Dean awoke to another depressing motel room in another nameless, faceless town with one difference – he was alone now. October had come and gone, and with it, Dean's resolve to remain on the straight and narrow until he'd located his brother.

On the one-year anniversary of the worst day of his life, Dean had gone on such a bender that he'd broken up a redneck bar, his motel room, and even Bobby's nose when his friend had tried to intervene. For the older man, it had been the last straw. He couldn't find it in himself to stay angry with the boy because he understood the pain he was feeling, but for Bobby, hanging around any longer was just detrimental to them both. So he'd hopped a bus back to Sioux Falls with a promise to work things from the other end and to call if anything came up.

Dean watched him go with an emptiness that was all-encompassing. He had seen dark days before, but the sadness that clutched at him now reached a depth inside that even he couldn't bring himself to face for fear of drowning in it. There was no Sam to anchor him, no boat to hang onto, no life vest to inflate. There was just Dean and endless miles of rolling, staggering waves that sought constantly to suck him down and crush him under the force of an ocean.

That had been a week ago, and Dean was still struggling to stay afloat. In his heart, he was certain that his strength was winding down – his battle drawing to a close. He was no longer confident in his ability to wake up and toss his legs over the side of the bed every morning. And he had even less faith in his investigative skills. Every dead end, every "I've never seen that kid before in my life," and every door that slammed unceremoniously shut in his face was just another can of gasoline on the fire. One day, Dean understood that somebody, somewhere was going to drop a match, and that would be the end. There would be no more Dean, no more Sam.

There would be no more Winchesters.

And that was the thought that forced his foot inside his boot and his arms inside his shirt every day when he wanted nothing more than to pull the covers over his head and die quietly in his sleep.

He was contemplating these cheery thoughts when his phone rang from the nightstand. Not recognizing the number, he flipped it open and barked a greeting.

"Yeah?"

"Uh," a man's voice, "I'm calling about a flyer I have here of a missing kid."

Dean's heart jumped instantly to his throat. He'd been tacking up those flyers in every town he hit along the way – in barrooms and laundromats, on grocery store bulletin boards and in bus stations. So far he hadn't gotten even a nibble. "You've seen him?"

"Well, uh, first I want to know why you're looking for him."

Dean had no time for this shit, "Because he's missing, and I want him back. Why do you think?"

Silence.

Dean reconsidered his tone, "Look, whoever you are - don't hang up. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bark at you."

"Well, uh, I think I know this kid, and he's a good kid. So I'm not going to tell you anything unless I know for sure that you have his best interests at heart."

Dean considered this, and it made sense to him and pissed him off the same time. "Listen, Sam's my brother. We got … separated … a while back, and I've been searching all over Illinois for him ever since. I'm worried about him. It was my job to look after him, and I … I didn't do it."

The man hedged, "Well, yeah. This kid had a brother – talked about him all the time like he was some saint. You older or younger? What's your name?" He asked.

Dean swallowed at this new revelation, "I'm four years older. Dean. My name's Dean."

The man let out a sigh of what sounded like relief. "So your brother, his name's Sam, right?"

"Yeah, Sam Jovani."

"Oh. Well, this kid told me his name was Winchester."

Dean sat stunned. "Oh." He said, not having seen that coming.

Well, sometimes he uses Winchester too." That even sounded lame to Dean's ears. He just hoped the guy would buy it.

"Yeah, well, he came here looking for a job, and I hired him on."

Dean rummaged around for a piece of paper and a pen, "And where is this?"

"Salem, Illinois – in Marion County."

"He still there?"

"Nah, I had to let him go. Hated to do it. The kid was a damned good worker, but my wife's aunt passed away sudden with no life insurance. Took all our savings to bury her, and I couldn't afford to keep him on anymore."

Dean tried not to smash a fucking hole in the son-of-a-bitching wall. "So, he say where he was headed?"

"Maybe. I got a second cousin in Benton, about an hour away who's in the same business. We ain't talked in a while so I didn't give the kid no promises, but I told him he might want to check in with Ronny."

"So what did Sam do there? Wait tables?"

"Wait tables? Hell no. I got a garage. He didn't know a lot when he first showed up here, but he knew enough. Knew how to change oil and flush out transmissions, stuff like that. The rest he picked up pretty quick. He drove an old blue beater and was working on fixing it up. I almost didn't hire him at all – he looked like trouble with a capital T, but there was just something about him that made me give the kid a chance."

Dean couldn't imagine what the guy was talking about. "What do you mean he looked like trouble?"

"Kid was beat to hell and back. Black eyes, busted nose, gimpy ribs. And he was limping a little, though he tried not to show it."

Dean closed his eyes and swallowed. "So when was this? When did Sam first show up there?"

"Let's see, that would have been about the middle of May when he got here. I let him go about a month later."

"And your cousin's place, what's it called? You got an address?"

"Yeah, Ronnie and his boy work out of their barn down in Benton – called Ritter's Garage." He rattled off an address.

Dean didn't know what else to ask the man who'd given him the first solid lead since the roadhouse.

"So … he seem okay to you?" he blurted out.

The man paused, "What do you mean, okay?"

Dean swallowed, "I mean … happy. He seem happy? Well-adjusted?"

"Mmmm …. Yeah. I'd say so. We had a few good laughs from time to time. He was kinda quiet, you know, but respectful. He grew on you."

Dean knew exactly. Sam had the eyes working again.

"So, okay. Hey thanks for calling me." He said, "What's your name, by the way?"

"Larry. You can call me Larry."

"Well, thanks Larry. I …" Dean's voice hitched. "I appreciate you taking the time to call."

"Think nothing of it," the guy said. "I just hope you find him at Ronny's."

"Oh!" Dean had a thought, "You got a number for Ronny?"

"Nah, kid, sorry. Like I said, we ain't spoke in a while. There might be a number in the Yellow Pages though."

"Okay then." Dean replied.

"Take care, son. And when you see Sam again, give him my best. Tell him if things pick back up around here, I'd gladly take him back on."

Dean cleared his throat, "Will do." He said and broke the connection.

His hands were shaking as he hit speed dial on the phone and connected instantly with Bobby's voicemail.

"Hey Bobby," Dean tried to calm the quake in his voice. "I just got a lead from one of those flyers. Sam's working garages down around Salem and Benton. I'm in … well, hell, I don't know where I am, but I'll call you back when I find out." He disconnected and reached over to drag Bobby's worn laptop out of his duffle. The hunter had offered to leave it behind for Dean until they saw each other again.

His fingers flew across the keys until he got a hit on Ritter's Garage in Benton, IL. There was no website, but the address was right and there were two phone numbers listed. He called the first one, and breathed a sigh of relief when it was picked up on the first ring.

"Ritter's." A man answered.

Dean paused for just a moment, trying to calm his shaking nerves.

"Sammy? Is that you?" the voice asked, gaining intensity.

"What?" Dean was confused.

The voice deflated, "Oh, sorry. I thought you were someone else for a minute."

Dean couldn't speak.

"Hello? You still there?"

"Yeah, yeah, sorry. Uh, I'm looking for Sam. Is he there?"

Silence.

"Who is this?"

"Who is this?" Dean barked back, not liking the sudden angry tone.

"Listen, if you know something about Sammy …"

Sammy. They called him Sammy.

"My name is Dean. Sam's my brother, and I'd like to talk to him."

A sudden intake of breath from the other end of the line.

"Dad!" a voice yelled out. "Dad, it's Dean!"