A/N: Hellooo! Thank you so much for the reviews, favs and follows! Here's chapter two.

For those of you wondering about mine and Sanj's WIPs, we're both working on updates! Fireflies in the Dark, my other Destiel AU is going a teeny bit slow because I am getting less time to sit and write because of exams, but I will try to do it soon. Same with Sanj and her WIPs. But please head over to her profile and check her other stories too. She's awesome and I am proud to have done this collaboration with her. :)

2. He Went Chasing Love

Four years later

Three consecutive knocks followed by another three spaced about two seconds apart each resonate on the heavy metal doors of the bunker. Dean waits in tense silence, eyes darting about his surroundings, making sure for the millionth time that he wasn't tailed. A grinding noise of dead bolts being unlocked fills the quiet, chilly air around him and he winces. It's one of the disadvantages of living in an otherwise fully guarded, armed, and secure place. The noise is just too loud when any person is getting in or out.

He could have used the Impala, but nowadays, it just didn't feel right sitting in it alone. Except for when they'd go out to hunt, Dean hardly took the car out these days, though he made it a point to take very good care of it. Never was there even the tiniest speck of dust on the car.

He adjusts the duffel bags, hands straining from the weight. They'd been running low on food and other necessities so Dean volunteered to make a run. Sometimes, getting out of the bunker, though not very safe, seems to give him a little bit of relief.

When you're constantly cooped up within four walls and the same room, it's not fun, thinks Dean. Then again, nothing has ever been fun. Not since the world went to shit and he kept losing people he cared about.

Mom.

Sam.

Dean grits his teeth and forces himself to shove these thoughts into the tiny little box at the back of his brain. Ever since that phone call four years ago, word had spread around the bunker that Dean wasn't in his right mind. Though Dean's been grateful to the people who cared, who all but completely abolished the rumors, he has to admit that, in a way, they hadn't been wrong. He may have been sane, but he knew something in him had broken that day; shattered beyond the ability to be fixed.

As the bunker door opens, Dean snaps out of his thoughts and easily puts his mask on, the one he's gotten used to wearing for the last few years.

He can't help but smile as he sees his red-headed companion smirking at him, leaning on the door.

"Took you long enough," Charlie says.

Dean shrugs. "I stopped to enjoy the view," he retorts as he descends the stairs, heading for the war room just below.

He grunts as he lifts the bags onto the table. Charlie is immediately at his side, opening one of the bags.

Dean flexes his fingers. "Fuck, these things are heavy."

Charlie chuckles. "You didn't exactly just go shopping for yourself, you know. Besides, if you really needed help, you could have taken one of us."

Dean doesn't say anything. He just hadn't felt like taking anyone else. Living around so many people, you tend to cherish the moments you get to spend alone. And nowadays, alone just felt better than socializing.

"Get everything we need?" John asks as he walks into the war room.

Dean opens up the remaining bag. "Yup, though Marty said he might need to make a trip into town in a few days to restock his own supplies."

"Okay, then," John acknowledges. "I'll talk to Caleb and a few of the others, see if they're okay to make a run into town soon."

"Need help stocking up the storage room?" Dean asks, half-hoping for his father to agree. Keeping his hands busy will probably help keep his constant fucked up thoughts at bay.

John shakes his head. "Nah. You go on and get some shut-eye. I need you in the next training session in an hour."

"Yes, sir," Dean agrees and starts trudging to his room.

He can't stand being in there, though. It's a constant reminder to him that his baby brother isn't with them; with him anymore, even if he'd never gotten around to asking for a new room. And in a fucked up way, he didn't want to move out of here either. Even though seeing the empty bed at the far end of the room felt like someone was constantly driving a sword into his chest, it also reminded him of the happy times he and Sam had shared and he wasn't ready to leave Sammy behind. So he reckons that's why he never got around to a new room anyway.

Dean sighs as he kicks off his footwear upon entering his room and flops onto the bed nearest the door. He throws one of his shoes at it, slamming the door shut.

Sleep. Yet another thing he isn't fond of anymore. He likes to pretend he doesn't notice the now-permanent bags under his eyes. He likes to pretend that his dad or Charlie haven't rushed into his room in the middle of the night to wake him up from the throes of consistent nightmares. He most definitely likes to believe that Sam is not dead.

