery stop at the light, rolling my eyes as a horn blares behind me.

"Shut up!" I yell, sticking my hand out my window and flip the car behind me off. I am just not in the mood for this crap. The horn blasts again and I angrily look at the driver in my rearview for the first time. I'm surprised to see an old woman, blue hair and all, driving a Buick that's seen better days. I'm even more surprised as she slowly and deliberately sticks her own hand out the window and gives me the one-fingered salute. I can't help but smile, laughing to myself in disbelief as the light changes and I accelerate.

If I were a few decades older, I would so marry that granny.

My nervousness creeps back as I pull onto campus. It's been a while since I've been here, and even longer since I've actually seen Sammy.

Which is, of course, half of the reason I'm so nervous.

The other half of my anxiety is the fault of the other remaining member of my family, who hasn't shown his scraggly head for a few days, and who isn't picking up his phone.

It's hard to realize that either your dad is out dying somewhere or has decided to abandon you without saying a word. I hope that he's okay, know that he probably is. I hope that he's in trouble, know that it's a large possibility.

Weren't we partners? Hadn't I finally started being the hunter he always wanted me to be, fast and accurate and deadly and dangerous? Then why the hell would he just take off like this? A big part of me is reminding me that Dad is Dad, that I should listen to him without question, that if he's out there ignoring me, then he has a good reason for it.

It's hard.

What if that reason is that I'm too clingy? Or not good enough? Holy crap, I need to stop thinking. I'm starting to sound like Sammy.

Speaking of which…I peer into the apartment that I know is his, that I've driven by every other month or so since he moved in, wondering when it would be best to pop in. Definitely after dark. It'll be more dramatic that way, and Sam always did love theatrics.

I wonder vaguely if he's different. Maybe he's grown even taller. Maybe he doesn't hate me anymore. Maybe he wears sweater vests and pinstripes. Maybe he doesn't care about Dad.

Maybe Dad doesn't care about me.

I shake my head and pull out of the parking lot. If I'm going to wait until dark, I have time to eat. Time to get my head on straight, to forget that maybe Dad is dead or maybe Dad is disappointed in me, to forget that Sammy hasn't talked to me in two years and probably won't see the point in starting now.

I turn up the Led Zeppelin already blasting in my car and keep an eye out for a battered old Buick as I drive towards the diner.

A/N: Thank you for all of the great reviews so far! I really appreciate them.