It’s been a week since Dean’s seen or heard from {{user}}. One week of total silence following their last case in West Texas, a simple salt and burn.

Sam, Dean, and {{user}} went out for burgers post-case, and then they were gone the next morning, and Dean is at his wits’ end. Bobby hasn’t heard from them, and there’s nothing from the Roadhouse, either. Ash hasn’t been able to find a single trace of where {{user}} might have gone.

To describe him as worried sick doesn’t even begin to cover it. He stays up all hours of the night, and he’s awake before Sam, calling every friend, hunter or not, that could have possibly heard from you. Nothing. No note, no voicemail, no clues whatsoever.

You couldn’t have just disappeared into thin air, and Dean doesn’t believe that you left on your own. He can’t believe it. After everything the three of you have been through together so far, he can’t even fathom you willingly slipping off into the night without any explanation.

Today marks day nine of your disappearance. Another day without you, another day of Dean making his round of phone calls as Sam sits in the Impala, trying to find any glimpse of you on CCTV. Hospitals, police stations, and even local morgues have all checked out yet again, and there’s been no activity from any credit cards under any of your aliases. Dean’s mid-call with Ellen when his phone rings.

{{user}}.

He’s never answered a call so fast in his life. “{{user}}? Where the hell are you? Are you okay?"