He refuses to believe it. Not until he's seen Sam with his own eyes.

Somewhere in his mind, he knows he's being irrational. He knows that his baby brother didn't make it out of that hunt. But he just can't wrap his mind around the fact that Sam, the kid that was the only stable thing in his life, is forever gone.

And just like that, Dean can feel the hole in his chest widen. It's hard to breathe and his vision blurs with unshed tears. He curls into a ball, determined not to break down again. He's lost count of the amount of times he's grieved for his brother. His fingers immediately curl around the pendant hanging around his neck with a black leather cord.

Sam had given it to him a year or two after they had taken refuge in the bunker. He'd gone with Bobby to one of the storage rooms to explore. Dean had been so fond of Sam's genuine curiosity and thirst for knowledge. Sam had come back with the amulet in his hand, saying that Bobby had given it to him and that the old man had told him that it was supposed to protect the person that wore it.

Dean had hugged his brother and had let Sam put it around his neck.

Dean feels himself starting to calm down as his fingers clench around the amulet. He feels the tightening in his chest loosen up slightly and he slowly uncurls himself, lying on his side, facing the door. He hastily wipes away the few tears that had escaped and wills himself to get some sleep.

His dreams are haunted by his brother's screams and vivid images of their mother being burned alive.

~o~

Dean startles awake when he feels a hand on his shoulder. Instinctually, he grabs the hand and twists it around, but immediately lets go as he hears a familiar grunt of pain.

"Dad?" he calls out and reaches over to his bedside table to turn on the lamp. He looks to his side and sees his father kneeling next to the bed, clutching his right arm.

"Shit, sorry," Dean apologizes, horrified that he just attacked his father for no reason.

John shakes his head. "It's fine. You learned well," he remarks.

Dean smiles but doesn't say anything. John gets to his feet, now flexing his arm. "Came to wake you up. Get to the war room. Jo's out on an errand but Charlie is waiting for you."

John reaches for a pat on Dean's shoulder before he leaves the room. Dean swings his legs over the side of the bed and takes a deep breath. He gets to his feet and walks over to the bathroom to freshen up and hopefully look a little more awake. A couple of minutes later he exits and slowly makes his way to the training arena at the other end of the bunker.

His mind wanders to the times when he and Sam used to train together.

"That all you got, bitch?" Dean teases as he gets to his feet, panting. He hadn't expected the counter Sam had pulled and inside, he was really proud.

Sam chuckles. "I'm just warming up."

"Oh, you're gonna pay for that!" Dean charges towards his brother. He ducks as Sam's right arm swings out towards his head and pulls on Sam's left arm and bends, thrusting his hips back, flipping Sam over himself and onto the mat below.

Sam grunts as he hits the ground but doesn't waste time getting back on his feet. "That was a lucky shot."

"Or it was just my awesome fighting skills."

Sam snorts. "Yeah, right."

"Shut up and fight, bitch."

"Come at me, jerk."

Every goddamn thing, even years later, reminds him of Sam. And sometimes, it's the worst fucking feeling in the world. There are days when Dean just feels like putting a bullet in his mouth would be the best thing because it would end this fucking agony he feels. It would make the pain go away. And then there are days where he knows that even though it looks like a good solution, he's just going to end up hurting the people he cares about even more.

So he goes on. He drags on. For them.

Dean doesn't realize he's standing just outside the arena until Charlie opens the door and walks right into him. He startles and immediately holds onto her arms as she stumbles backwards.

"Oops. Sorry. I was just coming to look for you," Charlie explains.

"Well, I'm here now," Dean says, immediately putting a smile on his face. It sometimes scares him how easy it is to pretend everything is okay when it literally feels like pieces of him are chipping away each day.

He then walks along with Charlie and leads her to the shooting range that is situated next to the training area. He can't help but be amused at the excitement on Charlie's face. He recalls how enthusiastic she'd been to learn shooting.

"Don't get too excited, kiddo. Firing a gun isn't as easy as you think it is," Dean says.

