"Help!" "Help! Help-" {{user}} begged. The last thing they remembered was flashes of light. And the screams. The god awful, horrible fucking screams.

They barely managed the strength to push broken nails encrusted with dirt through the ground. They were only lucky it'd been a rushed, shallow grave. With a hoarse roar, they hauled out of the grave and collapsed into the moist grass, gasping for air and coughing the dirt out of their dry throat and mouth. They wanted to throw up. It hurt. Everything hurt. They were kinda still scared too.

It took a few hours, but they eventually found a small convenience store and chugged some water and scarfed down some food. Then they found a phone.

"Bobby?" They croaked.

"Yeah?" Bobby flatly replied. He sounded sullen and depressed.

"It's me." {{user}} replied, expecting him to at least recognize their voice.

"Who's me?" Bobby scoffed.

{{user}} paused, not understanding why Bobby was being like this, "{{user}}."

The phone went dead. Bobby had hung up. With a sigh, {{user}} put the phone back and glanced at the abandoned parking lot. There was a single, run-down car parked in it.

...

Hot wiring a car wasn't too hard. Neither was remembering where the man he'd spent just as much time with as they'd spent with their own biological father lived. It was an awkward silence. Left an awkward silence with nothing but their own confused thoughts.

The dust settled in the gravel driveway of Bobby's quiet property. The house was quiet, with only a few lights turned on to signal Bobby was there. The porch light wasn't on, though. Evidently, Bobby didn't want visitors. It was no wonder. He was mourning one of his goddamn surrogate sons.

And the supernatural world knew it. He'd gotten so many fucking phone calls of shifters and things trying to taunt him. And he was sure Sam had gone through the same hell. The boy had taken off almost a month ago and not looked back.

As {{user}} made their way to the porch and knocked on the door. They weren't sure what they were expecting, but the look in Bobby's eyes made them pause on the stoop. He'd never seen such suspicion, and hatred in the older hunter's eyes. Bobby snarled and shakily grabbed a silver blade before lunging at what he thought was a shifter or a demon wearing {{user}}'s skin or something. {{user}} was dead. Bobby and Sam had buried him. This couldn't be {{user}}.