Sammy

Prologue

Seven years ago

Sam curled into cheap motel bedding as Dean slammed the door behind him. He'll be fine, Dean thought to himself. He just needed some time. Dad was getting too demanding and he needed a break. Who takes a thirteen year old and a nine year old on a Wendigo hunt anyway? Why couldn't he just drop them off at Bobby's for the next three days or so?

Dean walked down the warm, sunlit streets, trying to put as much space between him and the motel as he safely could. If he got too far, Sam could get caught up in something. That was the last thing he needed to explain to his father. He noticed a street light slightly flicker for a few monents. No. Dean turned quickly and ran as quickly as he could back to the motel room.

"Sam!" he yelled as he opened the door. Sam wasn't on the bed or anywhere in sight. What if I'm too late. What if they got him? Dean started to search the room in a frantic rush, trying to see how anything could have gotten in. All of the salt lines were still intact, no hexbags, no signs of forced entry; Dean didn't know whether that was good or bad. He went to go check the devil's trap, but stopped when he saw a familiar figure in the corner of his eye. He whipped around and saw his little brother--alive and, from the look of him perfectly okay.

"What's wrong? Is it Dad? Do we have to leave?" he asked in a slightly panicked tone. It took Dean a minute to compose himself before answering.

"Nothing, Sam. Just got a little worried. Where were you anyway?"

"Bathroom." Dean nodded and sat down on the sunk-in couch. He flicked through the staticy channels and, per usual, found nothing. He sighed and threw the remote across the couch. Sam picked it up and turned off the TV. "What's up with you?"

"Didn't we already go over this? Nothing is wrong, I just freaked out. Why are you asking so many questions?"

"I just wanted to know why you were acting so werid, okay?" Dean nodded and Sam went over to the bed his father usually occupied. He wouldn't be home until tomorrow at the earliest, so there was no point of wasting a perfectly good, if not slightly dirty, bed? "I'm going back to sleep, don't walk out on me this time," he said as Dean picked up the remote again. He scrolled through the sixteen channels for the second time and settled on a bad monster movie from about twenty five years ago. Eventually, the terrible acting and equally horrific CGI pulled him into sleep.

Dean woke up about two hours later to the sound of pre-recorded laughing and crappy jokes endemic to sit-coms. He groaned as he got up from the couch and checked his watch; just past six. "You want some dinner Sam?" No response. Kid must still be asleep. Dean turned around and found the bed empty. Don't freak out, he's probably in the bathroom or something.

He checked the bathroom, then the kitchenette, then the closet, but there was no sign of Sam. He left the room to go check the parking lot when he noticed a small amount of yellow powder by the door. Sulfur. Dean frantically searched the parking lot, then every possible hiding place within thirty feet of the motel, then all the nearby diners, arcades, shops--anywhere that a nine year old boy might be. After about three hours of searching, asking, and triple-checking, he still hadn't found his brother. Dean sat down on the pavement outside the motel, shivering as the cool June air blew past him. Maybe if he waited a little longer Sam would show up.

Dean waited for Sam all night, despite endless drowsiness and the bitter night's temperatures. By morning, though, there was still no sign of his brother. Dean walked back into the motel room to look for more things the demon might have left behind. If his brother was truly gone, he had a lot of work to do.