Charlie rolls her eyes. "Well. I'm probably gonna be your best student then."

Dean laughs fondly. "We'll see."

They enter the shooting range, eyeing the booths meant for practising. About ten feet away are targets, human silhouettes for shooting practice. At the far left end of the range are shelves, boxes, and holders dedicated to the placement of various types of firearms and ammunition.

Dean walks over with Charlie following. He then proceeds to pick up a few of the guns and tell her what they are, how many rounds they hold and if they're suitable for long range or not. He shows her the muzzles, hammers, and triggers, and the loading and unloading of magazines and clips. He teaches her about bullets and cartridges and pellets, calibers, injuries, entry wounds and exit wounds and mushrooming.

He smiles to himself a few times seeing the attentiveness on Charlie's face. And his heart breaks a little as it reminds him so much of Sam.

He then picks up one of the unloaded pistols and hands it to her.

"Okay, first things first. You need to know how to load and unload a gun before you learn how to fire it. Because once that gun is out of bullets, it's pretty much useless."

He then picks up a magazine from one of the boxes. "Can you guess how many rounds that thing could hold?"

"Well, from the look of it, it's a standard 9-mm, semi-automatic handgun. So, maybe like, 15 rounds?"

Dean blinks, surprised. "Wow. Okay, you were spot on with that."

Charlie chuckles. "I couldn't sleep much last night. So I borrowed Bobby's book on firearms and well, kinda read it all night."

Dean holds his hands up in surrender. "Okay, then. You probably don't need me here," he teases, mockingly heading towards the door.

"No, I do!" Charlie exclaims. "Books don't freaking teach you as well as a live person could."

Dean laughs as he makes his way back to her. He then shows her how to load and unload the magazine. Charlie, as expected, gets it right the first time (kid's always been badass. Like Sammy).

After going through the basics with her, he takes the pistol and walks over to one of the partitions.

"I'm gonna tell you one thing before we start. Shooting a person or anything living is lot harder than shooting a paper target."

Charlie nods, serious. "Okay. Well, let's hope I can keep my head in the game if I ever need to shoot someone that's not made of paper."

Dean rolls his eyes. "Okay, so, holding it with two hands makes it a lot steadier than with one. So we'll start with that."

He slowly demonstrates it, explaining each step as he shows it. Charlie is a quick learner and soon, Dean is showing her all the different ways to hold the gun in a two-hand grip before handing it over to her.

He smiles proudly when after a couple of failed attempts and a bit more explaining, she finally gets it right.

"Very good, I'm impressed."

Charlie beams and then says, "Can we get to actually using the gun now?"

Dean takes the gun from her. He adjusts his posture, one leg behind the other to help with the recoil and both hands on the gun, shoulders tight and grip firm.

"Each gun has a different degree of recoil and it takes some getting used to," he explains. "Other than that, it's pretty simple. Just point and shoot."

He hands Charlie a pair of earmuffs. "The sound can be pretty loud at first if you're not used to it. You're better off putting these on."

He takes a deep breath, aims for the chest of the silhouette, and fires. He smirks when the bullet hits its mark.

Charlie grins. "You're not bad," she says as she takes off her earmuffs and lets them hang around her neck.

"Not bad?" Dean scoffs. "Seriously? I just nailed that shot, Charlie."

Charlie shrugs and holds her hand out for the gun. She puts her earmuffs back on and mimics Dean's posture. Dean watches as she takes a few seconds to calm down and then fires. Dean hits a button on the side of the partition to bring the sheet of paper closer and he gapes when he sees that Charlie was only a couple of centimeters off from the bullseye.

Another pang hits him as he realizes Sam had been pretty good on his first try, too. He decides to shove the feeling deep down because right now, it's about Charlie.

"Holy crap, kid. You're not bad."

"Not bad?" Charlie mocks. "Bitch, I nailed that shot."

Dean chuckles fondly. "You're one weird kid, I'm gonna tell you that."

"And you're one weird guy. But hey, we work well, I think," she says, eyes twinkling.

"Yeah, we do."

He watches as Charlie then puts the target back in place and gets ready to practice some more. Once again, he's reminded of how much he misses Sam.

