Don't Lose Your Grip

I. Prey in the Night

Sam didn't usually swear. Or, well, not as profusely as his brother tended to. But in his defense, the occasion totally called for it.

He was lost. He was cold. His head was killing him. He had no way of communication. And you want to what the icing on top of the cake was?

He didn't have his shoes.

That's right. Shoes, out of all things

Oh, and there was also the fact that he couldn't remember how he'd gotten- wherever the hell he was, or what gave him that lovely bump at the back of his head, or even what the heck happened to his shoes. He didn't know whether he should be concerned about the fact that his brief memory loss was just from a concussion and nothing else and that didn't worry him as much as the other things did. But in his life, concussions were average things – almost like scraped knees for kids.

So, in short – yes, he did believe that this situation warranted a good deal of cussing.

After venting out his frustration in the form of various, fancy, vulgar words for a good couple of minutes (and he really should remember to thank Dean for even knowing half of them), Sam focused on the one problem he could do something about.

Finding out where he was.

The specifics were easy enough – Steven's Reserve, a nice round park of green grass and clumps of trees surrounding an empty playground, on the corner of streets Fenwick and Houston, the signs told him.

Great. That was really helpful.

Sam shivered and zipped up his jacket, thrusting his hands into the pockets. At least it wasn't his jacket that was gone, because he really didn't need to catch pneumonia on top of everything else – though the way things were going, with the biting cold wind and his thin socks, he wouldn't be surprised if he got frostbite instead.

With a wince, he started onwards to the almost-empty street, searching his hazy mind for a state name, a city. Last thing he remembered… well, the last thing he was actually conscious of was trudging out of the motel room in a fit of frustration at his brother (and, no, he did not care what Dean insisted afterwards; he had not stomped out of there like a kid having a temper tantrum) – but he remembered things after that. Not much, and definitely nothing helpful. Pain in his head, a bright light, numbing cold, and then… he woke up in that park, huddled up on the grass.

Since the thing that had woken him up was his pounding head, and the first thing he'd realized once he'd forced his eyes open was that he was alone, Sam's first instinct was to find Dean. A quick sweep of the park showed a big fat load of no big brother so he'd dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out his phone, fingers automatically pressing the buttons to unlock it and finding the first speed-dial number without him needing to look. It was halfway to his ear before he realized that one, there was no sound and two, the screen was still black.

And so, Sam had come to the horrible realization that not only was he stuck out here alone, but his phone's battery had died. Out of all the things that could have happened…

It would have been funny, really, if he'd been in the mood. Memory blank, no shoes, and dead phone, with absolutely no idea to what was going on here… oh yeah, it was just hilarious. He could definitely see Dean splitting his side laughing over his situation.

You know, when he found him. Somehow.

But anyway. Back to the problem at hand. When they'd stopped at the motel, they were just on the outskirts of Iowa, heading over to Bobby in South Dakota. And that… didn't really help either, but at least he had a sense of where he should be. Right, now he just had to find someone to tell him where exactly he was and then… well, go find Dean, he guessed.

With a weary sigh, Sam sauntered on down the street to where it led off to what he figured was the busier part of town, small shops lining the footpath on either side of the two-lane slightly-busy road. It was early morning, the clouded sky making it seem darker than it would have been otherwise, and Sam wasn't surprised to find nearly no-one out on foot. Disappointed, but not surprised.

There was a cranky-looking old man tottering along near him, but he gave Sam such a disgusted grouchy look that the Winchester stepped back from him as he passed, just for good measure. No need to have crabby guys after him too, when he didn't even know what was going on already. When the woman sitting on the bench down a bit further – clearly waiting for someone if her expectant looks at the approaching cars were any indicator – shot him a slightly freaked out, appalled grimace as well, Sam stopped trying to approach civilians for directions and headed over to the nearest closed store window to check his reflection.

When he saw the filthy, shabby-looking man staring back at him, Sam really couldn't blame them for not wanting to come near him. With his hair all mussed up with dirt, clothes slightly damp from the grass, feet socked and relatively dirty… well, in short, he looked like a lost homeless tramp.

And wasn't that just freaking brilliant, 'cause everyone was just dying to talk to some grubby down-and-out stranger – sure, why not?

And, jeez, if that thought had any more sarcasm it might just have exploded.

