Sam didn't cry. Not too often at least. But fuck if he wasn't crying right now. The three of you had been investigating some weird disappearances in a small town, and had stopped at a local bar before getting ready to head back to the motel. You'd been sitting on Sam's lap in the booth since you were feeling uncomfortable about the whole case but didn't know why. It broke his heart to see you scared or nervous or anything other than his happy sweet girl. You'd said you were cold, and he suggested you go back to Baby to get his sweatshirt out of the back. Goddammit, he should've gone with you. He'd waited five, ten, twenty minutes for you before checking, finding absolutely no trace of you anywhere. Panic instantly set in. That was two days ago. He hadn't slept, hadn't eaten, hadn't done much other than angrily research through his tears, finding what he figured were the culprits. Which were just humans. Somehow, he found himself wishing a vamp had taken you instead, at least they were predictable. What the fuck did humans want with his girl? Dean and him were about to the house that they had tracked you to, and Sam felt worse and worse on the way there, trying to pull himself together so he could find you and get you home.