He's thankful to have Charlie, though. He remembers how hard it used to be for him. It's still hard, but it's more bearable, he feels. Charlie is a big part of them. She always tries to make him smile, and be there for him if he needs her. She's always goofing around, but can also be serious and attentive and work her ass off in training. She's like the sister he never had, and while he knows no one can ever fill Sam's place, he's glad he has someone like Charlie around.

He's surprised she stuck around with him this long. He recalls how emotionless he used to be in the beginning when he'd started training her. He'd pretty much been a douchebag at first, but then he'd slowly developed a fondness for her. He appreciates her having put up with his moody self when she'd had every right to rattle off about him and get one of the other hunters living in the bunker to train her. He's thankful she gave him a chance to somehow pull himself back together as best he could.

Dean snaps out of his thoughts when he hears his name being called from the hallway. He walks over to the door and peeks out, spotting Kevin looking for him.

"Kevin! Here!" he yells out.

Kevin turns around, spots Dean, and waves before running over to him.

"What's up?" Dean asks. "Take a breath, Kev," he adds, seeing Kevin panting and wheezing for breath.

"I've been looking…all over…for you," Kevin pants. He takes a few minutes to get his breathing back to normal before saying, "Your dad is looking for you. Told me to go find you in the training arena but you weren't there. He's waiting in the war room."

Dean raises his eyebrows in surprise. What would his father need him for?

"Charlie!" he yells, so that she can hear him over the earmuffs.

Charlie startles and looks around, taking them off. "Yeah?"

"Take a break. Dad's calling me. Must be something important."

"Okay." Charlie walks over with the gun and places it on one of the shelves. Dean gives a look of thanks to Kevin and then hurries down the hallway towards the war room.

He is surprised yet again when he sees his father dressed in hunting gear with a large duffel on the map table at the center of the room.

"Dad, you going somewhere?" Dean asks as he walks over to his father.

"Yeah. Dean, I've got a possible lead on something I've been looking out for, for a while now. I need you to take care of this place until I'm gone, okay?"

Dean's eyebrows draw together in confusion. He licks his lips as he says, "You know I always do that. What's so important that you need to go by yourself, though? I don't see backup with you."

"It's probably nothing. But I can't ignore the lead. I'll only be gone a week at the most, son. Until then, you need to hold down the fort and protect these people."

"But, Dad – "

"Dean, just trust me on this, okay? If this lead turns out to be true, we're in a lot more shit than I first planned. And I need to do this alone," John explains, stern.

Dean clenches and unclenches his jaw a few times. "Yes, sir. Will do."

John claps a hand on Dean's shoulder and then makes his way up to the balcony to exit the bunker. Dean watches as John climbs up the stairs. Just as John is about to open the door, Dean calls out, "Hey, Dad?"

John turns around to look at his son.

"Watch out for yourself, okay?" Dean says, worried.

John smiles. "Always do, Dean-o. See you in a couple of days."

Dean silently watches as John exits the bunker, the door banging shut after him. He stares it for a long moment, wondering when he'll see Dad again and then starts making his way back towards the shooting range, hoping to find Charlie along the way.

His instinct tells him that something's not right here, and he hopes to everything he believes in that he's wrong.

~o~

Two weeks later

Dean fidgets with the book open in front of him as he sits in the war room, making records of the amount of supplies used up and how much they'd need to order in a couple more weeks. His gaze flits towards the entrance to the bunker more times than he'd like to admit.

John had said a week max and he's still not here.

Maybe he's just caught up a little, Dean thinks. He'll be back. He always is.

Sighing, Dean gets back to jotting down necessities, doing his best to ignore the nagging feeling in his gut he'd felt ever since John had stepped out of the bunker.

One month later

No one wants to believe him. He keeps voicing his fear of something having happened to his father and all everyone keeps telling him is that John is a tough guy and that he's probably caught up in what he left for in the first place.

Dean grits his teeth as he sits on his bed, leg bouncing up and down in nervousness. He knows something is wrong here. And he's going to find out what.

Four months later

Dean flings his glass of whiskey with full force against the bookshelves in the library. He feels nothing but fury and guilt.