Sam sighed again and stuck his hands in his pockets, turning away from the glass petulantly. He gazed down the street and wondered how long he'd been gone. When he'd walked out, it had been early morning – or late night, depending on how you looked at it – but that could have been a few hours ago or days. And it wasn't like he kept track of the date half the time they were on the road – there was just no use for that – so finding out the answer to that by checking a copy of the daily paper was out of the question too.

Maybe walking out on his brother completely unarmed (and he didn't think the small flick-knife in his pocket was all too useful here, either) wasn't such a smart idea. But Dean was being annoying, and yes he knew that that's what brothers are for, but if he had to listen one more time to his ramblings about the strange fetishes his brother had witnessed in his life, or whatever it was Dean was on about while Sam tried to busy himself doing something useful, then he would've exploded. Or something equally drastic. And the last time he'd tried to get his brother to shut up they'd delved into a pointless argument that escalated and both of them were too stubborn to give up his end so by that point they would be sitting in the Impala in silence until one of them came to his senses. Or they just got bored of arguing over nothing and called a truce.

It was just what they did, had done so since they were kids and it was habit. But Sam had so not been in the mood for one of those episodes and he'd woken up with the telltale signs of a headache trying to sneak up on him unawares, as they were prone to do when he least expected them. So, he'd gotten out of the motel room for a walk. A bit of time to get some fresh air and stretch his legs, and meanwhile, give Dean some time himself to vent out his own boredom however he wanted. As long as it had nothing to do with Sam's laptop freezing on a page that he really would rather not be seeing.

Sam shook himself out of those scarring – and downright unhelpful – thoughts. He was a hunter; he had training for this sort of stuff. But then, was there a handbook for being roofied, kidnapped, relieved of his shoes, and left somewhere in America?

Possibly not in that order.

Before Sam could get past the sarcastic commentary that just came naturally to him, there was suddenly a scruffy looking, middle-aged man with a missing-tooth smirk that Sam felt just sang "I know something you don't" uncomfortably close in Sam's personal space.

"Hey, kid," the guy said to a wary Sam. "Lost, much?"

Sam's obvious first instinct, raised to be suspicious as he was, came as that the guy was some loon, since he obviously had not realized that Sam's over six foot frame was not kid-like. Then again, maybe it had something to do with his bangs...

Eyeing the man, unimpressed, Sam didn't answer and made to move around him. But an outstretched palm with surprising strength held him back.

"Whoa, hold on," the guy said calmly, still smiling.

"Honestly, mister," Sam bit out, "I'm fine."

I'm so not fine.

But Sam had been well-trained. He could so take this guy.

The man was not deterred. "Listen, kid, I think I could help-"

Sam stopped and turned slightly, fixing the man with a glare he usually reserved for an extra fugly supernatural on particularly bad days.

"I don't care, alright?" Sam forced out. "I'm not an idiot, and I don't want whatever drugs you're selling."

Christ, these people suck at body language.

The man's urgent motions stopped, and annoyance darkened his features. Glaring right back at the kid in front of him, the stranger said in exasperation, "You know, forget it, I'll leave you alone, Sam." And with that, he started to stride away.

Caught by surprise at the man's words, Sam froze in confusion for a second as the guy distanced himself. When they processed, however, Sam immediately began following after the man.

And if the sound of his name wasn't enough, Sam could certainly spot the shoes – durable enough for their life but normal enough for the man to allow himself to be seen in public with – that he'd been wearing when he left the motel whatever amount of time ago. And they were on the guy's feet.

"Hey!" he shouted, unable to help himself. They were his shoes, dammit, who did something like that? Sam hurried faster to catch up to the man, trying his hardest to become as inconspicuous as he could considering his lack of footwear.

You're doing awesome on your own, Sam. Chase away the only guy who might actually help, why don't you?

Ignoring the internal monologue, Sam started to jog, 'cause he was noticing how now it was the man who was trying to get away from Sam. Freakin' karma. At least there weren't as many people out on the streets this early in the morning.

"Hey!" Sam called again, reaching out a hand to try and stop the guy. "How do you know who I am?" he demanded.

He was finally able to snag the sleeve of the guy's less than appealing jacket, forcing him to turn around. For all his brother's teasing about being a Sasquatch, his height and strength did come in handy for Sam more than often.

The man jerked his arm free of Sam's grip, scowling. But he did look the Winchester in front of him up and down before saying, "Kid, you've got the manners of a pig – I don't really feel like wasting more time with you."

