I hope everyone had a Merry Christmas (or Hanukah, or whatever else you might celebrate, lol)!

My parents gave me a few seasons of Supernatural on DVD and a poster and I cried. Seriously. I had to leave the room because I was having a meltdown xD. My family now thinks I am mentally ill. Maybe I fangirl too much, but you know what? I like the disease. *evil cackling*

Thank you so much to everyone who's been favoriting/following/reviewing!

One of the nurses came by at some point and gave Dean all of Sam's things, which really wasn't much of anything besides his duffle bag with his laptop, weapons, and clothes. Dean opened the duffle to make sure everything was there, as well as to check to make sure there wasn't anything that wasn't supposed to be.

He frowned when he couldn't find Sam's wallet. The doctor had said he was found without ID, which didn't make any sense because Dean knew Sam had taken one of the fakes with him (only a driver's license, since such a simple hunt wouldn't have required an FBI badge). Maybe he lost it? No, Sam was too careful for that.

Stolen?

No again, Sam was just too careful to let it get stolen. He was a well-trained hunter who hadn't let any of his belongings get stolen since he was eight years old and in the third grade.

Unless it was taken while he was unconscious.

Dean felt another flare of anger in his gut at that thought. He doubted it was the monster—they generally have no use for cash and credit cards. So that meant that someone had found his little brother, injured and unconscious, and robbed him.

I'm gonna kill you too.

Dean stood and gave Sam's arm a squeeze. "I'll be back, little brother." Tossing the duffle over his shoulder, he reluctantly left the room.

Jenny spotted him in the hallway and hurried to catch up. "Hey sweetie, you alright?" she asked kindly.

Dean stopped and let out a dry laugh, rubbing his eyes. "I won't be alright until Sam is."

"Well, you go home and get some sleep. I'll watch out for him."

He managed a tired smile. "I will, and thanks."

She smiled and patted his arm before turning back to Sam's room.

After booking a room at a motel just two minutes away from the hospital, Dean headed back to the scene of the crime. Stepping out of the Impala, he peered out into the night, the only light coming from the motel's broken and flickering street sign.

Sam's "borrowed" car still sat in the parking lot. Dean made mental note to get rid of it soon before the cops found it and questions were asked. He circled around to the other side, and stopped. There was still a small bloodstain on the ground and a splatter on the driver's side door. Crouching down, Dean produced a flashlight from his pocket and shined it around on the ground.

He almost missed it, but leaning closer he spotted more of that black sand scattered on the ground. Anyone else might have mistaken it for bits of asphalt, but Dean could see that it was too fine, too glittery to be that. There were also claw marks. They weren't very deep, but they were there: Something with four or five claws, thin and maybe long from the looks of it.

Dean also noticed a few drops of a strange black substance, which had hardened by now. It was reminiscent of tar, but had a strange luminescence about it, gleaming in the moonlight just like the black sand.

A thud caused Dean to jerk his head back up. Across the street and between two buildings was a dark alleyway. He could see some that high school kid—either drunk or high or both—had crashed into a dumpster and was now trying to stumble down the sidewalk. He had something in his hand and was currently trying to stuff it into his pocket, but failing miserably. Dean squinted at the object. Suddenly his eyes widened and he was running across the street.

He grabbed the kid's filthy hoodie and slammed him back against the building's brick wall. Dean snatched the worn, brown leather wallet with a silver "SW" engraved on the corner from his hand. He'd recognize that wallet anywhere—it's the one he gave Sam for Christmas years ago.

Dean held the wallet up in front of the terrified kid's face. "Where did you get this?" he demanded.

"I-I found it!" the kid sputtered wildly.

"Did you, now?" Dean snarled. "Care to tell me where?"

"Um, just, on . . . on the ground, y'know?"

"You sure about that? You don't think that maybe, maybe you didn't just happen to 'find' it in the pocket of an injured and unconscious man?" Dean slammed the kid into the wall again, drawing a cry of pain from him.

"Wh-what? No, no, I—"

Dean yanked his knife from his jacket and pressed it to the kid's throat. A small part of him whispered that if Sam were here, he'd make him put the knife away and calm him down, because this was too much.

But Sam wasn't here, he was in the hospital. And this jackass junkie of a kid had taken advantage of him while he was hurt, and Dean wanted nothing more than to stab him in the throat for that.

"Try again," Dean hissed in his face.

The kid trembled, tears in his eyes. "Okay, okay, look, I'm sorry, I just saw an opportunity and I took it. I took his wallet and I was gonna take his phone, but it was broken, and then I was gonna search his bag but I got scared when I saw that thing—"

"What thing?" Dean interrupted sharply.

"I-I don't know, it just looked, like, dead or something, it was all hunched with big claws and red eyes and dripping black stuff like it was bleeding and I think it was limping—" the kid kept rambling but his speech had turned even more slurred and garbled than before, and Dean couldn't understand him anymore.

Dean huffed and threw him to the ground in disgust. He opened Sam's wallet to find all of the cash gone, but the credit card and driver's license still there. He tucked it safely into his pocket and held up his knife. "You're lucky this time, kid," he growled, "But stay out of my sight and don't you ever come near my brother again, or I will gut you like a damn pig."

The kid nodded fervently and wasted no time trying to scramble away, but only succeeding in smashing his face into the ground. Dean rolled his eyes and strode back to the parking lot, snapping a few more pictures and sending them to Bobby. He climbed back into the car and pointed her back in the direction of the motel he'd booked a room at.

Upon arriving, he immediately pulled out Sam's laptop and sat down at the table. It was time for him to do his own research.

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