His father has been missing for four months. And it took at least three of those months for the rest of the older hunters to believe Dean's theory about John being in trouble.

Dean had worked night and day for four fucking months, following even the smallest possible lead he could find to know if his dad was all right. Each time, it had turned up absolutely nothing.

And right now, he was at his breaking point.

First Sam. Now Dad. Was he ever going to stop losing the people he cared about; the people he loved?

~o~

Dean rubs at his eyes as he stares at the bulletin board in front of him, hung up on the far empty wall in his room. He swirls the last dregs of coffee in the cup in his hand and drains it, setting it aside on the nearest bedside table.

The board is covered in sheets of his own writing, pictures of locations, coordinates and different colored strings connecting a few of the notes and locations to one another.

So far, though, all of Dean's efforts had yielded nothing but dead ends. Dean picks up the black marker on the bed and crosses out yet another lead, trying not to let it get to him. He'd been so sure that he'd somehow find something here, but as always, he got shit.

Dean flops down onto the bed, head buried in his hands. He's such a fucking failure. Six months. Six freaking months and not one clue about his father's whereabouts.

He'd considered the possibility of John having gone into hiding, but he knows his father well. John would have found a way to let them know by now that he was all right. So if he's not talking, it means he's in trouble.

Fuck.

Right now, it's come to the point that Dean just hopes that his father is alive.

He turns around at a knock on the door and spots Kevin at the threshold.

"Need something, Kev?" Dean asks.

Kevin shakes his head and walks in, sitting at the foot of the bed along with Dean.

Though he may not admit it, Dean appreciates the silent company. It makes him feel less alone. In the beginning when Dean had had suspicions about his father having gone missing, the only people that had stood by him were Kevin, Charlie, and Jo. If it weren't for them, he probably wouldn't have had any leads to follow in the first place. They had been an immense help then, and they still are now.

"So, nothing?" Kevin finally asks.

Now it's Dean's turn to shake his head. "Another dead end. The only thing we do know for sure is that the last anyone had seen of him was just outside of Wyoming. And the only reason we know that is because Rick, the hunter from the group of people near there, said he'd stopped by for a day to rest. After that it's like he just disappeared off the fucking map. No one's seen him since."

"Maybe he doesn't want to be found?" Kevin supplies.

Dean shakes his head again. "No, Kev. I just know, okay? Something's not right. Dad would have found a way to tell us he was okay."

Kevin gets to his feet. He claps a hand on Dean's shoulder. "He'll be okay. We'll find him. Anyway, I'm on kitchen duty today so I gotta go."

Dean looks up at Kevin. "Thanks, Kev. Yeah, go ahead."

Kevin walks out the room. Dean takes a deep breath and runs a hand over his face. He too gets to his feet and makes his way over to the door, thinking of stepping out for a few errands when the phone in his room starts ringing.

He slowly turns around, déjà vu creeping up on him. It's like he's back to four years ago when he'd thought it was Sam. Hoped, so desperately, and it hadn't been. They still don't know who it was but Dean knows it wasn't Sam because Sam would talk, right?

The phone rarely ever rings, so Dean is cautious as he walks up to it, feeling like nothing good is going to be at the other of the line.

He sits down on the bed so his back is facing the door and picks up the receiver. He hesitates a little before finally bringing it to his ear.

"Hello?"

No answer.

"Hello? Anyone there?" he asks.

Frustrated when no one answers, Dean is about to hang up when he hears the faintest sounds of breathing. His heart skips a beat. This is exactly like the last time.

Is it Sam again?

"Hello? Sammy? That you?" he asks, his tone reaching desperation.

"De'n," says a raspy voice through static.

Dean immediately recognizes it. "Dad?! Holy shit, where the fuck are you? Are you okay?"

Static once again covers up John's reply.

Dean presses the receiver closer to his ear, hoping to catch whatever his father is trying to say.

"Forty-four, tw…ty three, twenty eight, no…one-oh-five, fo…ty-two, seven…-eight, wes…"

"What?" Dean asks. John repeats through the static once more. Knowing it could be important, Dean puts the phone down, tears off a piece of paper from his bulletin board, grabs the marker, and dashes back to the phone. He tries to listen again.