"Well, I don't make it a point to chat up every random stranger that I meet in the street," Sam snapped back before he could stop himself. But he was tired and, he realized then, really hungry, and just a little freaked out. But he also figured that it would be a complete pansy move if he acknowledged the fact that he wished Dean was there.

The man looked like he was about retort something back, but then he paused, considering Sam in front of him. Then, surprisingly, he rolled his eyes and just smirked. "Guess I'll let you slide."

Sam bit back the sarcastic 'Gee, thanks" that immediately came to his lips, instead asking, "Really, how do you know who I am?" Then he paused, adding as a thought struck him, "Do you know how I got here – wherever?"

The man raised an eyebrow, reminding Sam suddenly and a little painfully of Dean's trademark look. "No," he said bluntly.

"Well," Sam started again, willing himself not to get pissed off with this most likely homeless lunatic. Who for some reason knew who he was. Because hey, he was kind of desperate for answers. "Then how do you know my name?" he countered.

The man shrugged, and suddenly Sam realized why his father had found that gesture so infuriating. "Dunno, musta heard it somewhere," he said wryly.

Sam struggled not to openly gape at him. "Then why the hell am I talking to you?" he couldn't help but ask incredulously. This guy didn't know jack-squat.

The stranger rolled his eyes again. "Don't mean I don't know some things."

"Look," Sam said, certainly not pleading but not exactly picking a fight. Though the tone had been coming out of his mouth instinctively more and more often lately. "If you're not going to be any help, I'll just leave."

Chancing that the guy's desire to talk to him was strong enough, Sam turned around and was once again going to walk away.

Snickering from behind him made Sam pause. "Alright, kid, you got me." Sam saw the man grin. "Can't help myself with your slug-like charm."

Sam wasn't sure he liked the way that sounded. The hell did this guy want him with him anyway?

As if reading his thoughts, the man said next, "I'll tell you everything I know," he started, and added in before Sam could say anything, "Which would be real helpful to you. But you gotta do something for me after."

Sam was no idiot. "What?" he asked immediately.

The man just smirked that annoying look of his. "Take it or leave it."

Still staring at the less than well-dressed man distastefully, Sam weighed his options.

He could just flip the guy the bird or such, and proceed to work himself out of the issue on his own. The way Winchesters were supposed to, and the way his father had taught him. But if that weren't reason enough for the ever rebellious college kid not to take that option, there was also the fact that he had no freakin' idea what he was going to do. This would be about the time Dean would spew out some smartass remarks, among which would be the somewhat-suicidal but near ingenious plan that would get them out of any situation.

But Sam wasn't exactly Dean Winchester. As if he needed any more evidence.

So, he could have a reluctant trust with this guy, and get some info off of him. If he knew Sam's name, then he most likely knew some other important pieces to the puzzle too. And it wasn't like they were going to be close confidants or anything. Just...benefit each other. Whatever he wanted Sam to do, it wasn't as though he'd made a blood promise or anything. He could always back out.

By this point, Sam had successfully told himself all he needed to talk his brain into proceeding with the plan that would've had Dean kicking his ass into next week.

"Fine," Sam said, sounding reluctant. Because he was – it wasn't like the guy was all that appealing to be working with.

"But," Sam said next, a little indignantly, "can I at least have my shoes back?"

The man shot him a mysterious grin and wagged a finger in his face. "All in good time, Sammy."

"It's Sam," he growled back, resisting the urge to snap the finger then strangle the guy. After all, he was the one with the answers… and his shoes.

"'Course it is," he nodded amiably, resuming his speedy pace and turning a corner down a shoddy alley.

Sam cursed and followed him, mindful of the broken glass littering the ground. This just kept getting better and better. "Where the hell are we going?"

He didn't even get a reply this time, just an infuriating amused little chuckle.

Oh, Sam was going to have fun getting him back for this, for sure…

"You know, Sammy," the guy started conversationally, snagging Sam's elbow as he turned another corner and headed deeper into the alleyways shrouded in darkness. "You're sending off awfully violent vibes, for such a nice guy."

Sam clenched his jaw and wrenched his arm away. "I wonder why that is," he gritted out. He swept narrowed eyes around the narrow lane when they stopped, noting that barely ten feet ahead was a dead end. This couldn't be good.

"Well, it's not very nice of you," he was told, lightly.

'I'm sorry, did I hurt your feelings?' The barb was on the tip of Sam's tongue, but the darkly amused glint in the man's eyes stopped him. He was being taunted, and a sarcastic slip probably wasn't something he could afford at the moment. So he calmed himself down, told the smartass side of his mind, which had a suspicious Dean tone to it, to shut up. Crossing his arms across his chest, he asked, "Alright, what do you want from me?"

