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Dean’s laying in bed, curled up under his covers, trying to will himself back to sleep, back into pleasant dreams. For a moment, he wonders why he’s awake already, why he can’t just sleep more. In the next moment, the world around him solidifies, and he realizes Sammy is crying. Dean grumbles, tossing around in his bed but not getting up. Dad can handle it just this once. Sammy will be fine. Dean’s tired. He just wants to sleep a few more minutes.
When those few more minutes pass, and Dean’s still unable to sleep, because Sammy is still crying, he realizes something is wrong. His calm, albeit slightly annoyed attitude, becomes panicked quickly, as he throws off his cover and leaves his room. The squeak of the old, rusty hinges makes him cringe, but he doesn’t stop. When he’s in the living room, the center of the house, he realizes the issue. From here, he can see everything. The front door, the door to his room, the door to Dad’s room, and the door to Sammy’s room. Dad’s door is wide open, and his room is very clearly empty. Sammy’s door is open too, and Dad’s not there either.
Dean’s stomach sinks as he makes his way to the kitchen. Dad left again. He didn’t even wake Dean up. He clearly woke Sammy up, but didn’t bother telling Dean anything. Dean clenches one of his fists. It’s fine. It’s been a while since Dad woke him up before leaving anyways. He should be used to it by now. Shouldn’t be upset by it. It just means Dad trusts him, right? He’s gonna be 6 soon, he can handle this.
So, Dean continues the script. Because, here’s how it always goes: Dad leaves early, Dean wakes up to an empty house and a hungry Sammy, and when he goes to make Sammy some food, he’ll find a yellow sticky note on the kitchen counter. Sometimes it’s not a yellow sticky note, but there’s always a note. That’s what Dad started doing when he stopped waking Dean up: leaving notes.
Dean looks over the counter, having to stretch on his tippy toes to look over it. He looks around, checking the entire counter, but it’s… empty. There’s nothing there. Not even a disregarded pen.
Dean looks to the fridge, the stove, anything, but he finds nothing. Dad didn’t leave a note. Dad always leaves a note. He’s supposed to tell Dean where he’s going, what he’s doing, because he trusts Dean. Dean turns around, looking at the living room, but there’s no sign of panic. Everything is clean and in order. Just like it looks any time Dad leaves. He didn’t rush out the door. He didn’t have to run out before he could say anything, write anything. He just… left .
Dean looks at Dad’s room again, and his throat feels tight. Most of him is just sad, lonely, but part of him is scared. Scared that Dad can just disappear like that. Scared that Dad doesn’t trust him anymore. Scared that maybe there’s a reason Dad didn’t leave a note. Scared that-
Sammy’s still crying.
Dean scrubs his face, wiping it dry and turning to Sammy’s room. He doesn’t have time to be a baby about all this. He still has a job to do. So he walks to Sammy’s room, smiles like he always does, and whispers, in the same soft tone he always uses, “Hey, hey, Sammy, it’s okay, shhh….”