So, yeah. I've been thinking out this story for… like… ever, and now I'm finally posting. Aren't I great? I am. Clearly.

Disclaimer: I don't own nothin'. But I do like borrowing! :D

If there was anything that could cheer Dean up, it was John being back. Sam restrained a giggle as Dean belted out his music at the top of his lungs while driving. He wasn't even sure Dean would notice if his radio would cut out right now. "Wow, Dean," Sam said, looking innocently at his brother. "You're sure in a good mood."

Dean laughed loudly. "You betcha, Sammy," he replied, leaning contentedly against the door of the Impala, a huge grin plastered on his face.

Sam didn't even have the heart to correct the nickname, much less to point out that John's presence wasn't a social visit. Dean saw his slight reservation and sobered, if only slightly. "Come on, bitch," he whined, smacking Sam on the shoulder. "Lighten up already!"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Yeah, alright, Dean, I'm just thinking," he said, smiling to prove it.

"You do enough of that already," Dean replied, leaning back towards the steering wheel to look at John's truck in the rearview mirror.

Sam shook his head. "Dean, you're like a dog," he said, picturing Dean with a wagging tail and a lolling tongue and sniggering.

Dean seemed to ignore the underlying offense in the interest of Sam enjoying himself and rolled down the window to stick his head out and let his tongue flop in the wind. Sam couldn't help but laugh even harder, not so much because John was around, but because Dean was just so damn happy about it. He looked like a little kid with a candy cane.

He grinned. "We should probably pull over soon," he suggested. It had been dark for a while and it was threatening to rain.

Dean brightened at the prospect of finding a motel and settling in with John again, and he sped up, flicking on his turn signal the very moment he saw an exit. Sam grinned, shaking his head. "Don't keep driving for my sake, Dean," he laughed, and Dean glared at him playfully as he swerved onto the exit. His eyes kept flicking to watch the truck behind them in the rearview mirror, as if he wasn't sure it would keep following.

Sam frowned, looking at Dean thoughtfully. Dean did a double take as he realized Sam was watching him and looked at him nervously. "Do I have something on my face?" he asked, then grinned, though he still looked nervous to Sam's careful gaze.

"Nothing," he said, looking back at the road, catching his brother's exasperated face before he did so. "I just… I mean… did you keep looking at me like that when I came back?"

Dean groaned. "Sam! Just because Dad's back doesn't mean we have to drop everything and have a chick flick moment…"

"I'm just asking. I mean, I was a little out of it, and… and I wasn't sure, alright?" Sam sighed. "Sorry."

Dean was silent and then brightened as if the entire conversation hadn't happened at all. "Ooh, look! Vacancies!" he cried, swerving onto the road.

Sam rolled his eyes, smiling again. "You sure you should be calling me bitch?" he asked teasingly, earning an almost sincere glare from Dean. "Jerk."

"Bitch."

Sam chuckled, turning away so Dean wouldn't see his smile fade a moment later. Dean parked, letting Sam stay in the car as he eagerly checked them in, looking at his father's black truck like it was an angel. Sam shook his head and laughed some more. Dean was back in a moment with a goofy smile on his face, showing the keys to Sam as he sat into the car. "Room 156," he said, and from his tone, that could have easily been his favorite number.

"Great, Dean, let's go park," Sam said, trying to sound just as excited instead of greatly amused at his brother.

"Don't mock me, Sam," Dean muttered, but he continued in his invincible happiness all the way inside the motel room, carrying both duffels in. Sam marveled at the amazing event. Usually, if both duffels were carried by Dean and Sam was still conscious, Dean would whine his lungs out.

John followed them in, taking his own duffel. Once the three of them were inside, John sat down on one of the beds, looking at his sons as though expecting something from them. Sam looked at Dean, who was awkwardly rocking back and forth and watching John, occasionally looking at Sam as if begging him to start a conversation instead of him. Sam, for the life of him, couldn't think of anything.

"Hey!" Dean said, blurting with epiphany. "Um… what… how… about I go get us something to eat, huh?" He nodded at them proudly. "Who's up for Chinese, a little celebration food, huh? F-for a job well done, that is."

"Sounds good, Dean," Sam said, saving Dean from humiliation. Dean nodded at him gratefully, rubbing his hand behind him.

"Wouldn't mind it," John added, smiling.

Dean looked as though heaven itself had shined on him and all but bolted out the door. As soon as it had closed, John lowered his head and chuckled quietly. Sam couldn't help but join him. His father slowly tapered off and looked at him softly. "So, Sam," he said, and Sam could tell he expected his son to sit beside him. He did so, silently followed by John's eyes. "Why don't you… ah… tell me something about Stanford, huh?"

Sam laughed breathlessly. "You sure you're my dad?" It was said jokingly, but he almost flinched at the bite behind it.

John smiled ruefully. "If you feel better about it, you can always talk about what you and your brother have been up to."

Sam nodded awkwardly, then realized he was making the wrong motion. "Nah. I'll… uh… I'll tell you about Stanford." He sifted through his memories to find a story his father might want to hear. "Well, there was this one time I thought our language professor was a banshee, but… lemme tell ya how it happened."

John sat back, smiling slightly, glad at the happiness in Sam's voice as he went on with his slightly rambling and backtracking tale.

An hour passed, and nothing was seen or heard from Dean. They brushed it off as the fact that a small town might not have Chinese, and continued with their much needed talking.

Two hours passed, and Sam had called Dean's phone three times, always getting the answering machine. John had started pacing, but he nonetheless tried to come up with ways to consol Sam.

Three hours passed, and John was looking through the weapons assortment and Sam was coming up with the excuses.

Four hours passed, and the truck swerved onto the road, John driving even worse than Dean did and Sam not caring at all. They tried every road, one by one, looking for any sign of Dean.

Five hours later, and Sam saw a glimmer of light from the bridge. "Stop!" he yelped, grasping desperately at the door to see closer. John slammed on the breaks to hard, it was lucky Sam didn't fly straight through the windshield as he unbuckled his seatbelt and leaped out of the still slightly moving car. John cursed and threw the truck into park, following after Sam.

Sam slid down the side of the bride, half falling, half running. It had been raining for a while now, and mud had made the banks of the small ravine slick, but neither Winchester slowed down for it. Sam's boots sloshed into the mud beneath the bridge and he stopped, eyes wide with horror. John slid beside him and mimicked the reaction.

Under the bridge, headlights still shining, the Impala reared up, tipped nearly on its side in the water. "Dean!" Sam roared, falling forward and nearly diving into the tiny creek a few times on his way. "Dean!"

John followed after, pushing himself behind Sam as Sam wrenched the door open. The keys were in the ignition, the engine was still running, but one thing was missing. Dean. Sam stumbled back and looked around. "Dean!" he cried. John took a moment to pull out of his stupor, checked every nook and cranny of the car, and followed suit. "DEAN!"

They both stumbled around, boots slipping on the slick mud, calling out for their missing family. John came up, panting, beside Sam. "He's not here, son," he gasped. "Wherever he is, he's not here."

Sam leaned his hands on his thighs. "Then where is he, Dad?" he asked, looking up at John, hoping to find an answer.

John shook his head. He had none. "I don't know. But we'll find him," he said, his voice going Winchester determined. "We'll find him, Sam."

… I think I actually know where I'm going with this. I realize it's very short, but I'm not really started yet, so… we'll see what happens to chapters as I go on. Like it? Hate it? Review!