Apparently, he'd said something hilarious because the man laughed long and hard at that. Sam couldn't see what was so funny, but this certainly wasn't helping him refuse to give in to the urge to beat some answers out of the guy.

He was just starting to muse how he'd barely been back on the road with Dean for a year, and his brother had already rubbed off on him so much – when the chuckles died down and he got an answer. More or less, anyway.

"Want from you?" the guy repeated, an almost gleeful grin emerging on his face. The fact that it was almost predatory raised Sam's defenses, made him tense up. "Kid, I don't want anything from you."

"Then why the hell are you-"

"Uh-uh, language, Sammy-boy," he tsked, shaking his head at him in mock-disappointment.

Sam clenched his hands into fists and breathed in deeply through his nose, repeating the mantra don't-kill-him in his head.

The man smirked, clearly enjoying his frustration. He stuck his hands in his pockets, glanced around the alley in apparent casual thought, before throwing out a deal of sorts. "Okay. How about this: You be nice and polite to me, and… I'll give you your shoes back."

Don't kill him don't kill him don't kill him

"My shoes?" Sam repeated incredulously – more for show than anything else, but the older guy didn't have to know that. "I want some answers, not freaking shoes." He tried to ignore the almost indignant deadened tingle his toes sent him. Because, yes, it was cold, and yes, his feet were so numb with cold he probably wouldn't have felt it if the guy stepped on them right now, but he was not conceding defeat for shoes. He wasn't even going to consider it. No way. Even if it would be nice to get them back and being polite wasn't such a high price to pay for them…

"No?" The man – and Sam realized he really needed a name – sounded regretful, sighing deeply as he tilted his head to the side. "Okay then, tough guy… we'll have it your way."

"And…?" Sam narrowed his eyes dangerously, shifting his hand slightly so that he could pull out his flick-knife in an instant if he needed it. And all instincts were screaming that he would.

"And... We're going on a short trip," he continued, a slow lethal smile creeping onto his lips. If the man had little sharp teeth, he would've been a human shark. Out for blood. The thought did nothing to alleviate Sam's gut feeling – thisisbadbadbad.

His eyes flicked around again before he backed up a step, noting that his back wasn't to the dead end – the man's was. He wasn't going to make a break for it, though – not now, anyway. Not when the guy had answers and hadn't actually threatened him yet. Even if that grin said otherwise. "Right," he drawled conversationally, watching the other man's easy stance. "That's nice of you and all, but see – there's this whole 'don't go off with strangers' thing…"

"Oh, I wasn't offering." And in hardly a heartbeat, he'd moved in front of Sam and grabbed his forearm.

And Sam sunk back into oblivion with a barely-formed thought of – You can kill him now.


A/N: *whizzes in* Heyy, 'tis Izzy aka agent iz hyper co-author of the goddamn bloody brilliant fic you just read the start of and I am proud to say that this beautiful baby only gets better. *nods* *pats fic* Okay, I'll stop bragging while I'm ahead. Just. Working on this fic with Dodo was like the best thing ever xD Epic randomness ensuing from a start with no plot and/or direction whatsoever which resulted in us just winging it... bringing you this piece of work right here *flourishes hands* ...is that... is that right? Flourishes... flourishes hands, does that make sense? *blinks* Anyway! I have a mental note at the forefront of my mind pestering me about not rambling on this so this is where I stop. But before I go - make sure you tell us what you thought, ay? Don't you wanna know what happens next? xP

*slides up next skillfully* Annnd this is Dodo, sending out a ditto to what Iz said because guys! We finished it! It's gonna be an awesome ride and we hope you'll grab on x) I'll make sure Iz doesn't hit you with her 'flourishing hands' *nods* But as credit goes, this was originally her brainchild, and then she managed to rope me into the awesomeness and it just grew and grew and...this xD

*clears throat* And to a very important present announcement *fanfare* Remy McKwakker! :D Her birthday was this past week and she is definitely on mine and Izzy's list of totally awesome people, and deserves a totally awesome present! Plus she, like every other sane person, was sulking about yet another hiatus so hey, this can hold us all over! x) Happy Birthday, Rem :)

We (attempt to) promise the rest of the author's notes won't be this long, and the chapters are all written and of varying lengths so updates will actually be on time! That being said, reviews help ;)

~iz + dodo