"Forty-four, twenty-three, twen…-eight, n…one-oh-five, forty-two, seventy-eig…we…"

Dean hurriedly notes down the numbers though he can't make sense of the 'n' and 'we'. "Dad, what are these?" he asks. "Dad?"

All Dean hears is static and then the call completely cuts off.

"Dad?!" he yells into the receiver. Breathing fast, he puts it back in place, his hands clutching the piece of paper with the numbers on it.

It was his dad. He'd know that voice anywhere. These numbers mean something. Something important. There's no other reason John would call up like this.

Dean gets to his feet, seeking the one person he knows who is smart and experienced enough to understand what any of this could mean.

~o~

"So you're telling me your dad called you on that phone in your room and all he said were these numbers?" Bobby Singer asks, a skeptical look on his face.

Dean nods. "Look, I know it sounds farfetched, okay? Especially after all the stupid-ass dead ends we hit with all our other leads. But believe me on this, Bobby. It was him. And all he kept saying were these numbers over and over again."

Bobby purses his lips, looking unconvinced.

"Look, if nothing turns up, this lead is a dead end anyway. But if you do manage to figure something out, this could be our one chance to finding him, Bobby. I lost my brother already," Dean says, heart heavy, "I don't wanna lose my dad, too. Bobby, I can't—" his voice catches in his throat as he looks away.

Bobby lets out a huff of breath. "Damn it, kid. There's no need to pull all this emotional crap. I'll see what I can find."

"Thanks, Bobby."

"Get on outta here. I'll send someone for you if I find something."

Dean raises his hand in a salute and hurries out the door, heart going crazy as he hopes that Bobby will work it out. He spends the next couple of hours running errands and helping around the bunker, making sure everything is in order. Every time, he's tempted to walk over to Bobby's room and ask how things are coming along, but he knows better than to do that. He just hopes and hopes, again and again, that Bobby ends up finding something after all.

He's about to head out of the bunker again to get some supplies when he hears a shout from the library. He hurries over to find Charlie sprinting over to him.

"Dean!" she gasps as she stops in front of him. "Bobby…called…for…you. He said he figured out….the thing you….gave him," she pants, her hands on her knees, hunched over.

Dean immediately starts jogging over to Bobby's room, shouting a thank you over his shoulder to Charlie. He skids across the floorboards a little as he slows down near Bobby's room and finally knocks on the door before entering.

"What'd you find?" Dean asks, slightly out of breath.

"Geez, kid, take a breather, would ya? It ain't gonna take me long to explain. Sit your ass down," Bobby says, pointing to the chair near his bed.

Dean takes a seat, nervous.

Bobby brings out the paper Dean had brought him earlier, as well as one of his own.

"At first, I thought they could be a combination to something since a few hunters I knew before I got here had storage lockers somewhere deep within the destroyed cities, which usually had combinations to open 'em up. Then it hit me. They're coordinates, Dean."

Dean's mouth falls open in surprise. "Coordinates? Like an actual location?"

"That, I don't know. You'll probably hafta get a map out an' see. But see, these are coordinates. The 'n' means north and 'we' probably means west. I don't think these numbers could mean anythin' else," Bobby explains, holding out his sheet of paper.

"So," Dean says, "Forty-four, twenty-three, twenty-eight, north and one-oh-five, forty-two, seventy-eight, west?"

"That's all I got, kid. Maybe you can figure the rest out."

Dean smiles genuinely for the first time in months. "Thanks a lot, Bobby. I owe you," he says as he gets to his feet and gives Bobby one last look before hurrying out of the room. He practically sprints to the library of the bunker, footsteps echoing in the hallway.

He immediately makes his way to one of the bookshelves and pulls out a map from the middle shelf. He opens it up and lays it out on the table, grabbing a marker from the pen stand set on the table near the lamp in the center of the table.

For once, even though it hurts just thinking about it, he's glad that he'd paid attention when Sam had been showing Dean different ways to read maps right after learning it from Bobby.

He makes a mental note to make it up to Bobby once he finds his dad.

