"Where's Sam?"

It only took those two words, and all of Dean Winchester's carefully rehearsed speech went right out the window.

"Um, yeah, well, Dad, he kinda slipped out." Dean stammered.

"What do you mean, 'he kinda slipped out?'" John whirled on his son, his rage as sudden as it was fierce.

Dean straightened his back and looked his father squarely in the eye. "I was out back, talking on the phone, and he apparently slipped out the front door. He couldn't have gone very far."

"How long has he been gone?" John growled.

"Since night before last." Dean answered, just above a whisper.

"Your brother has been gone two days, and you didn't even pick up the phone to tell me?" John raged.

"He's just … " Dean shrugged and gestured. "It's Sam. He thought he could go out on his own, because you and I leave him here alone sometimes. He left a note. He'll come home in a day or two, when he runs out of money."

"In a day or two, we may be halfway across the country!" John roared.

"You can go if a job comes in." Dean shook his head. "I'll hang back until I find Sammy."

John grabbed his oldest son by the front of his shirt and slammed him against the wall. "Where were you? Huh? Where the hell were you, when your brother disappeared?"

"I was just out in the backyard talking on the phone!" Dean insisted. "I didn't leave the yard! I swear!"

John backhanded Dean hard across the mouth. "And what was so fucking secret that you had to go out and leave your brother alone to talk on the phone?"

"I was just … I was talking to a girl, and Sammy would have teased me about it. I was only outside for a few minutes! He must have been planning this, waiting for the first minute I wasn't … "

John pulled Dean forward just slightly and shoved him back against the wall again. "The minute you weren't what? The minute you weren't paying attention because some little whore had your attention? Because he knew you'd follow your dick sooner or later?"

John hit him again, but Dean didn't raise a hand to defend himself, or even to wipe the blood that trickled down his chin from his split lip.

He knew he deserved it.

John threw him to the floor and stomped halfway across the room to retrieve the bottle of Jack Daniels kept in the drawer of the end table. Not bothering with a glass, he unscrewed the lid and took a long drink.

"I trusted you, Dean. It's the one thing I've asked of you. To take care of Sammy. Keep your brother safe. And now he's gone! He's gone because you were out chasing some piece of ass!"

"I'm sorry, Dad." Dean sat up, watching his father carefully. "I'll find him. I will."

John tipped the bottle up again, the light shining through making the amber liquid gleam golden. "What did his note say?"

"That he was tired of moving around, he just wanted to settle down somewhere and stay in one school the whole year and get a dog and have a normal life." Dean shrugged.

"Have a normal life." John scoffed, took another drink, then glanced over at Dean. "Where's the note?"

"I, uh, lost it." Dean answered, not meeting his father's eyes.

They both knew he was lying, that the note was still in Dean's possession, but that he didn't want to show it to John.

For some reason, though, the older man didn't call him out on it.

"Where have you checked?" John asked calmly, sitting on the couch.

"I talked to his friends. None of them knew anything. I've been going to the library each day and running traces on his credit cards. He's not used any of them, which means he can't have very much money on him." Dean slowly got to his feet, leaning against the wall and pressing the back of his hand to his still bleeding mouth. "I've checked the hospitals."

"Did you check the morgue?" John barked before taking another drink.

"No, sir." Dean said softly.

"Do it." John instructed.

"Are you coming?" Dean asked hesitantly.

"It's your mess, you handle it." John snorted, taking another drink.

"Yeah, my mess." Dean nodded, sliding out the door, keeping one eye on his father, who now stared at the floor.

Dean didn't return for nearly three hours, during which time he had not only checked the morgue, but also ran Sammy's credit cards at the library again, checked places Sammy was known to hang out and made a few calls, including Bobby.

Bobby asked if Dean was certain about the fact that Sam didn't have much cash on him. Dean went back and checked Sam's credit card records for the week before he disappeared.

The brat was smart. There had been quite a number of transactions in the days before he ran away.

Sammy had a lot more money on him that Dean had estimated.

He could be anywhere.

He finally returned to the house. John had finished the bottle and started another one. He still sat in the same place, staring at the floor.

"Did you find anything?" He asked, not looking at his son.

"Nothing." Dean shook his head.

"Do you think the girl has anything to do with it?" John asked, taking another drink. "The one you were talking to?"

"No." Dean made a face. "Why would she? She barely knows Sam"

"Was she a demon?" John continued.

"No." Dean frowned. "She's a waitress at the diner and goes to community college part time."

"Are you sure she's not a demon?" John suddenly raised his voice and turned toward Dean. "Did you test her?"

"No, I didn't test her." Dean answered. "Why would I? Why would you think some random waitress at a diner is a demon?"

"Check her. Holy water, salt, silver knife." John ordered.

"Don't you think … " Dean began.

"Don't I think what?" John snapped. "I'll tell you what I think! I think you've really screwed up this time, Dean!" He slammed the bottle down on the end table and rose unsteadily to his feet. "I think you may have thrown away everything I've done for the past fifteen years over a piece of ass!"

"What are you saying?" Dean narrowed his eyes and looked at his father in confusion. "You're saying that hunting, that chasing demons and ghosts and the thing that killed Mom … and … whatevers, is somehow about Sammy now?"

"It's all about Sammy!" John roared. "It's always been all about Sammy! Don't you get it? That demon that killed your mother was in Sam's room! It didn't come there to kill Mary! It killed her because she tried to protect Sam! It came for Sam!"

Dean's eyes widened and his breath caught in his throat as he considered his father's words.

John choked on a cry, scrubbing his hands across his face and up into his hair. "I wasn't just hunting the thing that killed my wife. I was hunting the thing that wanted my son!" He wailed, the last word cracking as he began to sob.

John sank onto the couch, burying his face in one end.

"I'll find him." Dean repeated, walking out the door.

He leaned against the Impala, resting his head on his arms on the roof above the driver's door. He closed his eyes, and for a moment he was four.

There was screaming and he didn't know what was going on and he went to see and everyone was in Sammy's room and Mommy was on the ceiling and there was fire and Sammy was crying and there was blood on Sammy's face and Daddy shoved Sammy into his arms and told him to take his brother outside and don't look back and 'Go NOW Dean!' and he carried Sammy very carefully down the stairs because Sammy was wiggly and Mommy was always afraid Dean was going to drop him and they went outside and Sammy was really crying now and he said 'It's okay, Sammy.' and he looked up and the fire was coming out the window now and Daddy came but not Mommy and grabbed them both and carried them over to sit them on the hood of the car and there was a loud noise and the windows blew out and the fire trucks came and everyone was shouting and he sat on the hood of the car and held Sammy and told him not to cry and when the fireman tried to take Sammy he said NO!

Dean straightened, took a deep breath, and fished the keys out of his pocket.

"I'll find you Sammy, and I won't let that thing get you." He vowed. "It's going to be okay, Sammy."