"I'm dealing with dad's death, are you!"

Sam tossed and turned in his sleep, the last scene of him and his father relaying over and over again in his mind. As he relayed that scene he heard Dean's voice telling him how the last time he saw him he picked a fight, how it's too little too late. Sam opened his eyes sharply, gasping for breath and closed them desperately. He felt sick and consumed with guilt. What Dean said was true. It was too little, too late. Did their father really die thinking Sam hated him?

"I don't hate you, dad," whispered Sam. "Please you gotta know that." He watched his brother sleep. He wanted to talk to him, talk to someone, but he was afraid of waking Dean up. Dean seemed to only be able to relax and find peace when he's sleeping. Sam was finding difficult to breathe for some reason, he needed to get some air.

So slowly he rose and got out of bed. Dean was always a light sleeper so he was shocked when his brother didn't move at the sound of the door opening and closing. He closed his eyes, trying to blink back tears.

"I'm sorry dad," he whispered, a bolder forming his throat. "For always giving you a hard time, for just not letting things go. For not spending enough time with you. For… for everything." As he headed down the deserted sidewalk he froze as he heard footsteps. "Dean?" he sharply turned around. No one. He shook his head and slowly continued. Suddenly out of nowhere two hands grabbed and a cloth went over his mouth and nose. He struggled but the hands were strong and gripped him tightly until he grew limp into the arms of his captors.

Dean rose at the sound of birds. He groaned at the noise.

"Is that really necessary?" he snarled at the window with the closed the shades. "You have to make that noise every goddamned morning?" Anyone who knew Dean knew he was far from a morning person. He sighed as he got up, still muttering about the birds and looked at the bed next to him. "Sam?" it was empty and unmade. He frowned. Sam was always an early riser. He shrugged. The kid probably went to get some breakfast or something.

Yawning he stumbled to the restroom and turned on the shower, looking forward the water waking him up. After he was done he opened his door and looked around. Sam still wasn't back.

"Huh." He walked out and saw Bobby sitting at his front porch. "Hey Bobby."

"Dean." Bobby nodded. "Sleep good?"

"Surprisingly yeah, look,"

"Are you going to work on the car some more today?"

"Yeah, probably, hey have you seen Sam?"

Bobby frowned.

"No, thought he was sleeping." Dean shook his head.

"His bed was empty, I thought he was already up. Went to get some breakfast or something."

"Call him." Bobby logically suggested. Dean sighed, not liking the worrying that was slowly creeping up in him. He couldn't help it, though. That always happened with Sam. But now it was worse. The thought of loosing Sam, someone else he loved, so soon after John's death… Quickly he forced that thought out of his head. What the hell was he thinking? Sam was probably just out, doing something. No need to panic much.

Quickly he dialed Sam's number. Both he and Bobby froze as they heard Sam's ringtone coming from nearby. Sharply, dreadly filling him, Dean following the sound, Bobby close behind him. They both stared at horror at Sam's cellphone lying in the middle of the sidewalk in front of Bobby's house.

Dean closed his phone, his body feeling sick.

"Sam."

One thing was clear, Sam hadn't gone out to get breakfast.