After a few minutes of mumbling the coordinates over and over under his breath, he pinpoints the location. He stares in disbelief when he realizes how far John had ended up from the bunker.

At that moment, Jo and Charlie decide to enter the library. "So what did you find?" Jo asks.

Dean raises his eyebrows in confusion. So far, he'd thought only Charlie knew about the clue he'd given to Bobby.

"I told her and Kevin. That you'd gotten a solid lead and given it to Bobby. I hope that's okay."

"Nah, its fine. You guys have been a lot of help. You deserve to know," he says, still staring at the location on the map.

Charlie and Jo walk over. "Holy shit, are you serious?" Jo exclaims.

"Yeah. Dad left coordinates, which Bobby figured out." Dean swallows as he points to the place on the map. "They point to Sleepy Hollow, Wyoming."

~o~

Dean yawns and rubs his eyes as he keeps the car steady on the road. It's been almost nine hours since he left the bunker back in Kansas. He's an hour away from Sleepy Hollow after crossing state lines to Wyoming.

The rational side of his brain tells him that he probably should stop and take a break, maybe sleep a while since he's now been driving for nine hours. But he just has this feeling like he needs to get there as soon as possible. Or else everything is going to slip upside down. And after years of living in this fucked up world, he's learned to trust those instincts.

Along with Charlie, Jo, and Kevin, a lot of the older hunters had wanted to come along, too, especially Bobby. But Dean knew he needed to do this himself. Because if he didn't find John, it would be a waste. And at least no one would be there to see the guilt and disappointment on his face.

If he did find John, then Dean was sure that the less amount of people around, the better, since these were dangerous roads to be driving and travelling on with demons around every other corner.

If worse came to worst, he'd be dead. And he was okay with that.

The bunker needed people like Bobby. Experienced, rational, smart, and caring. And Dean would rather it be him getting killed or lost than Bobby.

Dean mentally shakes himself, trying to concentrate on just finding his father, for now.

About fifteen minutes from his destination, Dean decides to park his baby in a secluded, hidden alleyway and walk the rest of the way. He pulls his gun out of his holster and tucks it into his jacket along with his palm, undoing the safety while walking as much as he can in the shadows. He wants to be safe and find Dad without having to use it, though. Even then, you never knew what might pop out at you and want to kill you in times like these.

Even though he's been on his fair share of hunts with his father and other hunters, Dean's never gotten used to seeing the devastation the demons have caused. The place looks deserted; houses crumbling, shops broken into and isolated, cars lying haphazardly on the street, some even overturned and blackened due to an explosion.

Dean tries not to spot the specks of blood he knows are around. The demons probably either killed or drove everyone out of this town.

He's in the general area of the coordinates. Now all he has to do is dig around a little and hopefully find his father and get out of this freaking place. He climbs over a large pile of debris and startles, spotting a man in a suit coming out of an adjacent home a couple of feet ahead. He immediately jumps down and ducks behind an overturned car, peeking through the smashed up windows.

The first man is followed by another, this one wearing casual clothes. They both look to be around their late twenties.

Dean is almost certain they're demons, and his fears are confirmed when one of them looks in Dean's general direction and his eyes are pitch black. Dean shudders, hoping that they don't walk his way.

He watches as the suited guy wipes his bloody, ragged blade with the other one's jacket. The other one grumbles under his breath but doesn't say much.

"The job is done," says the suited demon.

His partner grins. "Boss will be pleased."

Dean stills, heart hammering as he watches them go. What job? Who would they kill in a deserted town like this? Although he knows that he's in the dark about this, he's still got to check the alleyway, he realizes. He waits until the demons turn the corner at the end of the road. Once they're out of sight, Dean slowly crawls out from behind the car and jogs over to the house. He looks around, making sure no one is there, before finally taking a deep breath and opening the door.

Holding his gun out for precaution, he stands at the entrance, trying to get his bearings. He then spots drops of blood on the ground, leading down a hallway to his right. The demon obviously didn't think anyone was going to come in here.

Slightly scared of what he'll find, Dean follows the blood drops, trying to make as little noise as possible since he definitely isn't the only one in here.

