Sam rounded the corner, keeping a constant eye out for Dean or someone who looked like him to pass his way. There was nothing by the time he reached Dean's room and more nothing when he stepped inside.
Salt line by the door, though. How had Dean managed to explain that to his roommate?
He gave the room a quick scan for anything out of place before starting to rifle through it. Clothes were gone from the closet. Search under the mattress and pillow didn't turn up the Bowie, either, although he did inexplicably discover an empty milk jug. So Dean had evidently walked out of here of his own accord. It wasn't exactly good news, but it was better than the alternative.
Where the hell could he have gone, though? Upstairs to check out the ghost by himself? He couldn't be that keen on keeping Sam out of harm's way, could he? Besides, even if that was his intention, he'd be more likely to stick close to Sam, not run off by himself. The more he thought about this, the less it made sense.
Sam gave the desk drawer an annoyed tug open. Boxcutter, pencil. Journal? He didn't think he'd get as easy of a break as to find Dean's exact location written down there somewhere, but he flipped it open, anyway.
He flicked quickly through it, one hand holding the flashlight as he skimmed the pages. Mostly bits and pieces of information-seemed Dean had run into his roommate once-but it was the last page that caught his attention. His brother was keeping track of the so-called special children. Including Sam.
Wait. Had Dean found something out about him? Sam hadn't met everyone here, so he couldn't say for certain that there was no one who knew about his abilities and there were always those like their non-demon patient who knew just enough to rouse suspicion. Was that why Dean had taken off? His brother had looked a little ticked at whoever he'd been speaking to in the greenhouse.
Christ, he didn't know. He didn't know and he had no way to track down Dean. The building wasn't the largest search area he'd ever been faced with, but it wasn't small, either.
Forget it. He was wasting time here. Hesitating just a second, he tore the page out of the journal, then grabbed the boxcutter before tossing the notebook back inside and shutting the drawer.
Sam rounded the corner, keeping a constant eye out for Dean or someone who looked like him to pass his way. There was nothing by the time he reached Dean's room and more nothing when he stepped inside.
Salt line by the door, though. How had Dean managed to explain that to his roommate?
He gave the room a quick scan for anything out of place before starting to rifle through it. Clothes were gone from the closet. Search under the mattress and pillow didn't turn up the Bowie, either, although he did inexplicably discover an empty milk jug. So Dean had evidently walked out of here of his own accord. It wasn't exactly good news, but it was better than the alternative.
Where the hell could he have gone, though? Upstairs to check out the ghost by himself? He couldn't be that keen on keeping Sam out of harm's way, could he? Besides, even if that was his intention, he'd be more likely to stick close to Sam, not run off by himself. The more he thought about this, the less it made sense.
Sam gave the desk drawer an annoyed tug open. Boxcutter, pencil. Journal? He didn't think he'd get as easy of a break as to find Dean's exact location written down there somewhere, but he flipped it open, anyway.
He flicked quickly through it, one hand holding the flashlight as he skimmed the pages. Mostly bits and pieces of information-seemed Dean had run into his roommate once-but it was the last page that caught his attention. His brother was keeping track of the so-called special children. Including Sam.
Wait. Had Dean found something out about him? Sam hadn't met everyone here, so he couldn't say for certain that there was no one who knew about his abilities and there were always those like their non-demon patient who knew just enough to rouse suspicion. Was that why Dean had taken off? His brother had looked a little ticked at whoever he'd been speaking to in the greenhouse.
Christ, he didn't know. He didn't know and he had no way to track down Dean. The building wasn't the largest search area he'd ever been faced with, but it wasn't small, either.
Forget it. He was wasting time here. Hesitating just a second, he tore the page out of the journal, then grabbed the boxcutter before tossing the notebook back inside and shutting the drawer.
[going here]
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