The window was open.
Sam Winchester woke to the sound of it creaking against the frame, cool night air curling into the bedroom. He frowned. He was sure he'd locked it.
He rolled out of bed without waking Jess and moved quietly through the apartment. It was dark—still—too still. He passed the bead curtain near the kitchen and paused.
Footsteps.
A figure moved down the hall.
Sam shifted, waited—then lunged.
They crashed into the living room. A fast and dirty fight broke out—elbows, kicks, grunts. Sam blocked a punch, countered with a jab, then got slammed into the floor.
The figure pinned him, one hand at his wrist, the other on his throat.
"Whoa. Easy, tiger," the man said, half-laughing.
Sam stared up at him. "Dean?"
Dean laughed, slightly winded. "You scared the crap outta me!"
"That's 'cause you're out of practice."
Sam gritted his teeth, flipped Dean off of him and to the floor with a thud.
"Or not," Dean muttered.
Sam hauled him up. "What the hell are you doing here?"
Dean brushed dust off his jacket. "I was looking for a beer."
From the corner, a shadow shifted. A voice followed—dry, unimpressed, British.
"You always wake up swinging?" Knox stepped forward from the darkness by the bookshelf, coat rustling like whispers in the room's silence.
Sam spun, fists back up.
Dean gestured toward him. "Sam, meet Knox. He's... a friend. Another hunter."
Knox offered a mild nod. "Apologies for the melodrama. I stayed out of the way. Figured I'd let the family reunion play out before I stole the spotlight."
Sam blinked between the two of them. "What the hell is going on?"
Dean clapped his shoulder. "We gotta talk."
"You know the phone works, right?"
Dean gave him a look. "Would you have picked up?"
A light flicked on.
"Sam?" Jess stood in the hallway, blinking in the sudden brightness. Smurfs shirt. Short shorts. Disbelief.
Sam stood straighter. "Jess—hey. Uh, Dean, this is my girlfriend, Jessica."
Jess's eyes lit up. "Wait—your brother Dean?"
Dean grinned. "I love the Smurfs. And I gotta say, you are way out of his league."
Jess laughed. "Let me just put something on."
Knox leaned in toward Dean, dry as ever. "Dreams usually aim higher. That one actually exists."
Dean shot him a glare. Jess vanished into the bedroom.
Dean turned back. "I gotta borrow your boyfriend for a bit. Private family business."
Sam frowned and crossed to Jess, protective. "No. Whatever you want to say, you can say it in front of her."
Dean looked between them, then nodded. "Dad hasn't been home in a few days."
Sam didn't blink. "So he's late."
Dean's tone darkened. "He went on a hunting trip. And he hasn't come back."
Silence. Jess glanced at Sam.
Sam let out a breath. "Jess... give us a sec."
-------------------------------------------------------------
The three of them descended in silence—Sam in front, Knox bringing up the rear. The hall echoed with the scrape of boots and tension.
"You can't just break into my apartment in the middle of the night and expect me to drop everything," Sam snapped.
"Dad's missing," Dean said. "And this time... it's different."
"Different how?" Sam turned. "He was gone during Amherst. And Clifton. He always comes back."
"Not like this. He's been radio silent for too long."
"Well, I'm not going."
Dean stopped. "Why not?"
Sam halted at the bottom of the stairs. "Because I'm done."
Knox, a few steps back, offered a quiet, "Ah yes. The retirement monologue. Every hunter's last words."
Sam shot him a glare.
Dean threw him a look. "Knox."
Knox raised both hands. "Staying out of it. Brotherly angst isn't in my contract."
Dean shook his head. "It wasn't that bad, Sammy."
Sam scoffed. "When I told Dad I was scared of the thing in my closet, he gave me a .45."
Dean didn't have an answer for that.
"He was supposed to say, 'don't be afraid of the dark,'" Sam muttered.
Dean's voice dropped. "You should be afraid of the dark. You know what's out there."
"I know. But that doesn't make it right."
They stepped outside into the lot.
Sam's voice softened. "We were raised like soldiers, Dean. Melting silver into bullets. Latin before bedtime."
They reached the Impala. Knox leaned against the matte black 300SL, arms crossed. He watched quietly as Dean unlocked the trunk.
"You think Mom would've wanted this for us?" Sam asked.
Dean didn't answer.
The trunk creaked open—an arsenal inside.
Sam took a step back. "Jesus."
Dean handed him a folder. "Ten disappearances over twenty years. Same stretch of road. Dad went to Jericho to check it out. Never came back."
Knox glanced over Sam's shoulder. "Pattern's clean. Too clean."
Sam frowned. "So maybe he was kidnapped?"
"Sure. And the others too?" Dean handed over more articles. "April. December. '98. Same deal."
Dean reached into the trunk again, pulled out a cassette recorder.
"Then I got this."
He pressed play.
John's voice came through—crackled, broken.
Knox's brow furrowed.
Dean lowered the volume and filtered it.
A woman's voice whispered: "I can never go home..."
Dean clicked it off.
"I never asked you for anything, Sam."
Sam looked away, jaw tight.
"I need your help."
Sam exhaled. "Okay. I'll go. We'll find him."
Dean looked stunned.
"But I've got a law school interview Monday."
Dean blinked. "Law school?"
Knox raised an eyebrow. "Sounds... thrilling. Robes without the power, rules without the fun."
Sam frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Knox shrugged. "Just a commentary on your fashion choices, mate."
Dean smirked. "Don't poke the bear. He's got a law degree pending."
"Noted," Knox said, raising both hands. "Respectfully shutting up. For now."
Dean chuckled. "He grows on you."
They turned back toward the apartment.
Dean shot Knox a look. "You sure about this?"
Knox adjusted his coat. "No. But I'm in."
Sam paused at the steps. "One weekend. That's it."
Dean nodded.
Knox tilted his head. "Sure. One weekend. Just a little detour through hell."
They disappeared into the dark, the streetlight flickering behind them.