The blood leads into a room, the door of which is slightly ajar. Dean can hear grunts and irregular breathing. His heart speeds up as he immediately recognizes the grunts of pain.

"No," he whispers as he steels himself, slowly pushing the door open with his gun. He walks in and sees his father lying in a small pool of blood on the other side of the door, hand clenched over a bloodied and ragged wound on his chest.

"Dad?!" Dean calls out, fear and relief lacing his tone.

John jumps and groans as the movement causes him pain. "De'n?" he calls out, squinting.

Dean kneels down next to his father, putting his gun back in its holster. "Shit," he curses as he eyes the small cuts all over John's arms and the bruises on his face. "Dad, what the fuck happened? Crap. I need to get you out of here."

"De'n. I'm….I'll be o-okay. I need to tell you somethin'."

Dean glares. "Shut up. For once, you're gonna listen to me. It's not safe here. Those guys could come back. Let me get you out of here and you can tell me everything," Dean says, stern. Yet his hands are gentle as he slowly helps John get to his feet. He leans his father against the wall while he takes off his jacket and then his over shirt. He bundles it up after putting his jacket back on and gives it to John, helping his father hold it against the still bleeding wound on his torso, which is causing a high amount of concern for Dean.

"Okay, baby steps, all right? The car's only a couple of minutes from here. We get there and you can tell me whatever it is you need to, okay?" Dean explains.

John nods, upping Dean's fear that things are a lot worse than he'd originally thought. Dean supports John as they head out of the house. Dean stows his fear and anxiety at the back of his mind and does his best to keep his head in the game and make their way back to the car alive.

They're about three minutes away when John finally says, "Thanks."

"What for?" Dean grunts, trying to support his father's weight as much as he can.

"For comin' to save my sorry ass. I didn't think those…coordinates wen' through," John says, breathing heavily.

"Shut up. In case you didn't know, you've been gone six months and there hasn't been a day we haven't looked for you."

"Huh." John says nothing further as he stumbles alongside Dean, his grip on the shirt near his wound weakening with each passing second.

They enter the alleyway where Dean had parked the car when John starts listing to the side. Dean can't hold both of their weights, and he crashes into the wall along with his father. John slides to the ground, eyes closing.

"Dad?! Don't you do this to me! You're okay. You're gonna be okay!"

"De'n. I need to…"

"What? What do you need?" Dean asks, wanting to get the first aid kit from the trunk but too scared to leave John in this state.

"Sam. Sammy's….alive."

Dean's heart drops to his stomach. What the fuck is his dad talking about? "Dad, you're not making sense," Dean states, his voice shaking.

"Sam. Alive. In a…camp," John wheezes.

"What? Like a demon camp?" Dean asks, an array of emotions assaulting him all at once. "Look, let me get you fixed up first," Dean says, finally making the decision to run to the car. He's half on his feet when he feels John's surprisingly strong grip on his arm.

"No. It's…important. Sam's alive. You need…you need to do something…for me. F-for him."

"What?" Dean's voice cracks.

"Save him. Save Sammy…or kill him."

Dean's heart drops to his feet. "What the fuck, Dad? Why the fuck would I kill him? Do you even know where he is?!" Dean exclaims. He's scared. Fucking scared out of his mind. What the fuck is going on?

"You'll understand…when you see…him. Save him…or kill him."

Dean grits his teeth. "Fine. Where is he?" he asks, and then his eyes go wide when John slides towards the ground, his ragged breathing now having stopped. A deafening silence fills the alleyway.

"No, no, no. Dad?! Dad!" Dean yells as he shakes his father. He takes a deep breath, letting his instincts click into place. He puts two fingers to the side of John's neck.

His pulse is too weak.

"Shit. Dad?! Don't do this to me, please," Dean chokes out, doing his best to keep the tears at bay as they blur his vision. He swipes at his eyes hastily.

"De'n." Dean jumps as he hears the weak call from his father. He leans towards John, trying to make sense of his whispers.

"Sam… Hell." John takes a huge, gasping breath and Dean's chin trembles as he grabs on to Dean's collar.

"H-Hell…" he rasps, the last of his breaths leaving him with the word.

A/N: Well? Reviews? :D